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WISE.com. T's and C's apply. Welcome to YourEnglish Toolbox,
your Slow English Podcast where we train your earsstep by step.
I am Martin, and I am very happy you are here withus today.
And I am Julia, and today we have a specialChristmas story for you.
Martin, what are we going to talk about today?
Tonight we will walk through the cold streets ofLondon on Christmas Eve.
We will meet a tired delivery rider, a strange oldclockmaker,
and a shop where time does not work in a normalway.
And we will discover how one single hour canchange a whole life.
If you stay with us until the end, you willpractice real everyday English in a slow,
calm story. You will learn useful Christmas andcity vocabulary that you can use in real
conversations. And you will feel inspired to slowdown, breathe, and think about the time
in your own life. Christmas Eve in Camden Town
The wind was sharp and wet over Camden Town, andthe rain fell in thin lines under the
streetlights.
Delivery bikes crossed the streets like smallanimals searching for food.
People hurried with their heads down, pushingChristmas bags through the arc.
Tomas pushed his bicycle across the bridge overthe canal.
His legs were shaking after 10 hours ofdeliveries, and his phone battery was almost
empty.
One more order, and his Christmas Eve wouldfinally end.
The app showed a red dot near a narrow streetbehind Camden High Street.
The rain hit the screen, and his fingers were numbinside his wet gloves.
He thought of his grandmother in Spain, sitting ina warm kitchen,
making soup and singing quiet carols. She had senta photo that morning of the
family table already prepared. He had answeredwith just one word,
working, and a tired thumbs-up emoji.
Next year I will not work on Christmas, hemuttered.
But he had made the same promise last year and theyear before.
03:04
When he turned into the narrow street, the noiseof Camden disappeared.
The air felt older, as if the city had forgottenthis place.
A closed fish and chip shop slept on one side anda dusty bookshop on the other.
At the end of the street stood a tiny shop with afaded blue door.
Above the door hung a sign in almost invisiblegolden letters.
It said, Tempest and Sons, Clockmakers since 1843.
In the window, dozens of clocks and watches shonesoftly behind the glass.
Some were tall and serious, some were small andplayful.
A warm yellow light glowed inside like a pocket oftime hidden from the cold.
The red dot on his phone was exactly on top of thelittle shop.
Who orders food to a clock shop at midnight? Hesaid aloud.
He leaned his bicycle against the wall, shookwater from his jacket, and opened the door.
A little bell rang above his head, not loud butperfectly clear.
The sound felt less like metal and more like adrop of water in a quiet pond.
Before we continue, I'd like to ask you somethingvery simple.
This works like a small poll for our friendslistening to the podcast.
Your answer helps us understand what kind ofepisodes you enjoy most,
so we can create more content that really fitsyou.
If you enjoy practicing English by listening tostories like this one,
please write yes in the comments.
If you prefer more educational and explanatoryepisodes, please write no.
Just one word, that's all you need to do.
When you vote, future episodes become better andmore adapted to what you like.
Now, let's continue the story.
The Clockmaker and His Shop
Inside, the shop was full of clocks.
They covered the walls, stood in corners, and laysleeping on the counter.
Some ticked in quick, nervous beats, others inslow, patient breaths.
Behind the counter stood a thin old man withsilver hair to his shoulders
and round glasses on his nose.
He wore a dark waistcoat and a soft green scarf.
His eyes were bright and sharp like two pieces ofwinter sky.
Good evening, Mr. Tomas, the old man said.
His voice sounded dry and gentle, like pagesturning in an old book.
06:06
You are late.
How do you know my name? Tomas asked, almostdropping the paper bag.
Is this the right address for the order?
The old man smiled.
This is the right place for many orders, he said.
Some are for food, some are for time.
He came around the counter, his shoes making nosound on the floor.
You have been giving your time to strangers allday, he continued.
Tonight, perhaps, you will receive something back.
I just need a code and then I can go home, Tomassaid.
If I do not finish soon, I will miss the lasttube.
You are always afraid of missing something, areyou not?
The old man asked.
The last train, the last order, the last chance.
Since he came to London, Tomas was always running,
always late, always chasing time that ran fasterthan him.
Who are you? he whispered.
And why does this shop feel so strange?
The old man touched a small clock shaped like ahouse.
I am Mr. Tempest, he said.
And this shop keeps more than hours and minutes.
Behind another clock, Tomas saw an old photographof Camden with horses in the street.
Another showed a young couple dancing in a tinykitchen with flour on their faces.
These are not just clocks, Mr. Tempest.
said they are moments that people brought to mewhen they broke.
Why am I here? Tomas asked quietly.
Mr. Tempest looked at the almost dead phone in hishand.
Because you are about to lose another Christmaswith your family, he said.
And you are starting to believe that this isnormal.
