Prueba 1A INGLES Euskera
Prueba 1A INGLES Euskera
Prueba 1A INGLES Euskera
b. Find the one word that fits all three sentences in the following
exercises. (0.25 marks each word)
1
-The president promised to take no [ ] measures in order to improve the
company’s productivity.
-The forest looked eerie in the [ ] light.
-The top [ ] of the statue was knocked down, while the base remains.
The word that fits all gaps is _____________________
2
-The teacher would not [ ] for the pupils’ unruly behaviour.
-The union leader promised to [ ] his ground with regards to the proposed
job cuts.
-The locals made a [ ] against the plans for a new by-pass through the
country park.
The word that fits all gaps is _____________________
1
3
-Temperatures had plummeted, leaving Jack so cold he had to [ ] his feet
to get the feeling back into them.
-Make sure to buy the right [ ] for the size and weight of your letter.
-The new boss had to [ ] his authority from the outset, or he would have
lost the respect of his staff.
The word that fits all gaps is _____________________
4
-Just before Christmas, the shop’s cash [ ] was ringing merrily as -
customers bought gifts for friends and family.
-After the wedding ceremony, the bride and groom went to sign the [ ].
-She knew the woman’s face, but it did not [ ] that she was a famous
actress until it was too late to ask for her autograph.
The word that fits all gaps is _____________________
2
2. Provide a phonetic transcription (RP) of the following text. (2 marks)
He puts the earbuds in my ears. Kisses me. I’m buried at sea to Blondie—the
Tide is High—my husband is like the captain of some dark vessel, he looks at
me like I am Natalie, like I am Natalie Wood, drowned in love, and it’s too much,
like I’m the key to some important equation, calculus maybe, or the answer to
the hunger problem.
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3
3. Write a literary commentary about the text below. Your commentary
must have a maximum of 400 words. (5 marks)
We watch The Bachelor and then my husband buries me in the backyard. It’s
just an ordinary Friday.
My husband is a modern man—he does all the cooking and the cleaning—he
whips up some burgers and mozzarella sticks and then he grabs the shovel and
5 slaps my butt. I giggle like in our courtship days, even though I’d rather wash
my hair.
I know if I were my husband I’d get this party started, so I could get back
to Game of Thrones. My husband loves Game of Thrones—he prances around
like that Jamie guy, even though he looks more like Tyrion, small and slight with
20 those bird shoulders like a ballet dancer, like a maitre d’ waltzing with the
shovel, the glasses sliding down his nose. My husband is an accountant, but
he’s not very good at math. He hasn’t thought this thing through. Two plots—his
and hers—even though he’s like a scared girl in the dark. It’s always my turn to
be buried. He says this is good for him, for us, for his biceps and his triceps,
25 that we’ll save on a gym membership for him.
He says this and pulls me close. This is always the best part. Knowing how
much I will be missed. Since we’ve stopped having sex this is the closest we get
to touching each other’s souls. I feel his soul beneath his overcoat, it shivers
and then pulls away.
30 My box is pine. Real pine, not the cheap stuff. Three hundred bucks on eBay. A
steal. He throws in all my favorite things—the flat screen and the dog and the
complete six seasons of Sex and the City, my unfinished novel with a pen that
4
doesn’t work. He puts the earbuds in my ears. Kisses me. I’m buried at sea to
Blondie—the Tide is High—my husband is like the captain of some dark vessel,
35 he looks at me like I am Natalie, like I am Natalie Wood, drowned in love, and
it’s too much, like I’m the key to some important equation, calculus maybe, or
the answer to the hunger problem. Like if only he could solve me he could fix
the hunger problem, or instill world peace.
He blows me a kiss. I watch that episode where Carrie sets up a registry for
40 herself so her married friend has to buy her Manolo Blahniks, and I feel a deep
tugging in my ribs. It tugs and tugs.
I am getting close. I can feel the end of the hole, the shallow tha-thunk! of the
box, the dull surprise of the lid popping open, like an aging stripper in a birthday
cake. But I don’t stop. I go all the way, all the way to the Earth’s center, and
45 then I pop up somewhere in Jersey. I watch myself being buried, and my
husband checking his watch, and he is chatting with Mr. McGillicuddy, our
neighbor who has the same maiden name as Lucy from I Love Lucy, and they
are laughing and sharing a beer and comparing shovels and speculating on
what Jamie will do tonight on Game of Thrones.
50 This is going on all across America. Husbands cooking BBQ in the backyard.
Tucking their wives into the dark.