, II) Read and answer the questions.
This is Aisha. She is a chef. She works in restaurant and cooks for people.
She doesn’t eat breakfast in the morning, she drinks coffee with milk. At 8 o’clock she drives to supermarket. She buys a lot of food. She buys fruits such as raspberries, grapes, cherries, plums and vegetables as aubergines, red pepper and meat. Then she goes to restaurant and starts cooking lunch at 12 o’clock. At 3o’clock she takes a break. At 5 o’clock she starts cooking lunch. She cooks pasta, pizza and steak for lots of people. She finishes work at 9 o’clock and she is very tired. She drives home and takes a shower and then goes to bed around 12 o’clock.
1. Where does Aisha work?
2. Does she have breakfast in the morning?
3. Does she walk to supermarket?
4. What does she buy in supermarket?
5. Does she buy pizza?
6. Does she cook lunch at home?
7. What time does she have break?
8. What time does she go to bed?

My parents gave me the best gift! This is exactly what I wanted. This phone is very functional. I saw this phone in the store, when my mother and I went there. I told him what a good phone, I have recommended many of his, and he himself like a damn to me. I think my mother told my father that I really liked the phone and they apparently agreed to buy it to me. I soon forgot all about it. The fact that he wanted to phone and on ophode with his mother in the store. But one day I came home from school and my parents gave me the same phone. I was so happy that I can not describe! I thank them a lot

Не знаю то или не то ну вот
Contents
The Reader of Books Mr Wormwood, the Great Car Dealer
The Hat and the Superglue
The Ghost Arithmetic The Platinum-Blond Man Miss Honey
The Trunchbull The Parents Throwing the Hammer
Bruce Bogtrotter and the Cake
Lavender The Weekly Test
The First Miracle The Second Miracle Miss Honey’s Cottage
Miss Honey’s Story
The Names The Practice
The Third Miracle A New HomeThe Reader of Books
It’s a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.
Some parents go further. They become so blinded by adoration they manage to convince themselves their child has qualities of genius.
Well, there is nothing very wrong with all this. It’s the way of the world. It is only when the parents begin telling us about the brilliance of their own revolting offspring, that we start shouting, "Bring us a basin! We’re going to be sick!"
School teachers suffer a good deal from having to listen to this sort of twaddle from proud parents, but they usually get their
own back when the time comes to write the end-of-term reports. If I were a teacher I would cook up some real scorchers for the children of doting parents. "Your son Maximilian", I would write, "is a total wash- out. I hope you have a family business you can push him into when he leaves school because he sure as heck won’t get a job anywhere else." Or if I were feeling lyrical that day, I might write, "It is a curious truth that grasshoppers have their hearing-organs in the sides of the abdomen. Your daughter Vanessa, judging by what she’s learnt this term, has no hearing-organs at all."
I might even delve deeper into natural history and say, "The periodical cicada spends six years as a grub underground, and no more than six days as a free creature of
sunlight and air. Your son Wilfred has spent six years as a grub in this school and we are still waiting for him to emerge from the chrysalis." A particularly poisonous little girl might sting me into saying, "Fiona has the same glacial beauty as an iceberg, but unlike the iceberg she has absolutely nothing below the surface." I
think I might enjoy writing end-of-term reports for the stinkers in my class. But enough of that. We have to get on.
Occasionally one comes across parents who take the opposite line, who show no interest at all in their children, and these of course are far worse than the doting ones. Mr and Mrs Wormwood were two such parents. They had a son called Michael and a daughter called Matilda, and the parents
looked upon Matilda in particular as nothing more than a scab. A scab is something you have to put up with until the time comes when you can pick it off and flick it away. Mr and Mrs Wormwood looked forward enormously to the time when they could pick their little daughter off and flick her away, preferably into the next county or even further than that.
It is bad enough when parents treat ordinary children as though they were scabs and bunions, but it becomes somehow a lot worse when the child in question is extraordinary, and by that I mean sensitive and brilliant. Matilda was both of these things, but above all she was brilliant. Her mind was so nimble and she was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most half-witted of
parents. But Mr and Mrs Wormwood were both so gormless and so wrapped up in their own silly little lives that they failed to notice anything unusual about their daughter.