It was the nearest to a casualty on the Spray in her whole course, so far as I know. The young man having come on board with compliments made the mishap most embarrassing.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
That's the miracle of fiction. I use it to spray on certain moments or places from my youth.
Somebody ripped their pants open at my wedding, dipping my mother. My mother is not a lady who throws herself into a dip that often, so I don't think he thought she was really going to do it.
To me, the technique was almost irrelevant; it was what was coming across.
It's terrible, I know, but I will admit I was a really lazy kid. It was Bronte who would wake me up in the morning, go to training early, and take in some tips from the older training group. I would be there grumbling and complaining. After she began to reap the rewards of her labour, it definitely kindled a fire.
And that's what's beautiful to me, is he did not become a victim of it, and he didn't become a statistic, he just kind of kept on marching through, no matter what people threw at him.
I knew the moment it happened, it was a miracle. I could have been kissing her when she threw up. It would have scarred me for life. I may never have recovered.
I know he was definitely beaten by her. I saw it many times. But we had a different way of dealing with her. He'd let her have more and more booze until she passed out.
Justice should remove the bandage from her eyes long enough to distinguish between the vicious and the unfortunate.
You have no idea how humiliating it was, as a boy, to suddenly have all your clothes, your toys, snatched by the bailiff. I mean we were a middle-class family, it's not as if it was happening up and down the street. It made me ashamed, I felt dirty.
On this day there was soon wind enough and to spare. The same might have been said of the sea. The Spray was in the midst of the turbulent Gulf Stream itself. She was jumping like a porpoise over the uneasy waves.