Creative Writing...

So, I've recovered after my little 'emotional overspill', as one of my friends called it earlier. Last week, I had my first creative writing lesson. Its weird going back to english after about 5 months of only doing maths and science based subjects. As you've probably gathered, I love english, but as a student, I present quite a dilemma to who ever has to mark my writing. I'm apparently quite good at writing, but I go about it the wrong way. If this makes any sense. You know how everyone has a voice in their head that sort of tells them what to write? No, I'm not mad. Well, the voice in my head, which dictates what I write, like to think of itself as humorous. Which is in someways good, but in someways bad. Like last year, my english teacher totally got my sense of humour, so I got pretty damn good grades, but my english teacher before that constantly gave me c's. Can you imagine what I was like in the exam? For two months, I was literally praying that the marker would have a decent sense of humour. 


So anyway, for my homework, I had to write a couple of paragraphs of a memoir. I hate writing memoirs. So, I'm stealing the idea from my boyfriends blog and posting my homework up on here. I got a bit carried away; its way longer than a few paragraphs, more like an essay if I'm being honest, so if you're not interested, zone out now...

The Beach

Most people say, “Oh, I wish we live by the beach! It must be so relaxing! I would go everyday!” Its a shame that most of them have never been to the north east, or have even seen the weather forecast for Newcastle. The weather in this lovely little part of the North East could be described as ‘unpredictable’, and on average it rains for 132.6 days per year. Not exactly beach weather, I think you’ll agree? Still, we “Geordies” will insist on sunbathing in the seven degree summer when it comes round, even if it means lying under an umbrella.

One particularly cold and wintry summer, we were blessed with what the weatherman promised would be, “ an unusually pleasant day, with little chance of rain”. Considering that it was in the third or forth week of the summer holidays, and so far we had had gale force winds, rain and possibly snow, I was reasonably pleased with this sudden change in weather. Practically falling out of bed in excitement, I grabbed my phone and began frantically texting four of my closest friends, in what could only be described as grammatically incorrect gibberish. We arranged to meet at twelve o’clock right in the middle of town. That gave me just enough time to wash my hair; find clothes; iron clothes; dry hair; straighten hair; put on clothes; change my mind about clothes; change clothes and pack a beach bag. Sorted.

I met the girls at quarter to one. It turned out hat we’d all overestimated our ability to get ready in less than two hours and all ended up stumbling into the town centre after either an unanticipated jog or, at its least, very brisk walk. We all looked as though we had been dragged through own individual hedge’s backwards, so before we went anywhere, we had a little impromptu visit to Costa to sort our hair out and get a couple of iced coffees for the walk down to the beach.  

The beach itself was, and still is to this day, a two mile strip of golden sand that gradually gets darker the closer to the grey sea you get. Over one side of the beach there is a dull, concrete pier, on which fishermen sit, constantly whipping fishing lines back and forth. Jagged rocks and cliffs line both sides of the sand, creating a block for the wind and the impression of a secluded little cove. Today, though, the dark sea lapped threateningly at the rocks, like a clawed hand trying to pull itself out of the icy water.  There were quite a few people on the beach, the usual array of dog walkers and mad, idiot surfers (honestly, you see them in winter sometimes); but with the addition of sunbathers who had managed to fill the entire two mile beach with what looked like a patchwork quilt made of beach towels. Most of them had undoubtedly seen the same weather report as I had, many of them quoting it as we walked passed.

“Can you believe this unexpected change in weather?”

“No, I can’t quite believe it! So unpredictable isn’t it?”

I couldn’t help but agree. We found a rare space at the far end of the beach, just enough room for five towels without the need to overhear everything the family next to us was saying. We sat around for the next few hours, not doing anything particularly interesting: listened to some music, read some magazines, general talking, the occasional paddle before coming to the conclusion that the water was about minus seven degrees. Not the most pleasurable of swimming temperatures. We had just started the disposable barbecue (burgers and chicken), when the first signs of trouble started. The previously clear blue sky began to cloud over into a mass of towering dark grey, casting a shadow across the entire length of the beach. People began to leave. We glanced nervously at each other, saying nothing, but concentrating on cooking the chicken properly.  

        Minutes ticked by, and we thought that maybe, maybe we would hit lucky.

No such luck. 

We had just settled down to a burger each, when it started. The familiar, steady pitter patter of rain droplets sounded on the sand around us. We all looked at each others, absolutely livid. Typical. 

I'm aware that its pretty shit. So, what do you guys think? Considering that I haven't wrote anything 'properly' in a good few months, I'm reasonably pleased with myself. So yeah, chemistry test tomorrow. Bricking it, doesn't even cover it. Byeee....