Although Craig's parents eat a normal diet, their family meals are made more difficult by the fact that Craig's sister Amy, 13, is a vegetarian. And every

lt/rain often in winter?

1. Many years ago _ rivers began to speak against _ sea. _ rivers came to _ sea and said "We bring _ sweet water to you, and you make it salt. _ people can't drink this _ water. Why do you do that?" "If you do not like _ salt water", answered _ sea, "run to _ some other place".
2. Once _ two friends were in _ thick wood, when they met _ bear. One of _ men was very much frightened by _ bear. He ran to _ high tree and got up into it. _ other man understood that he could not stand up against _ big bear. He lay down on _ grass. "_ bear will think that I am dead", he said to _ himself. _ man thought that _ bears do not atack _ dead people. _ bear came up to _ man on grass, sniffed at _ his nose and went away. _ other man got down from _ tree. "What did _ bear say in _ your ear?" he asked him. "He told me", was _ answer, "not to go into _ woods with _ bad friend who will not help you in _ danger."
3. _ man built _ house for _ himself. _ house was nice, but very small. He invited _ friends to see it. _ friends came and looked at _ house. Every man said something bad about it. "_ front of _ house is not nice." "_ windows are very small." "_ roof is not good, _ rain will come in." "_ rooms are not large enough for _ man." _ man listened and answered, "You may be right. _ house is small, but it is big enough for _ me and I have no _ good friends to invite to _ my house."

спасибо!



When I was four months old, my mother died. I had no brothers or sisters. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan. My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man. I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars. The workshop was stone building. My father built that himself with loving care. We are engineers, you and I, he said to me. We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop. It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan. I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man. He wasn’t. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.

problem. The situation in other countries around the world is very similar. Of course it is normal to feel a little shy sometimes. Most people feel shy in a new social situation, for example when they start a new job or have to meet and talk to strangers. But in these cases the shyness usually passes quickly.

Some people, however, are extremely shy. They are so shy that they cannot live normally. They feel worried, they sweat and tremble when they are with other people. In order to avoid these unpleasant feelings, the shy person avoids* other people. Shy people often say to themselves: "I'm not normal. People think I am boring and unattractive. I'm a failure." These negative thoughts make it more difficult for the shy person to make friends. The result is that the shy person is lonely and sad.

Shy children need a lot of help. Otherwise these shy children will grow up and become shy, unhappy adults. Parents who have a shy child should set a good example, since children learn a lot of behaviour from their parents. It is also important not to label a child as shy.

Shy children can also help themselves. You have to learn to think positively. You must stop thinking negatively. Another thing you can do is give yourself a target. For example, you may say, "I'm going to talk to at least one stranger today" or "I'm going to ask X to come for a coffee with me." When you achieve your target, you will feel very satisfied. If you are shy, you should try to walk with your head up so that you look at other people's faces. Soon, walking like that will become a habit and you will feel better and more confident as a result.

Of course, it is normal to be shy sometimes. Being a little shy can sometimes stop us from doing things that are foolish. But if you are extremely shy, you do not have to suffer. You can become less shy and become a happy, sociable person.

1. Read the review and say in 2-3 sentences what ut is about.

2. There are quite many shy people in the world and it is not an illness. Read aloud the extract which says about it.

3. Why are shy people sad?

4. What recommendations does the author give parents and children?

Mirrow, mirrow on the wall...

In the beginning, I put it down to a
simple case of exam nerves. My daughter Sarah had just turned sixteen
and was studying hard for her GCSEs*. I knew she'd do well, as she was
top of the class in all her subjects at school and had always been a
high achiever. But as the time for the exams drew nearer, her behaviour
started to change - drastically.

Sarah became sullen and
withdrawn. She wasn't the lively teenager I knew. But the most worrying
thing of all was that she was hardly eating anything. She refused to eat
with the rest of the family and was having only light snacks in her
room. At the time I didn't want to make a big deal of it, as I thought
I'd just make her more anxious about her exams. I was convinced that
once she'd taken the exams, she would soon settle down and everything
would get back to normal.

But it didn't. In fact, it got worse.
By the middle of the summer, Sarah had become very skinny and pale. She
also had wild mood swings, bursting into tears or becoming enraged by
the slightest thing. I should say at this point that my initial
reactions to this situation weren't very helpful. We had huge fights
about her being too thin and I tried to persuade her to eat more, but
she just turned her nose up at everything I offered her. When nothing I
said or did seemed to make any difference, I really felt at a complete
loss about what else I could do or who I could turn to. I was desperate.
After a lot of thought I realised that I would have to try other
tactics. Screaming and tearing my hair out were definitely not improving
the situation.

I started by looking up eating disorders on
various websites, to get as much information as I could, and what I
found out almost scared me to death. Anorexia nervosa is a condition
that typically affects teenage girls. There are a variety of reasons as
to why it can develop, but it is usually said to be because of a
distorted body image and lack of self-esteem. Some young women think
they are too fat, even when they are not, and feel that they are
unattractive or worthless. The media have been accused of playing a role
in the rise of eating disorders in recent years, because of the way
they portray women. Using underweight models in adverts in glossy
magazines and on television may be a factor in encouraging young women
to equate thinness with beauty, glamour and success.

I was
shocked to discover that this disease can seriously damage the heart and
make bones brittle and easy to break. However, the most frightening
aspect of the condition is that in 10% of cases it leads to the death of
the sufferer. The information was terrifying, but it helped me to come
to terms with the fact that someone with a severe eating disorder needs
love and support and urgent medical attention.

It took a lot of
calm and gentle persuasion to get my tearful daughter to agree to go
with me to a doctor who specialises in eating disorders. That was two
years ago and the road to recovery has been long and hard. Sarah spent
two months in hospital to get her weight back to normal and since then
she has been seeing a psychiatrist to help her deal with the underlying
causes of the problem.

It was tough for me, too. I felt very
guilty about her illness - that somehow it was my fault, and I was a bad
mother who had caused her daughter so much anxiety she had started to
starve herself. But we've managed to get through it together. Now Sarah
is looking forward to starting university, the colour has returned to
her cheeks and she is back to being the vibrant young woman she was
before the whole dreadful nightmare started

When I was four months old, my mother died. I had no brothers or sisters. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan. My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man. I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars. The workshop was stone building. My father built that himself with loving care. We are engineers, you and I, he said to me. We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop. It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan. I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man. He wasn’t. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.