Monday 26 October 2020

Grammar: Similes 8

The City reminds me of a vast bathroom cabinet with all the perfume "brand" shaped bottles jostling for attention. (Karl Renner)

It was like closing a drawer on last year’s hat. (Margery Allingham)

A London sky the colour of poured concrete. (@ThamesChoral)

Zoom interference is like listening to elephants having a bath.

The moon looks like a coin, poised to disappear into a slot!
(Tom Shakespeare)

The stillness of a lizard in danger. (@chunkbardey)

Heat as thick as Bisto. (
Rob Chapman, Ad Lib)

Sitting up to get washed and dressed was like tunnelling into the centre of a granite mountain with a blunt plastic spork.

It looks like it’s still a computer model. (Chris Young on Facebook on a bland new housing development)

I was heartened when the images of my "beautified" face turned out to be so terrifying that I would rather have my own face any day. They all make me look like a European socialite whose last three husbands died under mysterious circumstances. (@TamlynRogers)

I've always felt late to the party, like my invitation was transported by several pigeons, each bearing part of the message. (Via FB)

A Christmas crib with very clean shepherds, and angels who looked as if they had all been to the same public school. (Mary Renault, The Friendly Young Ladies)

Old Vincent had retired in 1910, and since then he and his wife had shown about as much activity, mental or physical, as a couple of shellfish. (George Orwell, Coming Up for Air)

The Home Office, the government department that makes Mordor look like the Samaritans. (Tom Holland)

Keeping a stiff upper lip is “like stuffing everything inconvenient in a closet and having someone open the door suddenly and being surrounded by old tennis rackets”. (Liz Williams)

This reed bunting's nest "looks like a bit of hipster artisanal basketwork". (Steve Backshall on Springwatch)

She made him feel as though he were taking part in a verse drama, and had just heard that Troy had fallen. This morning… she sounded as though she was on her way to bury Polyneices.
(Norman Collins, Bond Street Story)

Chelsea for me. It’s like an empty creme brûlée - all pretty and crystalline but when you break through the sugar surface it’s a sad, disappointing void. (@Gemma_Champ)

More here, and links to the rest.

No comments:

Post a Comment