Questões de Concurso Sobre inglês

Read this text, taken from a site named My Read: Strategies for teaching reading in the middle years, which supports teachers of underperforming students.      All students can be successful readers    Reading is a complex and challenging process. Yet for all but the 5 - 10% of students who have intellectual, sensory or learning disabilities the issue is one of underperformance rather than ability. For the majority of students reaching the middle years of school, recurrent experience of failure and negative perceptions about themselves as readers will be major obstacles to learning. For these students, performance in reading is likely to be a consequence of a well-learned selfpreservation strategy of non-engagement. 
Underperforming middle years readers must first be motivated to engage and re-engage with texts. Specific reading skills can only develop as an outcome of that engagement. Engagement is an interactive process. It requires teachers to have a close knowledge of students and their reading, and so be able both to provide sufficiently challenging learning experiences as well as the necessary support for those experiences to ensure successful learning. Student engagement can only occur as they recognise that they can be successful partners in this process. 
(http://www.myread.org/BELIEFS.HTM. Accessed on March 2nd, 2013.) 
Read the sentence: “It requires teachers to have a close knowledge of students and their reading, and so be able both to provide sufficiently challenging learning experiences as well as the necessary support for those experiences to ensure successful learning.” The pronoun ‘their’ here refers to 

How can we explain “will” in the following context: “If he sticks to his word about there being no plan B, the bilateral ceasefire will be lifted and the war will resume, our correspondent says.” 

Read the BBC news and choose the right statement:
The deal was signed last week by President Juan Manuel Santos and Farc leader Timoleon Jimenez after nearly four years of negotiations. But it needed to be ratified by Colombians in order to come into force. Farc rebels had agreed to lay down their weapons after 52 years of conflict to join the political process. President Santos has previously warned that there is no plan B for ending the war, which has killed 260,000 people. With votes in from more than 99% of polling stations counted, 50.2% opposed the accord while 49.8% supported it - a difference of less than 63,000 votes out of 13 million ballots. Turnout was low at less than 40%. The surprise result means the peace process is now shrouded by uncertainty. It is a major setback to President Juan Manuel Santos, who since his election in 2010 had pledged to end a conflict blamed for displacing about eight million people. Less than a week ago, President Santos was celebrating with world leaders and Farc commanders the end of Latin America's last and longest-running armed conflict at a ceremony in the historic city of Cartagena. The rebels were making plans to lay down their weapons and become a political party within six months. But the president is now facing one of the most difficult moments in Colombia's recent history. If he sticks to his word about there being no plan B, the bilateral ceasefire will be lifted and the war will resume, our correspondent says. Opposition to the peace accord was led by influential former President Alvaro Uribe. He argued that the government was treating Farc too leniently. He said that if the 'no' vote prevailed, the government should go back to the negotiating table. Correspondents say that the government had been accused of taking victory for granted. 

Choose the best synonym to “shroud” in the following context “The surprise result means the peace process is now shrouded by uncertainty.” 

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
In the phrase “Only an old man, mittened and scarved”, the two words “mittened” and “scarved” are

Check the correct answer to fill in the blanks.
My mother ____ already ____ ten books.

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
In the phrase “for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility.”, the pronoun “whom” refers to the

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
The sentence “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.”, if reported will read as:

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.
In the sentence “The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace”, the words “empty” and “country” are used as

