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Есть некий скетч датского карикатуриста Херлуфа Бидструпа, и есть некий текст (ну, скажем, небольшая история) по этому скетчу на аглицком языке. Просьба оценить текст на степень убогости граммара, словаря, и вообще.
Пикча
http://www.bidstrup.ru/images/comicses/0601.gif
Текст
Once upon a time there lived a very old lady. Nobody knew how old was she. Let’s suppose her name was Mrs. Finnegan. She had an old velvet armchair, old oak-made walking-stick and a pretty grandson called Tommy, who wasn’t old. Rather he was young than old. Mrs. Finnegan was a very lonely person, because her husband was killed in WW II and all her friend and mates had died many years ago. So, Tommy was the only person who lived with her in a big house near the Brighton. He was all ears when his Granny narrated him glorious stories from her past. Stories were about pride, love and other such things and voice of Mrs. Finnegan was raspy and loud. And, of course, Tommy took care of her lovely Granny because he was young and she was very old, as we have said above.
So, as it often happens, years passed and Tommy grew up. So, let’s call him Mr. Tom Alan Mark Finnegan, far so it was really. Mr. Finnegan was a very successful young man. Maybe he was a lawyer, or doctor, or even a theater writer - it doesn’t matter. Young men often enjoy their life to the full and forget about their relatives, as you know. But Tom wasn’t like that. Every evening he came to her Granny, for whom he was still Little Tommy, and looked after her - make a meal for her, talked with her etc. On weekends they walked together across small village they lived or even went to forest nearly to breath of awesome fresh air. And this went on for years, and the only thought worried Mrs. Finnegan - why her Little Tommy didn’t get married. Only once she tried to hint him about it, but Tom fainted, so she never told about it more.
The years continued to pass. Mr. Tom Alan Mark Finnegan had moved to an Old Good Uncle Tommy, as he was called by his work-mates. Those days he was one of largest lawyer, or doctor, or even a theater writer in UK. He was about 50 years old and he had a solid brown suit, a solid bald and a solid oak-made walking-stick, the same of his Granny. Yes, his very old Granny was still alive, and Mr. Finnegan still visited her every evening, and they still walked together across small village they lived or even went to forest nearly to breath of awesome fresh air on weekend. It was too hard to an old lady to walk on feet, so Tom had to buy a wheelchair and carry his Granny. And, of course, Mrs. Finnegan called her lovely grandson as Little Tommy.
Mr. Tom Alan Mark Finnegan, also known as Ancient Tom, died at the age of 92. The cause of his death was heart attack, rheumatism, or another one bad things that often happened with old persons. There was desert on the cemetery, because Mr. Finnegan hadn’t any friends and his mates had forgotten him or just simply died. Village priest, Mr. Adams, who was 30 years younger than deceased, said something like all things come and then pass and another wise word. And there was only one person except priest in the cemetery. Mrs. Finnegan, all black, inconsolable crying at the grave of her Little Tommy.
That’s all. No one knows whether Mrs. Finnegan immortal. Maybe nowadays she lives among us in her big house near the Brighton. Maybe she had died yet. No one knows about her life. But if you ask veterans of the small village about Mrs. Finnegan, they surely will tell you about poor, poor Tom Finnegan.
Есть некий скетч датского карикатуриста Херлуфа Бидструпа, и есть некий текст (ну, скажем, небольшая история) по этому скетчу на аглицком языке. Просьба оценить текст на степень убогости граммара, словаря, и вообще.
Пикча
http://www.bidstrup.ru/images/comicses/0601.gif
Текст
Once upon a time there lived a very old lady. Nobody knew how old was she. Let’s suppose her name was Mrs. Finnegan. She had an old velvet armchair, old oak-made walking-stick and a pretty grandson called Tommy, who wasn’t old. Rather he was young than old. Mrs. Finnegan was a very lonely person, because her husband was killed in WW II and all her friend and mates had died many years ago. So, Tommy was the only person who lived with her in a big house near the Brighton. He was all ears when his Granny narrated him glorious stories from her past. Stories were about pride, love and other such things and voice of Mrs. Finnegan was raspy and loud. And, of course, Tommy took care of her lovely Granny because he was young and she was very old, as we have said above.
So, as it often happens, years passed and Tommy grew up. So, let’s call him Mr. Tom Alan Mark Finnegan, far so it was really. Mr. Finnegan was a very successful young man. Maybe he was a lawyer, or doctor, or even a theater writer - it doesn’t matter. Young men often enjoy their life to the full and forget about their relatives, as you know. But Tom wasn’t like that. Every evening he came to her Granny, for whom he was still Little Tommy, and looked after her - make a meal for her, talked with her etc. On weekends they walked together across small village they lived or even went to forest nearly to breath of awesome fresh air. And this went on for years, and the only thought worried Mrs. Finnegan - why her Little Tommy didn’t get married. Only once she tried to hint him about it, but Tom fainted, so she never told about it more.
The years continued to pass. Mr. Tom Alan Mark Finnegan had moved to an Old Good Uncle Tommy, as he was called by his work-mates. Those days he was one of largest lawyer, or doctor, or even a theater writer in UK. He was about 50 years old and he had a solid brown suit, a solid bald and a solid oak-made walking-stick, the same of his Granny. Yes, his very old Granny was still alive, and Mr. Finnegan still visited her every evening, and they still walked together across small village they lived or even went to forest nearly to breath of awesome fresh air on weekend. It was too hard to an old lady to walk on feet, so Tom had to buy a wheelchair and carry his Granny. And, of course, Mrs. Finnegan called her lovely grandson as Little Tommy.
Mr. Tom Alan Mark Finnegan, also known as Ancient Tom, died at the age of 92. The cause of his death was heart attack, rheumatism, or another one bad things that often happened with old persons. There was desert on the cemetery, because Mr. Finnegan hadn’t any friends and his mates had forgotten him or just simply died. Village priest, Mr. Adams, who was 30 years younger than deceased, said something like all things come and then pass and another wise word. And there was only one person except priest in the cemetery. Mrs. Finnegan, all black, inconsolable crying at the grave of her Little Tommy.
That’s all. No one knows whether Mrs. Finnegan immortal. Maybe nowadays she lives among us in her big house near the Brighton. Maybe she had died yet. No one knows about her life. But if you ask veterans of the small village about Mrs. Finnegan, they surely will tell you about poor, poor Tom Finnegan.