If writing is a performance art then I’m tap dancing in wellies.
The Bridge Across Time
Andrew Temperson was always early. Now approaching his mid-sixties he knew that time was no longer on his side, but he’d made peace with it. As Principal, for Newbury Middle School, he still led by example and arrived well before everyone else.
- Top Story - February 2023
If Harry Belfort was a colour he’d be grey. Not that there’s anything wrong with grey, it’s just not very exciting. He was middle-aged, slightly balding, married, with one teenage child, and had had the same tedious job for as long as he’d had said child.
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. It was a small basement window, up quite high, looking out onto the street. The worlds worst window, dad had called it. Supposed to be a safety valve if there was ever a fire, or gas leak, or if you got trapped in the basement, but there was no way to open it. Break glass in case of emergency, he said, and laughed. She didn’t understand the joke.
It is a curious thing that we do when we glorify certain individuals, who do not work within the rules of polite society and would ordinarily be met with disdain, merely because they have a distinct character, or are noteworthy for their expert skill-set.