I'm just looking through my uni notes and have found this. I think I need to do some more work on this!
He fought his way through the rose bushes, jagged thorns clawing at his clothes and skin.
"Ouch! Sodding bushes! Can't she bloody hack them back instead of festering in bed all day?! Lazy cow!"
The roses seemed to be never ending; each time he beat a path through they seemed to take exception to his horticultural violence and invade the space he'd created. There was no wonder he looked like he'd been attacked by an army ofed off cats. He was more scratches then skin.
.gif "(giggle)")
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