Analyse the text, make the short summary and some conclusions:

'And this is your room . . .' Mrs Stonehouse opened the
door.
The young man swallowed in amazement. There were
dozens of painted rabbits all over the walls. There were
white rabbits, black rabbits and brown rabbits. There
were even rabbits painted on the bed itself and on the
cushions on the bed.
'It was the children's room when they were small,' said
Mrs Stonehouse. 'I hope you don't mind. But you said that
you wanted a room with a desk and this is the only room
we have with a desk in it. It's nice and clean, though. I
dusted it only this morning.'
'No,' said the young man. 'I don't mind. It's fine. I
expect that I'll soon get used to the rabbits.'
'I did them myself,' said Mrs Stonehouse, who always
admired her own work. 'I painted them with a stencil.'
'I'm sorry,' said the young man. 'I don't know that word.
With a what?'
'A stencil,' replied Mrs Stonehouse. 'You buy them at art
shops.' She smiled. The young man could see that she was
very proud of her work. 'It's like a thick piece of paper with
shapes cut out and you stick it on the wall and paint inside
the shapes. You can stencil all kinds of designs. Clever, isn't
it?'
The young man thought it sounded like something he
used to do at his nursery school. He had been about four
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years old at the time. He thought it was a rather strange
thing for a grown-up woman to do, but he was too polite
to say so.
'Well,' said Mrs Stonehouse, 'I expect that you'll want to
unpack your things. I'll leave you in peace.'
The young man looked around the room and wondered
whether he had made a mistake. Perhaps he should have
stayed at the university and not chosen to have a room in
the town. But he had thought that living in a family would
help him to improve his English. It was already quite good.
Good enough, in fact, for him to have won a place at the
university to study science. He had a degree in his own
country, but he wanted to carry out some additional
research in England.
This was not what he had expected. He had expected a
family of university people. People like his own family, who
sat round the table talking and arguing at all times of the
day and night. Although Mrs Stonehouse had said that she
had two teenage children, the house was surprisingly tidy
for a family with children. His own home, he realised, was
always untidy. Every room was filled with books and piles
of paper that threatened to fall down on to the floor
whenever someone banged a door. This house was not at
all like that. One of the first things he had noticed was that
the entrance hall had been quite empty. There was just a
small table with a telephone on it and a neat pad of paper
with a pen beside it. Perhaps the kitchen would be more
like his home, he thought.
The young man unpacked his clothes and put them
away in the wardrobe. Then he piled his books on the desk,
as there was no bookcase in the room. He was hungry. He
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looked at his watch. It was seven o'clock. He wondered
what time the family had dinner. Mrs Stonehouse still
seemed to be the only person in the house.
He walked downstairs and knocked on the door of the
front room. He could hear sounds of laughter inside.
'Come in,' called Mrs Stonehouse.
The room was very pink and there were bows and little
white baskets painted on the walls. He supposed that Mrs
Stonehouse had done these too, with a stencil. He thought
that the room looked horrible and imagined how his
mother would laugh if she saw it.
Mrs Stonehouse was watching television. There was a
quiz show of some kind. Two rows of contestants faced
each other. They laughed whenever the man asking the
questions said anything and they all clapped every time one
of the contestants said anything. They reminded him of
seals in the zoo. There were similar television shows in his
country, but his family never watched them. They thought
they were very stupid.
'Is there something you want?' asked Mrs Stonehouse,
without looking up from the television.
'I'm sorry,' said the young man. 'I just wondered what
time you had dinner.'
Mrs Stonehouse laughed. She had a strange laugh, like
the bird-like sound of a mobile phone. 'We don't have
dinner. We're all so busy; we just eat and run.'
The young man thought that was a strange thing to say
when all she seemed to do was sit and watch television.
'Come with me,' she told the young man. 'I'll show you
the kitchen.'
