MR .CHATTERBOX

Mr.chatterbox was one of those people who simply couldn't stap talking.

He used to talk to any body and everybody about anything and everything, going on
and on and on.

and on and on and on!

and on and on and on!

And, when He didn't have anybody else to talk to he used to talk to himself.

"Good morning, MrChatterbox," he used to say to himself.

"Good morning, to you," he used to reply to himself.

"Nice day, isn't it?"

'Yes it is for the time of year."

And so on , and so on, and on and on!

He lived in a box shaped house in a village.

Chatterbox Cottage!

One morning the postman arrived with a letter for him.

"Morning, Mr Chatterbox," said the postman.

"Ah, good morning to you, Postman" replied Mr Chatterbox. "Although, as I was saying to myself only yesterday, or was it the day before, I forget,however, it'snot quite so good a morning, in my opinion, but I might be wrong, although I'm, not very dften, as it was the otherday,Monday I think it was,or perhaps it was Tuesday,but never mind, because it is quite a good morning,don't you agree, yes of course you do,because that's what you said to me in the first place, and ..."


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