Starting a story

A steampunk Tudor house flies in, tilts and settles gently, steamily, next to the manor, nipping a corner from the tennis court. The dog howls and chases its tail. The door opens and the couple walk out, waving to the crowds they thought would be there throwing orange blossom. They soon realise their mistake.

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.