English Recordings

I'm trying to write in English to practice English expression. If you have any suggestions for better expressions, please provide them. (=If you have any suggestions for better ways to say these things, please let me know. ) Thanks for reading!

I walked down through the garden to the sea, and as I did so my spirits rose. For this, of course, was what had been so beautifully described in the agent’s leaflet, and why I had flown so many miles. The description was true, too. Little whitewashed homes respectfully set apart from one another, the sea washing the rocks below. There was a beach, from which people doubtless swam in high season, but no one was on it now, and, even if anyone should appear, the holiday cottages themselves were well to the left, safe, private. I looked at each in turn, mounting the steps, standing on the balconies. The clerk must have been telling the truth about none of them being let before the summer, for all had their shutters closed over their windows. All except one. And as soon as I mounted the steps and stood on the balcony I knew that this was the one I wanted to be mine. This was the view I had imagined. The water beneath me, gently splashing against the rocks, the bay widening into the open sea, and beyond, the mountains. It was perfect. The cottages to the east of the hotel, which was out of sight anyway, could be forgotten. One, on a piece of land sticking out into the sea, stood on its own with a landing-stage below, but this would only strengthen my picture when I came to paint it. The rest were fortunately hidden by rising ground. I turned, and looked through the open windows to the bedroom within. Plain whitewashed walls, a stone floor, a comfortable low bed with coloured blankets upon it. A bedside table with a lamp and telephone. But for these last, it was simplicity itself, and I wished for nothing more.
I wondered why this cottage, and none of its neighbours, had been opened up, and stepping inside I heard from the bathroom beyond the sound of running water. Not further disappointment, and the place booked after all? I put my head round the open door, and saw that it was a maid washing the bathroom floor. She jumped as she saw me. Pointing around me, I said ‘Is this taken?’ She did not understand, but answered me in her own language. Then she seized her cloth and bucket and, plainly terrified, pushed past me to the entrance, leaving her work unfinished.

Last time I was in Ireland, my mother gave me some letters to read. They were written to her parents in England when we were children. My grandparents had saved them for her and returned them neatly filed in folders and dated. When we left home, it was a sort of mother’s eye-view record of our childhood and since my parents were both prolific and witty letter writers, they made wonderfully entertaining reading. I was absorbed in them for hours, transported back to marvellous afternoons imaginatively whiled away in our playroom with my siblings and friends. There we invented many of our own games and acted out all sorts of dramas for whatever audience we could entrap, usually my poor mother of course. She writes, for example, about us being inspired for months by a Christmas trip to the operetta The Mikado. We put on an excellent show, which included costumes and props. Our mother made sure we always had plenty of things that with a little skill and imagination could be turned into nearly anything. She passed on to us old bedspreads and blankets, odd ear-rings, gloves and socks, pieces of leftover materials and jumble sale acquisitions. This particular show became a classic with our drama company, so much so that the next door neighbour presented us with a recording of The Pirates of Penzance, hoping it, too, would catch our fancy and give him a break from ‘Three Little Maids from School are We’ floating melodically but all too frequently through his wall. It was fun reading their version of an event which I remember happening, also interesting to note how different my memories are from their descriptions. On a more solemn note, I found there were many things going on that we as children were unaware of, since my parents wanted to protect us from whatever we might find worrying or unpleasant. It was only by reading those letters that I realised how many problems my parents had to deal with and appreciated the amount of thinking and care they put into our upbringing. Through the letters I also discovered interesting views on some people which I only knew as a child, but never saw much of when I grew up. For instance, we used to look forward to visits from a specially eccentric family friend, because we found him very odd and entertaining. My mother used to dread them. Apparently, with an adult’s perspective, his oddities were somewhat less amusing. As a result of this experience I am freshly converted to the advantages of letter writing. I too live abroad and have children. I do write to my mother every now and then, but I must say that I give in all too frequently to the immediacy of a quick telephone call. My mother saves my letters as hers did and my children could enjoy a nostalgic afternoon, buried in childhood memories one day. As my mother says, a phone call is over as soon as you hang up, but you can read a letter over and over again.