Mrs Stonehouse led him into the room at the end of the
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hall. It was bright, very bright. The young man thought it
might look better through sunglasses. The walls were
yellow, the ceiling was yellow and the cupboards were
yellow, bright yellow. It was like walking into the inside of
a lemon. And there were, indeed, several lemons in the
kitchen. And oranges and apples and bunches of grapes. All
stencilled over the walls and the cupboards.
'It's ... er ... brilliant,' he said. He was trying to say
that it was bright without saying how horrible he thought
it was. But Mrs Stonehouse thought that he meant that it
was very clever and she was pleased. She liked her work to
be admired.
The young man looked round the room. Something was
wrong.
'Excuse me,' he asked, 'where is the fridge?'
Mrs Stonehouse laughed again. 'It's here,' she said,
opening a cupboard door. And the freezer is hidden here.'
The young man could not understand why anyone
would want to hide a fridge or a freezer. He wondered
where Mrs Stonehouse had hidden the cooker. What a
strange kitchen this was, he thought. The only thing he
recognised was the sink. It was a big old-fashioned white
sink like his grandmother had at her farm. He wondered
why Mrs Stonehouse did not have a nice new sink like his
mother.
'It's a big sink,' he said.
'Yes,' Mrs Stonehouse replied. 'It's wonderful. I've been
wanting a sink like this for years. It's a copy of an antique
sink you know. They're very fashionable at the moment.'
'Oh,' said the young man. He felt more and more
confused.
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'And the cooker?' he asked. He couldn't see how you
could hide a cooker in a cupboard, but in this house
anything seemed possible.
'Oh, we don't have a cooker.' Mrs Stonehouse smiled.
'We'd never use it anyway. But here's the electric kettle and
here's the sandwich-making machine, and this is the
microwave.'
'I see,' said the young man. 'Do they live on
sandwiches?' he wondered. 'But where do you cook?' He
could see a shelf of big colourful cookery books on one
wall.
'The poor boy,' thought Mrs Stonehouse. 'I suppose that
in his country they don't have very much. I suppose that
the women stay at home and cook simple food like they
did here in England before I was born. I expect that he feels
that he's very lucky to be able to stay in a house like this.'
'Oh, I don't cook.' She laughed. 'We're a very modern
family. We don't waste our time on things like that and I've
never been one for cookery. I love reading cookery books,
of course,' she added. 'But that's different.'
The young man was now very confused. Mrs
Stonehouse opened the freezer. 'Here,' she said. 'Everything
you could want.'
The freezer was taller than the young man. Inside were
boxes and boxes of frozen pizzas and ready-cooked meals.
They filled all the shelves.
'You can help yourself to any of the packets. You just
open the packet and put it into the microwave,' said Mrs
Stonehouse. 'Nothing could be easier.'
The young man was still very puzzled. In his country he
sometimes had pizzas with friends after going to the
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cinema. But they never had pizza at home, only in pizza
restaurants. 'But when do you have dinner?' he asked.
'We don't have dinner,' she said. 'As I said, we all just
help ourselves. I eat when I get back from my aerobics class
and the kids grab something to eat when they get back
from school before they go out. Though sometimes, like
today, they go straight from school to their friends' houses.
And Harry, that's my husband, he eats at different times. It
depends whether he's working late or at the pub. We're a
very independent family.'
'I was right,' she thought. 'In his country it must be very
different. He's never been in a home like this.' She felt
sorry for him.
'Her husband works late and goes by himself to the pub
and her children go to their friends' houses. She must be
very lonely,' thought the young man. 'That is why she
doesn't cook proper meals.' He felt sorry for her.
Mrs Stonehouse was pointing out the contents of the
square boxes that filled the freezer. 'There are frozen
desserts, too,' she said. 'You don't have to defrost them; you
can eat them straight out of the freezer. And we always
have ice cream, too. At the moment we have chocolate,
banana, and apple pie flavour.'
