Pulling birds in Pentland

The movement of the streams, which mirrored the restless sky creating a stirring contrast with the stillness of the contours around them.

The movement of the streams, which mirrored the restless sky creating a stirring contrast with the stillness of the contours around them.

Section 89 is nearly over the hill

Vernon soon realised that his hopes of a long and candid chat with Nsansa regarding her upbringing in Zambia and her convoluted journey to England was not going to be an easy one to bring about.

He found too that, like many Africans, Nsansa did not enjoy walking as much as she told herself she did. Each incline was greeted with a melodrama worthy of the music hall.

“Pull me up Vernon, my legs are dropping off.”

“You’re kidding Nsansa. You’ve legs that are longer than mine and they’re still attached. You go running too.”

“But there are no hills in Newmarket.”

“There are; what about the heath? That’s a hill isn’t it?”

“Lordy Gordy, you expect me to waste my breath while I’m dying here on this steep incline?” Nsansa wiped her brow with a sense of desperation. Grabbing the back of his coat she gasped, “Pull Vernon pull.”

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Love wasn't blind, but it had beads of sweat in its eyes nevertheless.

Love wasn’t blind, but it had beads of sweat in its eyes nevertheless.

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