Act out the following situation.

 

A family is discussing where they will go for their summer holidays... Even though their tastes are different the family wants to go on holiday together. They are looking at the holiday pages in the papers. They are trying to choose a holiday they all can agree to. They are at home in London on a wet Sunday afternoon.

 

Daughter: Holidays are for doing something different- I'd like to work with my hands- weaving or pottery.or something. I can't stand lying on a beach for more than a couple of days.

 

Father: An activity holiday for me. I'd like to go horseriding. I'm stuck in an office all year round.

 

Son: I love exploring and discovering things; old churches and castles, different ways of life -- something genuine and off the beaten track. I don't want to get stuck in a crowd of tourists. It's not worth going on holiday if you can't get away from what you do all year round.

 

Mother: I've been working so hard this year that all I want is to sit around on the beach and have a really lazy time. I want to soak in enough sun to see me through November.

 

 

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TEXT 1 The Tortures of Driving

 

Owing to John's slightly-strained wrist, Gerda, his wife, would have to drive, and Gerda, God help her, had never been able to begin to drive a car! Every time she changed gear, John would sit silent managing not to say anything, because he knew by bitter experience

that when he did say anything Gerda became immediately worse. Curious that no one had ever been able to teach Gerda to change gear.

Gerda got into the driving seat and nervously pressed the starter. She pressed it again and again. John said: "The car will start better,

Gerda, if you switch on the engine."

"Oh, dear, how stupid of me!" She shot a quick alarmed glance at him, but to her relief he was smiling, and remembering the conversation at lunch, she let in the clutch rather too suddenly, so that the car leapt forward from the kerb.

"Oh, God," said John.

Gerda was momentarily deflected. The traffic lights she was approaching had been green for a long time. They were almost sure, she thought, to change before she got to them. She began to slow down. Still green.

John Christow forgot his resolution of keeping silent about Gerda's driving and said: "What are you stopping for?"

"I thought the lights might change..." She pressed her foot on the accelerator, the car moved forward a little, just beyond the lights, then, unable to pick up, the engine stalled. The lights changed.

The cross-traffic hooted angrily.

John said, but quite pleasantly:

"You really are the worst driver in the world, Gerda!"

"I always find traffic lights so worrying. One doesn't know just when they are going to change."

John cast a quick sideways look at Gerda's anxious unhappy face. "Everything worries Gerda. "he thought, and tried to imagine what it must feel like to live in that state. But since he was not a man of much imagination, he could not picture it at all.

Gerda was relieved at John's silence. She could cope with driving better if she were not distracted by conversation. Besides, if John was absorbed in thought, he was not so likely to notice that jarring noise of her occasional forced changes of gear. (She never changed if she could help it.)

There were times, Gerda knew, when she changed gear quite well (though never with confidence), but it never happened if John were in the car. Her nervous determination to do it right this time was almost disastrous, her hand fumbled, she accelerated too much or not enough, and she pushed the gear lever quickly and clumsily so that it shrieked in protest.

"Cars ought to be made so that you didn't have that horrible grinding noise!"

But, on the whole, thought Gerda, as she began the ascent of Mersham Hill, this drive wasn't going too badly. John was still absorbed in thought and he hadn't noticed rather a bad crashing of gears in Croydon. Optimistically, as the car gained speed, she changed up into third and immediately the car slackened. John, as it were, woke up.

"What on earth's the point of changing up just when you're coming to a steep bit?"

Gerda set her jaw.

Not very much farther now. Not that she wanted to get there. No, indeed, she'd much rather drive on for hours and hours, even if John did lose his temper with her!

But now they were driving along Shovel, downflaming autumn woods all round them.

 

(A. Christie)

 

 

Dialogue 1.

 

Mrs. Kelly: Careful, James! There's a bend and a level crossing. Look for the gates!

James: All right, mother. I'm going very slowly. Only forty miles an hour. I can stop in fifty yards, or less than that.

Mrs. Kelly: Forty miles an hour isn't slow! Here's the bend. Do be careful!

James: We're down to twenty miles an hour now.

Mrs. Kelly: The gates are closed, you see. Here's the train. Isn't it a long one?

Mr. Kelly: The man's coming. He's going to open the gates. Get ready to go, James.

(Five minutes later)

Mrs Kelly: Careful, James! There's the sign for a crossroads.
James: All right, mother. I've seen it.

Mr Kelly: James is a very good driver, dear. Motoring isn't dangerous if the driver is careful.

Mrs Kelly: Oh, I know James is a careful driver. Look! There's a large van coming along the other road

James: I've seen it, mother. Don't worry!

TEXT 2

WOULD YOU LIKE TO DRIVE?

"Would you like to drive?"

Мог was startled. It was nearly fifteen years since he had driven a car, and he had never possessed one of his own.

"I haven't driven for a long time," he said, "and I don't know whether I could now. Anyway, I haven't got a driving licence."

"That doesn't matter," said Miss Carter, "no one will know — and we're not in a real road anyway. Would you like to?"

"I might harm your beautiful car," said Мог. But that he would like to, he would like to very much indeed, drive the Riley. Before he could say any more, Miss Carter skipped out of the car and they changed places. She seemed very elated and watched Мог with delight as he looked doubtfully at the dashboard. He could remember nothing.

"How do I start it?" he asked.

"There's the ignition, it's switched on, there's the starter, there's the gear lever. You remember how the gears go? There's the clutch, the foot-brake, the accelerator. The hand-brake's in front here." Miss Carter was perched sideways in her seat with the gleeful air of a little boy who sees his father about to make a mess of things.

Мог felt large and awkward. He fiddled a little with the gears.

He began to remember. He started the engine. Then gingerly he put the car into first gear and released the clutch. With a jolt the Riley leapt forward. Мог immediately put his foot on the brake and the engine stalled. Miss Carter rocked with laughter. She had drawn her feet up and clutched her skirt about her ankles.

"Damn!" said Мог. Не tried again and was more successful. The Riley glided very slowly forward and Мог navigated her round a turning in the path. A tree brushed the roof. Almost silently they sailed through the thickest part of the wood. Miss Carter was grave now, she was looking ahead. As he felt the big car purring quietly along under his control Мог felt like a king. He experienced a deep and intense joy. His body relaxed. He was continuous with the car, with the slowly moving woodland, with the thick green carpet of the unrolling bridle path. They drove for a minute without speaking.

(Iris Murdoch)