In today’s challenge I’m supposed to write about where I lived when I was 12 years old. I’m supposed to tell you where it was. Which country. Which town. I’m supposed to tell you how big or small the house was. I’m also supposed to use sentences of differing lengths. Big. Small.
I’m thinking, at this point, you might be a bit tired of me posting something everyday. Every. Single. Day. So I’m not going to tell you all about the house and where it was.
I’m just going to tell you that the house we lived in when I was 12 was very far from the nearest shops. It was far from any people other than the neighbours. I didn’t realise at the age of 12 how important being around people was to me.
It’s really important.
So, whenever my Dad would go for a trip to the hardware store I would ask to go with him.
‘I’m only going for some nails,’ he’d plead.
I developed a love for nails.
Now my parents live in a house that’s even further from shops and people. The only company is a cow or two wandering by.
I’m scared of cows.
So, whenever there is even the slightest hint of a need for milk (the cows are not milking cows), I offer to drive into town to get milk.
I now love milk.