Skip to content “Arghhh!” A loud scream tears through the otherwise calm Sunday afternoon; the shrub near my feet shudders as a couple of squirrels scurry away in fright, and then I see it — Alex hurtling towards me almost out-of-control cycling down the slope, exhilaration written on his face as his legs pump at the pedals at lightning speed. “Outta the way!” he shouts as I gently step aside and let him pass. He disappears down the cycling path with a scream and a swoosh. “Too much drama. Wonder where he’s going,” chuckles Vince. “Google maps says he’s going in the opposite direction.” “He’ll be back,” I grin. Our motley group all mounted on bicycles patiently waits by the side of the road on the empty cycle path, our eyes scanning the scene for Alex. Sure enough, he returns with a sheepish grin on his face. “Hi again, guys. I’ve saved you some trouble. There’s no way down there.” “We know,” states straight-faced Mark unblinking and unamused. “What did you see there, man?” asks Harr
Wali Dad ~ Folktales Stories for Kids O nce upon a time there lived in India a poor old baldheaded man whose name was Wali Dâd. He had no family and lived by himself in a little mud hut, far from any town. Wali Dâd made his living by cutting grass in the jungle and selling it as feed for horses. He only earned five halfpence a day, but he was a simple old man and needed so little that he saved up one halfpenny each day and spent the other four halfpence on food and clothing as he needed. In this way he lived for many years. One night, Wali Dâd thought that he would count the money he had hidden away in the great earthen pot under the floor of his hut. So with much trouble he pulled the bag out onto the floor and sat gazing in astonishment at the heap of coins that tumbled out of it. What should he do with such a pile of money? He never thought of spending the money on himself, because he was content to pass the rest of his days as he had been doing for ever so long, and he had no d
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