Narration example from 'To Catch a Fly' by Adam Thorogood, 4 Tales Productions
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) WelshTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
It was heart in the orchard as I worked, moving from tree to tree, checking for signs of blight. The winds from the south had picked up over the last few days, and the clouds had cleared, which meant more sun for the fruit but also increased visibility from the skies. Somewhere, a player something was watching the eyes in the sky for the Big Brother week. Off it, we'd seen the lights moving in the skies at night and her tales of the stars falling out of the sky, wiping out whole villages, picking out solitary travellers. Gaps in the dust meant opportunities for observation. A. Normally, we'd lie low during times when the clouds cleared, but we needed to make sure we had a good harvest this year. Winter had bean tough in the caves, and we've lost some of our number to starvation. The light breeze, which had played across my cheeks in the morning, had disappeared now, and the close, sticky warmth was back. Just the weather for blight. We would soon be cloaked in dust again, and venturing upside would be out of the question. I just hope these apples made it to harvest the small fruits were just beginning to swell, but their flash remained bitter until the heat made them sweet. We had nurtured Thies small, wizened trees from seed and planted them in what we hope that like the random arrangement of a natural cops of there's a thorn, anything that looked too systematic from the skies would draw unwanted attention. Ah, hard work over the last few years was just beginning to pay off. I could see nine under the wide brim of her hat a few metres from me, working away between the trees, she was humming to herself, a tune from the past that I didn't recognise. Fat flies buzzed in the air around her, carving out the erratic flight patterns. When one landed on her, she would stop and bash it away with a quick flick of a woman swat and get back to her work, turning the leaves, inspecting the fruit. You got good swatting flies when you knew what they could inject into you. They had compound eyes, clusters of honey comb shapes which could look in all directions. I hadn't found any signs of the small black spots of blight, and neither it seemed that nine so far. After a while, nine stretched and exaggerated a pant like that. There's a dogs do they hang their tongues out of their mouths. I'm fair, parched love going to go down on Bring us up a nice cool drink of water. You watch for them Flies now. And she threw the swats at my feet as she moved across the orchard, still humming that old tune. I watched her descend into the darkness of the cave way. Lived in a cave system with an underground spring hidden from view under the radar tied, Used to say, although I never really understood what he meant nine and tied It found its years ago. After wondering for months in the desert, blown like thorn seeds, they had bean. Then some of the families had joined them, and it became a small community, banding together against the harshness of the desert, away from the disease and the coercion of the cities. They found mushrooms growing in the darkness and the underground spring of cool, clear water Issuing from the depths. They huddled in the darkness of the cave, and it was safe there, safe from the harsh heat and sun storms that whipped around above and safe from the cities and from slavery