Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Laboured

Laboured: adjective - used for work; hard worked; cultivated, tilled, ploughed; produced or accomplished using labour; performed with great effort; tediously elaborated or lacking spontaneity, heavy.

'Carol's rendition of the poem was laboured and dull, lacking the emotional element that the words should have conveyed.'

'Barry's breathing was laboured, his eyes closing from the simple effort of drawing in the air, and it wasn't long before the final, ragged breath signalled his death.'

Pic: A farm track in East Yorkshire.

Stuart’s Daily Word Spot: Glisters

Image via Wikipedia

Shakespeare was born on this day in 1564 and died on this day in1616.

So my word is Glisters, as used by Will as follows:

In ‘The Merchant of Venice’, Portia, a beautiful, virtuous, wealthy woman, is being wooed by numerous suitors. She’s not free to decide which of these she’ll marry, because her late father’s will stipulated that she must marry the man who correctly picks out the one casket, of three, that contains her picture. One casket is gold, another silver, and the third is lead. The Prince of Morocco, one of a long line of suitors, believes it would demean Portia for her picture to lie in anything but a gold casket, and chooses that one. Unlocking it, he finds a picture of Death, with a message written in its hollow eye:

"All that glisters is not gold;

Often have you heard that told.

Many a man his life hath sold

But my outside to behold.

Gilded tombs do worms enfold."

With grieving heart, the Prince takes his leave of Portia, who, happy to see him go, wishes him "A gentle riddance."

A Bit of Encouragement

Having spent the day with my brother, ripping up carpets and emptying my step-mother's flat, as she is now in residential care, I am somewhat weary. So, here I give you a short piece of unpublished fiction for your entertainment. I'd be interested in your views.

A Bit of Encouragement

‘It’s great. You’ll like it.’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘Scared?’

‘Have to be a bit thick not to be; staring death in the face.’

‘Jeez, it’s only a fag.’

‘Makes you ill and can kill you.’

‘They just say that. Any case; doesn’t happen to everyone. My dad says Winston Churchill smoked all his life and lived till he was a hundred.’

‘Ninety one. Anyway, exceptions are supposed to prove the rule, aren’t they?’

‘Everyone does it.’

‘Josh doesn’t. Kate doesn’t. Sam doesn’t...’

‘Like you said, exceptions prove the rule.’

‘Makes you smell. My dad’s like, he’d never kiss a woman who smoked, even if she was real fit and offered it on a plate.’

‘Your dad said that? Cool.’

‘He’s like, it’d be like kissing an ashtray.’

‘Not if you smoke yourself.’

‘Non-smokers taste different, do they?’

‘Don’t know. Can’t tell.’

‘See, that’s the other thing. Stunts your sense of smell. Nothing tastes like it should.’

‘So, you’re not going to try it?’

‘I’ll try it, if you’ll try something for me.’

‘Yeah. Right. Fair enough.’

‘Up for it, then?’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘We go to the cliff edge. I blindfold you and spin you round. You take five steps.’

‘You’re jokin’. That’s like suicide!’

‘Yeah. Right. It is.’

‘What sort of friend would try to get you to kill yourself? I can’t believe you’d do that.’

‘I know. Hard to believe, isn’t it?’