The young man suddenly remembered an article that
they had discussed in his English class. It was from an
English newspaper and explained how more and more
people now ate ready-made meals, and how the contents of
these meals were not what they appeared to be. So that if
the packet said fish, you would not find an actual piece of
fish inside, not like you would buy in a market, but bits of
different fish squeezed together. This would then be
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covered with a strong-flavoured sauce so you wouldn't be
able to taste the fish anyway.
The young man looked at the packets in the freezer and
saw that on one packet of frozen fish dinner it actually said,
'contains real fish'. 'But what else could it contain?' thought
the young man.
'What would you like tonight?' asked Mrs Stonehouse.
'Pizza will be fine,' said the young man.
'What kind of pizza?' asked Mrs Stonehouse.
There were so many kinds of pizza: pizza with
mushrooms, pizza with ham and pineapple, and even
baked bean pizza. 'Who could ever combine pizza with
baked beans?' he thought. 'What a disgusting idea.'
'Cheese and tomato will be fine,' he said.
'Are you sure?' Mrs Stonehouse asked. 'He's obviously
never had such a choice before,' she thought. 'It must be
wonderful for him to come here.' 'What about mushrooms
and olives with cheese and tomato?' she suggested.
gg
'Yes, thank you,' he agreed.
'Fine,' said Mrs Stonehouse, taking a packet out of the
freezer. 'Now, do you know how to use a microwave
oven?'
The young man admitted that he had never worked a
microwave before. So Mrs Stonehouse put the pizza inside
the microwave and showed him how to set the timer.
'When it goes "ping" that means it's ready,' she said. 'So,
now you're one of the family, all you have to do is come in
and help yourself. You don't need to ask me.' She walked
out of the door. 'Enjoy your pizza,' she said.
The young man found a knife and fork in a drawer. He
put them on the table. Then he heard the microwave go
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'ping'. He opened the door carefully, and using a cloth so
that he didn't burn his hands, he took out the plate.
The pizza was awful. The base was soft and tasted of
nothing and the sauce was too sweet. The olives and
mushrooms had no flavour at all, but he ate it anyway
because he was very hungry. 'How can people eat like this?'
he thought. It was horrible to eat alone with nobody to talk
to. The room was so bright, it was more like a hospital
than a home. He felt quite miserable.
He washed up his plate and his knife and fork and went
to his room. Later he heard doors open and someone went
into the kitchen. He heard a 'ping'. Then, whoever it was
climbed the stairs and another door opened and shut and
he could hear loud music and the sound of a television.
'They all live by themselves,' he thought. 'How very
strange. They don't talk to each other and they don't even
meet up for dinner.'
He had never thought much about food before. At
home, it was cooked by his mother, it was put on the table
and he ate it. But now that he was away from home, he
realised how much the food was part of home life. The
smell of chicken soup filling the house as he walked in the
door. His mother with flour up to her elbows, making a pie
and talking and laughing at the same time. The feeling that
the kitchen was the heart of the house and his mother was
at the centre of the kitchen. Cooking, he saw now, was an
essential part of family life back home.
The kitchen in this house was sad and lonely and no
amount of yellow paint could change that.
The young man read a book until he was tired and then
turned out his light. The rabbits danced around the walls.
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The next morning the young man moved out. He went
to a cafe and had some breakfast, and then went to the
university housing office. The woman there listened to him
and immediately found him another place to stay.
She also rang Mrs Stonehouse and told her that the
young man had moved out.
'Was it the rabbits?' Mrs Stonehouse asked. 'I offered to
put him in another room, but he said that he wanted a
desk. He even had his own television. Really,' she
continued, getting more and more angry. 'Compared with
what he must have come from in his own country, you
would have thought that he'd be grateful.'
'It's not that,' the woman at the housing office replied.
She was writing on her list as she talked. Opposite Mrs
Stonehouse's name she wrote, 'Unsuitable, except for
independent teenagers. Note: no conversation practice, no
home meal, frozen pizza.'