Grandad’s Armchair

Strange smelling, mustard brown moth-eaten chair, where Grandad sat on a Sunday afternoon after lamb with all the trimmings.

Like a heaving ancient giant, with his mouth ready to catch flies and glasses knocked to one side, he snores and wheezes, his tongue sissing like a snake.

With a choo choo train I fly around and scream and crash and wallop into everything; as Acti...

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