A.....makes objects appear bigger than they actually are и т.д. в общем рабочая тетрадь по анг.яз. 7 класс издание spotlight страница 11 упр.1

The title
The passage is from the book (name the title)...
The authorThe book was written by (name the author) in (the year)
....The content The book is about.....
The main idea of the text......
The author starts tellingis about....The main characters are.
...The author also says that...
.According to the book....
The conclusionIn conclusion..
Your opinionI found the text.../interesting/./important/of value....

спасибо!



When I was four months old, my mother died. I had no brothers or sisters. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan. My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man. I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars. The workshop was stone building. My father built that himself with loving care. We are engineers, you and I, he said to me. We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop. It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan. I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man. He wasn’t. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.

To the History of Construction With the introduction of the railways and steam machinery, trans­portation and manufacturing costs were considerably reduced and concrete came to be more widely used, but it was still very much a neglected material. Therefore, good concrete was scarce and a great deal of poor concrete was used. The big break-through was the discovery of Portland cement by Joseph Aspdin in 1824, a worker in an English town. When he was working an idea came to him as to how to make his work better. He started his experiments. After some time he obtained a powder. When it was mixed with water and allowed to stand it "sets" forming a hard substance. This substance was so much like the building stone from Portland that the powder was named Port­land cement. As years passed different materials were found in many countries from which Portland cement could be made. Portland cement was first used on a large scale in the construction of the Thames tunnel in 1828. As early as 1830 the first idea of reinforced concrete was men­tioned in a publication, which suggested that a lattice of iron rods be embeded in concrete to from a roof. Patents were taken out for all sorts of systems in all countries. The development of reinforced concrete really got under way in the 1850's and 60's. Lambort, a French contractor, built a concrete boat for the Paris International Exhibition of 1855, with 2 inches sides reinforced with a skeleton of iron rods. W. Wilkinson, who patented a method of constructing a concrete floor in 1854, is considered by many to be the inventor of reinforced concrete as well. -But many people say that a Frenchman, J. Monier, who took out a patent in 1867 for the construction of plant tubs, tanks, etc., made of concrete reinforced with a mesh of rods or wires, should be credit­ed with the invention. Certainly Monier did a great deal to develop the use of reinforced concrete and his name came to be so closely linked with reinforced concrete that reinforced concrete was known as the Monier System. Wilkinson, however, certainly appears to have been the first. His patent covered for concrete floor slabs reinforced with a network of flat iron rods placed on edge. One of his main claims was the good fire resistance of the floor. He appears to have understood the princi­ples of reinforced concrete, for he stated that the reinforcement was to be placed in the concrete to take the tension. A number of buildings were erected, using Wilkinson's system. He also described method for the construction of pipes, reservoirs, and walls of concrete reinforced with metal sheets, bars and chains. Freyssinet is known for his work in prestressed concrete for which he had his first ideas before First World War. With the improved materials and the new knowledge available, Freyssinet realised the advantage to be obtained from prestressing, and he used his system in prestressed works. From now on structures became bigger, better and more excit­ing, and concrete steadily strengthened its position as a building material. Reinforced concrete was recognized as the best material for all types of structures. The post-war era has given the biggest boost to concrete, both reinforced and prestressed. After the war steel was short in Europe and many architects had to use either reinforced or prestressed con­crete in their structures in order to economize in steel. Architects were perhaps a little surprised to discover that in many cases reinforced concrete structures, apart from using the minimum of steel, were also cheaper than other forms of construction, and could be erected as quickly. They also discovered that they had more freedom for planning than they had ever before, and a larger number of different solutions to each structural problem were available. Beams could be eliminated, floor spans could be increased, and shells were available for roofing large areas. Another big factor, which encouraged the use of concrete, was the introduction of fire regulations, which recognized the superiority of concrete over other structural materials in its fire resistance properties.

don't think it s cool to use a bin . A survey by the Tidy Britain Group found that boys say that putting rubbish in a bin would make them appear "soft" or "uncool". Youngsters aged 13-16 were asked what they thought litter was,how big a problem it was in their area, who they thought dropped litter and why they did it?
Most teenagers believe rubbish in mainly made up of sweet and crisp wrappers and that richer areas are less likely to be littered than poorer ones. They also recognise that rubbish is a common thing in and around schools. When it comes to dropping litter,the kids questioned admitted their age group were the biggest culprits , with boys more to blame than girls. One 14-year-old said he dropped litter "365 days a year-cos i m always eating"
a lack of waste bins was mentioned as an excuse for dropping rubbish, but the main reason given is laziness and peer pressure

When I was four months old, my mother died. I had no brothers or sisters. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan. My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man. I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars. The workshop was stone building. My father built that himself with loving care. We are engineers, you and I, he said to me. We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop. It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan. I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man. He wasn’t. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.