Dave, a real estate agent, was just talking me through a "tasting session" a while back with a friend on his property near Ashburton in the days when he used to brew his own beer. He meticulously and lovingly described the equipment, methods, and technique for his "experimental" approach to beer design; It was half the fun.  As for the outcome, well,  each batch was an adventure.  A broad grin and a glint in his eye shone through as he spoke of the time he and a contractor finished up work for the day.  In a gesture of convivial blokeship Dave offered to share a few bottles of home brew, an offer enthusiasticaly accepted and with no further ado tasting commenced.

"I didn't wake up for two hours and when I did I couldn't move my arms. It was strong stuff."

            I am a music teacher. I have taught and seen my pupils excel in this field and it has given me a sense of fulfillment- until now.

Ever wondered what the land around Edoras from the film Lord of the Rings looks like in real life. Click on read more to find out.

Since I was born I hate English Teachers. Always their is conflict-ion with my teacher. So I hate English stories, articles.  I am wondering who made the dictionary. When ever I started writing I feel sleeping. I like to watch English movies.

After unloading Stephanie and her world onto the pavement, we hugged and said our goodbyes with big smiles, and promises to keep in touch. Watching in the rear-view mirror as her figure grew smaller and smaller, then disappear round a corner into Cathedral Square in Christchurch, I had to smile.  She was towing a purple tartan suitcase, wearing a funky polka dot backback, with a pair of fifties retro sunglasses perched on her nose. Her confident stride and endless good humour taking her to 'base'; a young travelers hostel in the heart of the city. Then she was gone, to her future, a little bit of my heart went with her.

In the evening traffic jam out of Christchurch and on the way back to Mayfield, my home. I reflected on conversations we'd had during her "pit stop" at my place on her travels across the length and breadth of New Zealand. She was heading north after spending time in Fiordland, Queenstown and Te Anau on the trip of a lifetime. She arrived on a big green 'Kiwi' bus, looking just a little tired and a little cold as I picked her up from the bus stop on a wet grey Canterbury day. There was a big grin and a "Magic" when she saw the log burner going full blaze, you could see her start to unwind, needing motionless calm and warmth to recharge.

As I write, attached to each of my nipples is an alligator clip. These clips are connected by wire to a foot operated button switch, thence to twelve volt car battery placed unassumingly next to my PC.  For technical officianados  my left nipple is positive, my right nipple is negative. The reason for my present condition is a tendency to digress from the task at hand at every opportunity when work of some kind simply must be done.  Concentration is my grail in an attempt to combat an attention span rightly compared to that of a goldfish.

 

Oh my funny enough. Why do I start writing on powa? To improve my writing skill? To get better mark? To impress someone? Hell no, I don't know myself. Maybe I just satisfied my impulsive needs.

Lt. Raymond Howards stood still, his body tense, and inwardly he freaked. On trial. A lousy lawyer. And all evidence against him. He hadn't even seen - yet alone met - the person who was about to represent him in court in just 30 minutes. What would a lawyer care; why should he care? Raymond was doomed to a life in prison.

The case against him: murder. And the prosecution's key witness? None other than the infamous Roy Wallace, a man that he had been trying to jail for the last 10 years. For Raymond was a cop, and a good one at that, but it looked like Roy might just be a better criminal.

A woman had been stabbed, dumped in a grey dustbin, and left for the owner of the trash to gasp at early one Thursday morning. Since Thursday was Raymond's day off, the case had been passed to another officer and his crime scene investigators, but the coroner, Justin Strand had recognised all too well the pattern of stab wounds and had called Raymond in, even on his day off.

In truth, Raymond didn't actually have any substantial evidence pointing Wallace to the crime or the similar stabbings leading up to it. He could only go by a set of tire tracks matching Wallace's truck and by his proximity to the crimes. Once, Raymond had even managed to get as far as a search warrant for Wallace's house and had found a knife that could have committed the crimes, but the serrated blade was perfectly cleaned, and no evidence could properly tie it to the cases.

But if Raymond had any reason to suspect foul play on Wallace's part, now was definitely the time. There were only two ways that his hair and DNA could have found themselves to the crime scene: either he committed the crime in his sleep, or someone had framed him.

Of course the public was in an uproar; a dirty cop deserved to be punished all the more since he was supposed to uphold the justice system.

So now he waited, since waiting was all he could do.

                                                       freewriting