TEXT 2 The taxi, an old Rover smelling of old cigarette smoke, trundled along the empty, country road at an unhurried pace. It was early afternoon at the very end of February, a magic winter day of bitter cold, frost, and pale, cloudless skies. The sun shone, sending long shadows, but there was little warmth in it, and the ploughed fields lay hard as iron. From the chimneys of scattered farmhouses and small stone cottages, smoke rose, straight as columns, up into the still air, and flocks of sheep, heavy with wool and incipient pregnancy, gathered around feeding troughs, stuffed with hay. Sitting in the back of the taxi, gazing through the dusty window, Penelope Keeling decided that she had never seen the familiar countryside look so beautiful. The road curved steeply; ahead stood the wooden signpost marking the lane that led to Temple Pudley. The driver slowed and with a painful change of gear, turned, bumping downhill between high and blinding hedges. Moments later they were in the village, with its golden Cotswold stone houses, newsagent butcher, the Sudeley Arms, and the church – set back from the street behind an ancient graveyard and the dark foliage of some suitably gloomy yews. There were few people about. The children were all in school, and the bitter weather kept others indoors. Only an old man, mittened and scarved, walked his ancient dog. “Which house is it?” the taxi driver inquired over his shoulder. She leaned forward, ridiculously excited and expectant. “Just a little way on. Through the village. The white gates on the right. They’re open. There! Here we are.” He turned in through the gates and the car drew up at the back of the house. She opened the door and got out, drawing her dark blue cape around her against the cold. She opened her bag and found her key, went to unlock the door. Behind her, the taxi driver manhandled open the boot of the car and lifted out her small suitcase. She turned to take it from him, but he held on to it, somewhat concerned. “is there nobody here to meet you?” “No. Nobody. I live alone, and everybody thinks I’m still in the hospital.” “Be all right, will you?” She smiled into his kindly face. He was quite young, with fair bushy hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, not wishing to presume. ‘If you want, I’ll carry the case in. Carry it upstairs, if needs be.’ “Oh, that’s kind of you. But I can easily manage…” “No bother.” He told her, and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the door, and led him up the narrow, cottage stairs. Everything smelt clinically clean. Mrs. Plackett, bless her heart, had not been wasting time during the few days of Penelope’s absence. She quite liked it when Penelope went away, because then she could do things like wash the white paint of the bannisters, and boil dusters, and buff up the brass and silver. Her bedroom door stood ajar. She went in, and the young man followed her, setting her case on the floor. “Anything else I can do?” he asked. “Not a thing. Now, how much do I owe you?” He told her, looking shamefaced, as though it were an embarrassment to him. She paid him, and told him to keep the change. He thanked her, and they went back down the stairs. But still he hung about, seeming reluctant to leave. He probably, she told herself, had some old granny, of his own, for whom he felt the same sort of responsibility. “You’ll be all right, then?” “I promise you. And tomorrow my friend Mrs. Plackett will come. So then I won’t be alone anymore.” This, for some reason, reassured him. “I’ll be off then.’” “No trouble.” PILCHER, Rosamund. The shell seekers. London: Coronet Books, Hodder and Stoughton,1989. p. 9-11.

The taxi driver learnt during their conversation that the narrator was

Read the text below and answer the question:
To exercise or not to exercise ...
Are more young people overweight than in the past and do they exercise enough? We decided to ask four young people what they thought about this problem.
1- HEATHEROHURUOGU, aged 14 from Leeds, tells us what she thinks about keeping fit.   “I know there have been a lot of stories in newspapers about how fat young people are getting, but we're not all sitting at home at a computer eating crisps and chocolate. Some of us do actually realise that keeping fit is quite important. If anybody should be blamed, I think schools and parents are the problem. At my school we have fewer hours of PE lessons than we used to have. The school has decided we need to spend more time preparing for our exams. My mum and dad trust me to take a bus home if I stay late at school for hockey training, but my friend Carly can't come because her parents work and they are worried about her travelling alone.”
2- OLIVER MCKENNA, aged 15, Edinburgh, sees things differently.
“I don't like organised sport or spending my time with guys skateboarding. I love computers – programming them, playing games on them, surfing the Internet and in my free time that's what I do. It's true that I do need to lose some weight, though. Next week, Mum's taking me to a doctor so we can ask about going on a diet. Dad wants me to join the gym he goes to, but I think it's a bit boring working out all the time. In fact, there's a computer game now called Wii. I'm thinking of getting it because you actually do the actions of the games – you know, things like swinging your arm to hit the ball in tennis. That'd be a good way to get some exercise!”
3- REECEWILKINS, aged 13, Swansea, has another view.
“I'm an active person and so are most of my friends. We all like to spend some time on our Nintendos, PlayStations or whatever – all young people enjoy computer games – but we also belong to football teams or some kind of sports club. We don't have to make an effort to be fit – young people like active games. No, our problem is that we eat too much rubbish. In fact, we drink a lot of bad things – sweet, fizzy drinks which are full of sugar and very unhealthy. Also, we all love fast food and often eat hamburgers and chips. If we ate better, I think most of us would lose the extra weight we have.”