From the Headmaster’s Office a short flight of stairs led down to a narrow corridor between the Auditorium on one side and some classrooms on the other. I paused for a moment outside the first of these classrooms, not sure where to begin, when the door was pushed violently outwards and a tall, red-headed girl rushed out into the corridor closely pursued by two others. In such a narrow space I was quite unable to dodge her wild progress, so I quickly grabbed her by the arms both to avoid being bowled over and to steady her. Quickly recovering herself she shook loose, smiled impudently in my face, and with a quick ‘Sorry’ raced down the corridor and out of sight. Her companions pulled up hastily, stopped a moment to look at me, then quickly re-entered the classroom, letting the door bang loudly shut behind them.
I was staggered by this unexpected encounter and remained where I was for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Then, deciding to take a closer look at what went on in that room, I knocked on the door, opened it and walked in. There was a general hubbub and for a little while no one seemed aware of my entry, and then, very gradually, one by one the occupants turned to stare at me.
There was no sign of anyone who looked like a teacher. About forty boys and girls were in the room. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call them young men and women, for there was about most of them a degree of adulthood, not only in terms of obvious physical development, but also in the way their clothes were worn to emphasise that development wherever possible. They stood around the room in casual postures; some were clustered around a large open empty fireplace in one corner; a few were sitting on desks or chairs in careless unscholarly attitudes. They nearly all wore a kind of unofficial uniform.

dining hall-cum-gymnasium extended over most of the ground floor. We entered and sat at a table slightly apart from the rows of folding tables occupied by the children. When everyone was assembled, Mr. Florian stood up and said grace: ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful.’ The chorused ‘Amen’ which followed was lost in the din of rattling cutlery, chatter of children, and clanging of pots and pans as the kitchen staff filled and refilled the tureens.
The children were seated in groups of eight, two of them in turn being responsible for collecting and distributing the food for their particular group. Both boys and girls took turns at this and showed remarkable skill in portioning each course evenly and quickly. At the end of each course the day’s two servers stacked the dishes, collected the cutlery and rushed them away to the kitchen staff. At the end of the meal the tablecloths were shaken and folded, and each group sat quietly awaiting the signal of dismissal.
When we were all finished Mr. Florian rose and there was an immediate hush; at a signal from him the children stood and group by group left the dining-hall quietly. I followed the others up to the staff room, where Mrs. Dale-Evans was soon busy preparing a cup of tea.
I stood at a window looking across to the ruined church, until a loud blare of swing music from close at hand caused me to turn round. Noticing the look of enquiry on my face, Miss Clintridge said:
‘That’s the midday dance session. The kids are allowed to use the hall from one to one forty-five each day; they play the records on a grammophone pick-up through the wireless loudspeaker. Sometimes I join them, and so does Grace. Even the Old Man shakes a leg on occasions.’

The Protée Proteus is a anguinus salamander amphibian. This animal , close to the triton or Salamande is rare, it has a way of cave life and is found in the western Alps (Slovenia , Albania, Kosovo , Bosnia and Herzegovin .) It is found under various names such as Proteus anguillard (which is shaped like an eel ), white salamander salamander or caves. There is even the popular name of " human fish " because of his skin that has a similar texture Rights .

The Proteus measure 20 to 40 centimeters long. It reaches sexual maturity at 15 years and its lifetime is estimated at 80 years according to the CNRS. This animal has gills and lungs ( it could hypothetically be rehabilitated mode earthly life This is a water cave and body . That is to say , living in a dark environment, where light is absent, typically in a cave or cave the cave species have many changes . partial or total blindness, skin depigmentation , slow metabolism that allows them to have a greater life expectancy .
He developed other sensory organs to move and hunt , bodies that have developed to compensate for the vision :
sensitive receptors : the skin is sensitive to light and developing a pigment called melanopsin which darkens the skin ;
chemical receptors : the smell perceives lower concentrations of organic compounds in water;
mechanical receptors : the epithelium of the inner ear captures sound waves and vibrations in the ground and locates their origin;
and electrical loads : it seems to be able to feel tiny electrical changes as the Earth's magnetic field to orient themselves.
It moves by undulating movements a bit like an eel and live, sleep and eat only in water. Outside the breeding season, the proteas can gather in large numbers in crevices or under stones. The power of this protected animal will be based primarily on bloodworms or tubifex live .

Because of its confinement in some underground caves , where special and difficult conditions prevail, the Proteus is particularly sensitive to changes in its environment. Indeed, the water present in the network of mainly limestone and porous rocks are quickly contaminated if surface pollution . The water flow is not filtered by a sandy layer , they quickly reach the lower levels and contaminating organisms that live there . The animal is also a victim of collectors ...

