Today’s picture wasn’t immediately recognisable to me, except that it looked like continental Europe, but the title of the photo turns out to be Barcelona. I’ve been, once, on a soccer tour of all things (Pembroke Ladies, I think we lost every match), but perhaps this wasn’t a part we visited.
The picture is from Dee Lovering and Rochelle leads us as usual. I always appreciate honest comments and hope you’ll leave one today.
Mrs Bronson looked over her glasses and down her nose. “He’s dark-skinned,” she whispered to her husband in a voice that carried eagerly to their daughter’s ears and, no doubt, her new boyfriend’s.
“Slightly,” Mr Bronson concurred, somewhat quieter. “But he seems nice.”
“Think of the babies though.”
“Good God, woman, let’s not think of babies yet. She’s only nineteen.”
“Someone has to. We need to put a stop to it. Can’t have half-caste Grandchildren standing over our graves, Albert.”
“Christ! Now you’ve got her a mother and us dead!”
“Probably killed by that boy. I don’t trust the Spanish.”