4- HANK DARROW, aged 14, London, shares his opinions with us.
“I've spent the last four years trying to lose weight, and it hasn't been easy. My problem started when I was a baby – it wasn't really my fault. You see, I wasn't very interested in food, and so my mum made all kinds of delicious things to get me to eat. Of course, all those tasty foods were very fattening. My mum used to carry a bowl of food everywhere we went and would follow me around the house or playground trying to get me to eat just one more bite. Well, I got used to eating constantly and, by the time we all realised that I had gained too much weight, the damage had been done. Now I follow a special diet – it was hard at first, but once I got used to it, I actually like it.And I look and feel so much better – I don't want to go back to the way I was.”
Taken from: CHAPMAN, Joanne. Laser B1 +. Teacher's book. Macmillan, 2008.
In the sentence: “Some of us do actually realise that keeping fit is quite important” (Heather's opinion), ACTUALLY means:

Faith-based politics
Source: Newsweek Magazine (Adapted) May 25th 2009
Tony Blair, Britain ́s longest-serving Labour Prime Minister, left office in 2007 as a relatively young man of 54. At his office in London, Blair spoke to NEWSWEEK ́s Stryker McGuire. Excerpts:
Question 2: How do you think President Barack Obama is doing as a leader and healer on the world scene? 
He ́s created a situation where there is a possibility of a completely different form of engagement with the world of Islam and with the outside world. The single most important thing for him is that his decision to reach out is answered by the rest of the world by a decision to reach back. As I keep saying to people, he doesn ́t want cheerleaders; he wants partners. You know, he doesn ́t want people to tell him how great he is; he ́s perfectly well aware of the transient nature of all that fluff, as it were, around the new president and the first hundred days. He ́s trying to change the world in partnership, and he needs partners to do it.
In his answer to question 2, Mr Blair says that President Barack Obama is “perfectly well aware of the transient nature of all that fluff.” In other words, the US President

Read the text below and answer the question:
To exercise or not to exercise ...
Are more young people overweight than in the past and do they exercise enough? We decided to ask four young people what they thought about this problem.
1- HEATHEROHURUOGU, aged 14 from Leeds, tells us what she thinks about keeping fit.   “I know there have been a lot of stories in newspapers about how fat young people are getting, but we're not all sitting at home at a computer eating crisps and chocolate. Some of us do actually realise that keeping fit is quite important. If anybody should be blamed, I think schools and parents are the problem. At my school we have fewer hours of PE lessons than we used to have. The school has decided we need to spend more time preparing for our exams. My mum and dad trust me to take a bus home if I stay late at school for hockey training, but my friend Carly can't come because her parents work and they are worried about her travelling alone.”
2- OLIVER MCKENNA, aged 15, Edinburgh, sees things differently.
“I don't like organised sport or spending my time with guys skateboarding. I love computers – programming them, playing games on them, surfing the Internet and in my free time that's what I do. It's true that I do need to lose some weight, though. Next week, Mum's taking me to a doctor so we can ask about going on a diet. Dad wants me to join the gym he goes to, but I think it's a bit boring working out all the time. In fact, there's a computer game now called Wii. I'm thinking of getting it because you actually do the actions of the games – you know, things like swinging your arm to hit the ball in tennis. That'd be a good way to get some exercise!”
3- REECEWILKINS, aged 13, Swansea, has another view.
“I'm an active person and so are most of my friends. We all like to spend some time on our Nintendos, PlayStations or whatever – all young people enjoy computer games – but we also belong to football teams or some kind of sports club. We don't have to make an effort to be fit – young people like active games. No, our problem is that we eat too much rubbish. In fact, we drink a lot of bad things – sweet, fizzy drinks which are full of sugar and very unhealthy. Also, we all love fast food and often eat hamburgers and chips. If we ate better, I think most of us would lose the extra weight we have.”

4- HANK DARROW, aged 14, London, shares his opinions with us.
“I've spent the last four years trying to lose weight, and it hasn't been easy. My problem started when I was a baby – it wasn't really my fault. You see, I wasn't very interested in food, and so my mum made all kinds of delicious things to get me to eat. Of course, all those tasty foods were very fattening. My mum used to carry a bowl of food everywhere we went and would follow me around the house or playground trying to get me to eat just one more bite. Well, I got used to eating constantly and, by the time we all realised that I had gained too much weight, the damage had been done. Now I follow a special diet – it was hard at first, but once I got used to it, I actually like it.And I look and feel so much better – I don't want to go back to the way I was.”
Taken from: CHAPMAN, Joanne. Laser B1 +. Teacher's book. Macmillan, 2008.
The sentences below express the ages of the young people mentioned in the text.
Choose the correct sentence.

