Describe a Person
Describe a person
Viscous and scary when angry, but my granddad is the kindest, generous and trustworthy ma I know. Santa Claus is like his twin, they are so alike: big beer belly; kind and gentle-like a little baby lamb; and old. His bright ginger hair is like a great big bonfire on bonfire night, or a pumpkin on Halloween. Matching his hair, his beard is as rough and sharp as Velcro.
At summer or at Christmas time (when I go visit and stay with him), he always has something to tell me, whether it is about his trips to Ireland or his trip to the pub. It is like listening to the news-interesting yet shocking. His strong loud west Yorkshire accent goes right through me, it’s awful. Deafening.
Every day at 2 o’clock he would say that he is taking the dog for a walk down the beach, but really, he would be going down to the pub for a pint or several pints of cider. He is a quite popular man (probably because he is a regular at pubs and gets along with every kind of person), even though he is slightly deluded. All the time, he’s either eating; gardening or at the pub-he rarely spends ant time with his family. Even if he is with his family, he never talks as he’s always listening to his rubbish music so loud the neighbours can hear it.
Strangely, gingerbread me or vanilla ice-cream always reminds me of him. Always makes me reminisce of when he took me to the beach with a humongous tub of vanilla ice-cream when I was little. Gingerbread men remind me of the sweet smell I always come across when I’m with him, maybe also because he’s the colour gingery-brown with bluey-green smarties on as eyes looks like my granddad’s hair and eyes, ginger and as green as a freshly picked lime.
I idolise my granddad, he is just amazing. As I grew up with him, I sometimes reflect on his actions, it is quite worrying. Although he isn’t perfect, he is the perfect role model for
Viscous and scary when angry, but my granddad is the kindest, generous and trustworthy ma I know. Santa Claus is like his twin, they are so alike: big beer belly; kind and gentle-like a little baby lamb; and old. His bright ginger hair is like a great big bonfire on bonfire night, or a pumpkin on Halloween. Matching his hair, his beard is as rough and sharp as Velcro.
At summer or at Christmas time (when I go visit and stay with him), he always has something to tell me, whether it is about his trips to Ireland or his trip to the pub. It is like listening to the news-interesting yet shocking. His strong loud west Yorkshire accent goes right through me, it’s awful. Deafening.
Every day at 2 o’clock he would say that he is taking the dog for a walk down the beach, but really, he would be going down to the pub for a pint or several pints of cider. He is a quite popular man (probably because he is a regular at pubs and gets along with every kind of person), even though he is slightly deluded. All the time, he’s either eating; gardening or at the pub-he rarely spends ant time with his family. Even if he is with his family, he never talks as he’s always listening to his rubbish music so loud the neighbours can hear it.
Strangely, gingerbread me or vanilla ice-cream always reminds me of him. Always makes me reminisce of when he took me to the beach with a humongous tub of vanilla ice-cream when I was little. Gingerbread men remind me of the sweet smell I always come across when I’m with him, maybe also because he’s the colour gingery-brown with bluey-green smarties on as eyes looks like my granddad’s hair and eyes, ginger and as green as a freshly picked lime.
I idolise my granddad, he is just amazing. As I grew up with him, I sometimes reflect on his actions, it is quite worrying. Although he isn’t perfect, he is the perfect role model for