Behind closed doors

You never know what goes on behind closed doors, do you? Well, unless you are Emily Parker, that is. She watched everybody, all the time. You couldn’t go out of your house without Emily jumping up out of her chair, strategically positioned by her front room window, and studying your every move. You could never have a guest knock on your door, without Emily’s piercing, disapproving eyes gazing at your visitor, wondering what you were up to. She watched you take your shopping from your car boot into your house, counting the bags, no doubt or trying to see what you had bought. She would crane her neck to peer into your house to see what you were up to if she saw the slightest movement in your house or your garden. Then if she couldn’t see enough she would go up to her bedroom window to see if she could get a better view.

It was creepy, being watched.

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Like Mother, like Daughter!

It was a dull, dreary, cold and windy February Sunday yesterday, and I was in no mood for waxing lyrical that morning, so I set about my daily tasks of answering emails, updating various websites I control, and sorting through my image files for something to inspire me to write about. This usually cures my writer’s block. However yesterday I could get no inspiration at all, so by lunchtime I was thoroughly depressed, and waiting for the world to wake up the other side of the Atlantic, so I could have a Facebook “chat” with my daughter.

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