The definition below refers to a specific verb tense. Which one? Choose the CORRECT answer. (Present Simple) 
We use __________ to talk about something that is true in general.

Want to travel? Be careful! Two countries with high risks for tourists

Chad: This African country has had some bad incidents with its political temperatures from its past. It has a high insecurity classification. It also has a high prevalence of armed bandits and groups; in fact its armed forces have to control the nation. Because of this, it is probable that travelers will encounter armed vehicles, attack helicopters and armed forces. The capital, Kinshasa, is particularly notorious for its crime at any time of the day. If you are in the country, don’t take photographs, don’t trust anyone who offers assistance, and don’t go to areas that the natives classify as high risk.    Bangladesh: In south-east Asia, Bangladesh experiences regular terrorist attacks. In addition to this, extreme weather conditions put this nation as having a high risk of natural calamities such as earth tremors, flooding and cyclones. In contrast, the Bangladeshi people are very friendly and hospitable. Even though this is the case, be careful because incidences can happen.                                                                                                                                                                           (Adapted from: http://wojournals.com)
Segundo o texto acima,

Which noun does not have the correct spelling on its plural form? Choose the INCORRECT answer. (Countable and Uncountable Nouns) 

Choose the correct verb form that completes the sentence below.          If the teenagers ________________ (not , drink) so much beer last night, they wouldn't have had an accident.

  Someone on your left speaks French and someone on your right speaks English; both individuals need to speak to each other. The systems analyst is the middleman, assessing the needs of the end-user and translating them into programming or turning over the programming responsibility to the development department. What are the business requirements? Who will comprise the user community? How large is the application going to be? Will it be internal or external? These are all questions facing the systems analyst, who spends much of the day in front of the computer poring over these issues.    With a new product, other elements come into play, such as network location, user community, type of machine, and portability. If the analyst is reviewing an established product, the user community will dictate its changes and enhancements. "One of the biggest surprises in my 25 years of technology work is that people who have a creative background as opposed to a degree in computer science tend to make better systems analysts," says one seasoned professional. "The best analysts I've come across came from backgrounds in theater, art, and filmmaking. But they were all able to see and grasp big-picture concepts very quickly, and break them down into subcomponents. People who have a computer science or math background tend to be very technical, and sometimes that can be a hindrance." Systems analysts need to be independent thinkers – people who can "think out of the box" by grasping concepts quickly and seeing the big picture as opposed to the small details. "I also look for someone who is self-motivated. Here take the ball and run with it and come back if you have any issues," says one employer who heads up a technology group. (http://www.princetonreview.com/cte/profiles/dayInLife.asp?careerID=210)
A tradução correta da frase Who will comprise the user community?, do texto acima, é:

  Someone on your left speaks French and someone on your right speaks English; both individuals need to speak to each other. The systems analyst is the middleman, assessing the needs of the end-user and translating them into programming or turning over the programming responsibility to the development department. What are the business requirements? Who will comprise the user community? How large is the application going to be? Will it be internal or external? These are all questions facing the systems analyst, who spends much of the day in front of the computer poring over these issues.    With a new product, other elements come into play, such as network location, user community, type of machine, and portability. If the analyst is reviewing an established product, the user community will dictate its changes and enhancements. "One of the biggest surprises in my 25 years of technology work is that people who have a creative background as opposed to a degree in computer science tend to make better systems analysts," says one seasoned professional. "The best analysts I've come across came from backgrounds in theater, art, and filmmaking. But they were all able to see and grasp big-picture concepts very quickly, and break them down into subcomponents. People who have a computer science or math background tend to be very technical, and sometimes that can be a hindrance." Systems analysts need to be independent thinkers – people who can "think out of the box" by grasping concepts quickly and seeing the big picture as opposed to the small details. "I also look for someone who is self-motivated. Here take the ball and run with it and come back if you have any issues," says one employer who heads up a technology group. (http://www.princetonreview.com/cte/profiles/dayInLife.asp?careerID=210)
 No texto, poring over significa