This week's words are:
She had to mentally pedal back and control the rage that shook her suddenly. She reminded him that Alfie, her Irish wolfhound, had strolled in with her when she originally signed the lease for the digs a month ago. Pets allowed. He hadn’t mentioned Alfie not being allowed.
Now she was here, all her belongings out in the street with the mover, Alfie panting beside her after the two flights of stairs.
Buzz, the landlord, stood there in the hallway in his black leather jacket, booted legs spread, arms folded, forehead furrowed.
Pets mean cats, small dogs, fish, birds, not these huge aggressive noisy beasts, he said scathingly.
I can give you a sample of how good Alfie is, she pleaded, look! And she went through all 50 of her routine commands which Alfie instantly obeyed.
You had me on the bark and quiet orders, said Buzz, visibly softening, arms unfolding, now let me give you a hand with your stuff.
If you are so inclined, have a bash at this yourselves, it's a lot of fun!