W: Chomolungma, that's beautiful.

M: What's Chomolungma?

W: According to this, that's the most common Tibetan name for Mt. Everest. It means "Mother Goddess of the World" or "Goddess of the Valley." What a beautiful image, the great white-clad mother watching over her children.

M: Yes, but she doesn't make things easy for the ones who come calling, does she? It's amazing the physical challenges that climbers have to overcome to get to the top.

W: Isn't it? It says here that the area in the Himalayas over 8,000 meters is called the "death zone."

M: Blunt but true. On a lighter note, but still speaking of Everest, I was just reading Edmund Hillary's autobiography the other day. You'll never guess what he had to do after he reached the summit.

W: What?

M: Well, apparently the doctor accompanying their expedition had warned that dehydration was a very dangerous threat for climbers at high altitudes. So the night before they went for the top, Hillary and Tenzing Norgay drank a lot of hot lemon drink. When they arrived, their bladders were full, so…

W: Oh my goodness. At the top of Mt. Everest?!

M: When nature calls… You should read the book; you'd like it. Hillary also describes how he went on another Himalayan expedition some years later, partly to look for evidence of the yeti.

W: Oh, I love stories about creatures like that. Please tell me they found something.

M: Sorry. The team only came across one alleged eyewitness who admitted he was tipsy at the time. They also brought back some pelts and a scalp, but they turned out to be from Tibetan blue bears and a kind of antelope.

Offshore from Argentina, spring is in bloom. Massive patches of floating phytoplankton colored the ocean in November 2013. These microscopic, plant-like organisms are the primary producers of the ocean, harnessing sunlight to nourish themselves and to become food for everything from zooplankton to fish to whales.
The Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA’s Terra satellite captured this natural-color image on November 26, 2013. The chalky blue swirls in the South Atlantic Ocean, as well as fainter streaks of yellow and green, are evidence of abundant growth of phytoplankton across hundreds of kilometers of the sea. These organisms contain pigments (such as chlorophyll) or minerals (calcium carbonate) that appear blue, green, white, or other colors depending on the species. The phytoplankton in this image are likely a blend of diatoms, dinoflagellates, and coccolithophores. Near the coast, the discoloration of the water could be phytoplankton or it might be sediment runoff from rivers.
These phytoplankton help fuel one of the world’s best fishing grounds, particularly for shortfin squid, hake, anchovies, whiting, and sardines. The area known as the Patagonian “shelf-break front,” is a crossroads of currents—Circumpolar, Brazil, and Malvinas—where nutrients are carried in from southern waters or churned up from the edge of the continental shelf.
Fish and squid aggregate in high concentrations at the shelfbreak because it is a very productive area for phytoplankton during austral spring and summer, said Marina Marrari, a biological oceanographer with Argentina’s Servicio de Hidrografia Naval (Hydrographic Service). Blooms of phytoplankton have been developing for several weeks, as shown in MODIS images from November 18 and November 9, 2013.
Read more about fishing and phytoplankton off the coast of Argentina in our recent feature story: Something Fishy in the Atlantic Night.

Bart is Homer and Marge's son.
Lisa is Homer and Marge's daughter.
Maggie is Bart's sister.
Bart is Lisa's brother.
Homer is Ling's uncle.
Bart is Patty's nephew.
Selma is Lisa's aunt.
Mona and Abraham are Bart's grandparents.
Ling is Lisa's cousin.
Lisa is Selma's niece.
Homer is Marge's husband.
Marge is Homer's wife.

#1

Hi! My name's Laura / Robert.
I'm English, from London.
I'm 12.
I like chocolate and cookie, but I really hate carrots.
I like oranges, but I prefer bananas.

#2
Hi, My name's Helen / John.
I'm American. I live in California.
I'm 11.
I really really love chips but I hate peas.
I like fish, but I prefer meat.

#3
Hello, my name's Jane / Charly.
I'm Scottish, from Edinburgh.
I'm 13.
I don't like salad. I prefer peas but I hate bananas.

#4
Hi there! My name's Catherine / William
I'm Irish, from Dublin.
I'm 15.
I really love milk and cheese but I hate fish!
I don't like cookies but I love chocolate.