I have no choice, Tomas answered.
London is expensive.
I must work or I cannot pay the rent.
Maybe you have less choice than you want, the oldman replied softly.
But you have more choice than you think.
You can decide what to do with one single hour.
What do you mean? Tomas asked.
Tonight you can borrow one hour from another partof your life, Mr. Tempest said.
You can visit one moment from your past or onepossible moment from your future
and live it as if it is happening now.
09:00
That is impossible, Tomas said.
Time only goes in one direction.
For most people, yes, answered the clockmaker.
But this shop is a small crack in the wall oftime.
When the right person comes at the right hour, onespecial thing can happen.
He placed the small house-shaped clock on thecounter.
The hands moved backwards very slowly, as if theywere thinking.
You must return the hour before dawn, Mr. Tempestadded.
And when you come back, you must change somethingin your life.
An hour with grandmother.
If I take this hour, what happens to my work andmy rent, Tomas asked.
Do they disappear?
Nothing disappears, the old man answered.
The world will forget that you were missing, butyou will remember everything.
You will return with one new piece of time in yourpocket.
Tomas did not need to think long.
I want an hour with my grandmother, he said,
before she became so fragile before I left forLondon.
Mr. Tempest nodded and opened a drawer.
He took out a small silver watch with a red threadattached to it.
Hold this, he said.
Follow the ticking, and when the hour is over,pull the thread.
The shop grew quiet, and the other clocks sloweddown.
Tomas smelled something warm, like soup andoranges.
The wooden floor became cold tiles,
and the yellow light became the soft light of asmall kitchen.
A radio played old Spanish songs.
Tomas, hijo, you are late as always, hisgrandmother called from the stove.
She turned with a wooden spoon in her hand,younger and full of energy.
Tears filled his eyes.
He hugged her hard.
¿Qué pasa, niño?
She laughed.
Have they closed all the buses in Madrid or what?
For one golden hour, he helped her cut bread, setthe table, and taste the soup.
He listened to her stories, and this time, hespoke honestly about London.
He told her he was tired, lonely, and oftenafraid.
She listened in silence and then touched hischeek.
You are not a machine, Tomas, she said.
People need time that is not for money.
You cannot stop every job, but you can protect onesmall hour every day for yourself and the people
12:07
you love.
Rent does not wait, he protested.
The app does not wait.
Then you must learn to wait for yourself, sheanswered gently.
If you do not, one day your life will pass innotifications and you will not remember what it
felt like to sit at this table.
Her words sank deep inside him.
The red thread on the silver watch began to glowsoftly.
I have to go, he whispered, but I promise I willstop selling all my time.
His grandmother smiled and kissed his forehead.
The kitchen faded, the music became ticking, andthe smell of soup turned back into dust and
machine oil.
A different Christmas morning.
Tomas opened his eyes and found himself back inthe little shop.
The silver watch lay cold on the counter, the redthread now black and thin.
Outside he could hear the distant sound of cars onthe main road.
Your hour is finished, Mr. Tempest said softly.
It is almost dawn.
What will you do with what you have learned?
Tomas looked at his phone.
The delivery app showed his last order ascomplete, as if he had already done it.
His earnings were the same, but his heart was not.
I cannot change everything today, he said, but Ican change one thing.
I will not take any more orders tonight.
He switched the app to offline and felt strangelylight.
Mr. Tempest disappeared into the back and returnedwith an old blue bicycle with a small bell.
Someone left this here long ago, he said.
Tonight it belongs to you.
You paid for it with one honest hour.
Tomas pushed the bike out into the pale Londonmorning.
The rain had stopped and a thin line of pink wasgrowing over the roofs.
He opened the chat with his grandmother and typed,
Abuela, I'm calling you in five minutes.
Put the coffee on, then he added,
Next year I want to eat your Christmas soup inperson.
I am going to organize my life for that.
He pressed send and began to ride home through thequiet streets.
For the first time, the city did not feel like anenemy made of clocks and deadlines.
15:03
It felt like a place full of small, quiet hourswaiting to be discovered.
And deep in Camden Town, behind a faded blue door,
a hundred clocks ticked together in gentleagreement.
Thank you for listening to this Christmas story,dear friend.
We hope it helped you practice your English andalso think about your own time.
Maybe there is one small hour that you want toprotect in your day.
Before we finish, a quick reminder.
Your comments work like a simple voting system forthis podcast.
They help us decide what kind of content to createnext.
If you enjoy learning English through stories likethis one, write yes.
If you prefer more educational episodes, write no.
Just one word is enough.
The more friends vote, the better and more adaptedthis podcast becomes for everyone.
Thank you for helping shape future episodes.
From all of us at your English Toolbox,
we wish you a peaceful, slow, and very happyChristmas.
Take care and see you in the next episode.