Audiobook Demo - Fiction - extract from The Rotter's Club

Profile photo for Marilla Wex
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Marilla is a renowned storyteller owing to her ability to draw the listener in and create multiple characters which really bring another world alive.

Vocal Characteristics



Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)


British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)


Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Benjamin slammed his exercise book shut and made a big show of packing his pens and books away in the little briefcase he always took to school. His physics textbook had started to come apart, so he'd recovered it with a remnant of the Anna Glitter. His father had used TTO Wallpaper the living room. Two years ago, on the front of his English book, he'd drawn a big cartoon foot like the one at the end of the Monty Python signature tune That's Me Done for the night, he stood over his sister, who was sprawled across both halves of the city. Give me that! It always annoyed him. When Lois got to read sounds before he did, he seemed to think this gave her privileged access to top secret information. But in truth, she cared nothing for the news pages over which he was ready to pour so avidly. Most of the headlines she didn't even understand Beefheart here in May New Heap album Do You another split in Fanny? What's a freak? She asked, handing him the magazine. Benjamin laugh tartly and pointed at their nine year old brother, whose face was a glow with amused contempt as he perused the Daily Mail. You're looking at one. I know that, but a freak with a capital F I mean, it's obviously some sort of technical term. Benjamin did not reply, and he somehow managed to leave Lois with the impression that he knew the answer well enough but had chosen to withhold it for reasons of his own. People always tended to regard him as knowledgeable, well informed, even though the evidence was plainly to the contrary. There must have been some air about him, some in define, herbal sense of confidence, which it was easy to mistake for youthful wisdom. Mother, said Paul, when she came in with his fizzy drink. Why do we take this newspaper? Sheila glared at him, obscurely resentful. She told him many times before, to call her mom, not mother. No reason, she said. Why shouldn't we? Because it's full, said Paul, flicking through the pages of platitudinous codswallop. Ben and Lois giggled helplessly. I thought platitudinous was an animal they had in Australia, she said. The lesser spotted platitudinous, said Benjamin, honking and squawking in imitation of this mythical beast. Take this leading article, for instance, Pour continued, undeterred that precise pageantry, which Britain manages so well keeps its hold on our hearts. There's nothing like a royal wedding for lifting our spirits. What about it? Said Sheila, staring sugar into her tea. I don't agree with everything I read in there. As Princess Anne and Mark Phillips walked out of the abbey, their faces broke into that slow spreading smile of people who are really happy. Pass the sick bag, please. The prayer book, maybe 300 years old, but its promises are as clear as yesterday's sunlight. Pew, Coro cious, tohave, unwto hold for better for worse. That's quite enough from you, Mr Noel. The quiver in Sheila's voice was enough to expose, just for a second, the sudden panic her youngest son was learning to inspire in her. Drink that up and put your pyjamas on.