The metals from Upnor to the boarded-up Tankfield signal box (by a gateless level crossing) were very rarely used.

Here was this chipper little bot, popping up in my notifications, checking to see how I was doing, sending me pithy, chicken-soup-for-the-soul-style aphorisms and gamified tasks.

Things seem to be running rampant around here lately.

The wind blew from that direction, and brought with it the sound of their voices and laughter. The misery of such sounds was counterbalanced by the certainty that the same wind would waft their own voices, or rather Donna Margaretta's, voice away from the house.