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Non-fiction Interview

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Friday 16 September 2007 Non-Fictional Interview. Walking towards Mrs Woodcock's tiny but neat bungalow, it's obvious that this house belongs to a Golden oldie. Walking past what can only be called a miniature Garden of Eden, I step into the damp ridden porch way. Crossing the threshold of the house, I enter a narrow but cosy hallway,but I barely have time to register the nick-naks on the mantlepiece or the broken down grandfather clock in the corner before I hear a scrambling and wheezing from the open doorway to my left. A scruffy, old yellow labrador comes shuffling towards me, sniffs every inch of my body she can reach, as if checking for drugs, then docile trots back through the door. Hearing the TV on in that same room I follow. Dosing in a massive pink armchair, Mrs Woodcock blinks blearie up at me through her plain glasses, she has obviously just woke from a restful sleep. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you" I say, not completely sure why I said it. I did tell her 3 times over the past week that I was coming to interview her. ...read more.


Forcing what I hope was a reasuring smile I begin without any further hold-up's. "So, to start off, what do you prefer pickle's or chutney?" my normal, easy question (which I use to lull people into a false sense of security, normally works to leave them ungaured for more personal questions). "Ohh" oviously relieved for such a mundane question. Laughing quietly to myself I try to keep the satified smile of my face and turn my attention back towards my victim. She seems to be concentrating on her answer now, and takes time doing it. "Well, I didn't know. What type of pickles? Chutneys quite sweet..." she continues to ramble on like this until I get the chance to intervene "Like a Branston or Picked onions" getting the ideal that it was a straight forward question she answers with a little hint of sullnence in her voice. "Branston then". "Okay, and what would be your ideal pet?" another simple one, but even so it takes her time to come up with an answer. "A dog I guess" she says finally. ...read more.


Breaking out of my analasyse of her music selection I turn my attention quickly back to her with a sudden saddened expression on my face. "Oh yes, that's really upsetting". Making some more notes I notice the time on my watch. Better wrap things up, I say to myself, or else I'll never get to reach my deadline. "And one final question Mrs Woodcock" I say with a sugered tounge "What is your Goal in life?" A pathetic question I know, but I just needed an easy escape route. She seemed to be amused by it, being 71years old I guess it was a rather stupid question to ask. " To live as long as I can" she said with only a hint of sacasm in her voice. I warm to her slighty, not the complete OAP I had her down for then. "Well thank you for your time, it was great meeting you" packing my notepad (containing only half the things she said) I get up and starting towards the door. "No problem" she's obviously as pleased it's over as I am "Bye then love". As I walk out the door the old lab escorts me out, puffing all the way. Emma Murton ...read more.

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