Later on the bus, its packed. But somehow I managed to get a seat and luckily for me there are no old people to nick it from me. But, a big but, the guy next to me smelt like he’d bathed in melted stilton. Whenever I am on the bus, there always old people staring at me like I’m going to clobber them over the head with a baseball bat and take their pension.
Finally when the bus journey screeched to a halt in a cloud of grey smoke, I hear a shout from a guy dressed in Burberry and a fake Ralph Lauren polo. ‘See ya ginger b*****d’. This is something that I have to deal with on a daily basis, the torment of my hair, the affliction I’ve had since birth. Every Christmas, at school, we do a secret Santa and while everyone else gets chocolate or what not, I get a sack of carrots
As I get to school, I walk in through the gate and am greeted by a strange eeriness, no one in sight. I thought to myself, ‘Wow, I’m early’, but straight after, Mr Beard came out, told me to get to lessons and do my top button up or he’ll beat me. And from then on until four o’clock, I don’t remember a thing. Probably because I had double French and maths. So then I go home from school to do more work, which quite frankly seems very pointless.
Usually, every child will come home to the smell of some proper homemade cooking, sadly I don’t, because my mum is a police officer. And people think that my mum walks around, truncheon in hand with a can of pepper spray in her pocket, but really, she’s just a detective she doesn’t chase anyone down dark alleyways she usually finds dead people in them. This means she doesn’t get home until a bit later, by which time I’ve started to eat my brother. And my dad isn’t the best of cooks, actually he’s rubbish, he couldn’t tell a courgette between a carrot and it’s really quite obvious. So its usually pasta on Monday, pasta on Tuesday and guess what, pasta on Wednesday..
Later that night, after I had done all of my homework and recovered from my dads cooking, its time to relax. But how can I relax when my brother is playing his rubbishy r and b music constantly at a volume that could deafen you in a split second, split up into a billion pieces. So, that failing, I went downstairs to watch TV, and my mum his sitting on the sofa, enduring another half an hour or pure and utter rubbish the producers at ITV call Coronation Street. Then I went to my final option, the computer. So I log on, open internet explorer and go onto to facebook and click in the password box. But there is a slight problem, I forgot my password. Why is it so hard to relax these days?
Now after all of that, no relaxation to be had and its time for bed. So I clean my teeth and curl up in bed. Whenever I try to get to sleep, there’s always noises. The next door’s dog could bark for England and my mum watching James Bond on the TV. And then my dad finishing the washing up he’s been doing for three hours. We always hear about the ways of getting to sleep. By counting sheep for example. And I’ve been doing this my whole life and it still took me ages to get to sleep. And now I found out, it’s scientifically proven not to help you sleep. So now I have someone to blame when I hand my homework in late because I’ve got no sleep and had food poisoning from my dads cooking.
Its 11 O’Clock and the ginger beasts eyes flutter closed for another 10 hours.
