a life in the day of

      First lesson arrives and I have still not properly woken up from last night’s deep sleep, I’m still kind of in a trance. Talking to me this early in the morning is pretty pointless it just goes in one ear and out the other. It’s pretty much like talking to a brick wall, it wouldn’t advise it. I stumble into my lesson usually with a friend on my arm talking or joking about the latest thing, grab a chair at the furthest table from the teachers desk and take off my bag and coat to settle down to the next hour of writing and reading, my idea of absolute torture. After four lessons and one break it’s finally time for lunch and to relax, my friends and I usually meet up in form as this year we all took our options and don’t have as many lessons together anymore. But the ones we do have, we make worth while. We usually arrive to form in dribs and drabs but when we have all escaped the classrooms we have a good laugh, talk about the drama that has occurred during lessons one, two, three and four that we were unable to fit in at break time, complain about the teachers that have taken our lessons and what homework or detention has been given out. Food is shared between many, occasional fights do break out but not very often, lunch-breaks are usually okay but on some days they can be a drag. Other lunch-times the girls and myself meet in the dance studio to practice our routines for the upcoming competition, as we flew through the first round, now we have created a new routine and are practicing it until it’s perfect, no matter how long it takes, we are pretty determined to go far in this competition. Whilst rehearsing sometimes the occasional argument occurs usually over something stupid, but hay that’s girls for you. I usually sort it out after five or ten minutes, I’m not very comfortable when conflicts occurring or arguments happen, not my idea of heaven I’d much rather a quiet room with a few people and a couple of conversations. I’m not like some people who go out of their way to start an argument or stir troubles between other people, doesn’t exactly shout exciting or entertaining to me. Once the newest dance moves have been added to the latest routine and we have vacated the dance studio, recovering from a tiring hour of dancing, we usually assemble with the boys near maths block and claim our hugs off our closest boy-friends. A nice hug can really brighten up your day no matter who is on the opposite end of it.

       The bell rings and it springs into mind that there’s only one more hour before I can go home. But during that hour comes another lesson, it’s depending on what lesson I have to what type of mood I will be in during that lesson and the walk home, This meaning Adam will either have a pleasant walk home or a miserable one, poor Adam. This lesson is usually just waiting for that final bell to ring, when it does it feels as though the angels are singing and it’s a great relief that I can finally return home. But in the mean time it’s just a countdown, the occasional sentence is written in my book or a few laps are run followed by a glance at the clock on the wall or the watch on my wrist hoping that time has flown by and the angels are about to sing, but no last lesson usually drags after four years I should of finally learned this. When the bell does eventually ring after an hour of repetitive glances at the time I leap off my chair, throw my coat on my back and lunge for my bag swinging it onto my back and heading for the door. Grouping together all my friends to walk home with we begin the short journey home passing the bus stop on the way, contemplating weather to jump onto the bus and save our legs a walk home or not. We don’t catch the bus often but when we do it’s such a relief to not have to walk home. After passing the stop we continue our walk home this entails of non stop chat the whole way home, and this time its not always meaningless dribble like me and my sister talk sometimes it does come under the category of actually being meaningful. As we walk along the main road one by one our group decreases they begin to drop off like flies all taking different routes to their homes, one by one we say our goodbyes and continue our walk until another departs and again and again. Then there were three, myself Jared and Adam. We reach Blackwood round about Adam drops off and Jared and I look up at the slight but murderous hill that is ahead of us, its not to steep but at the end of a school day its not exactly one of the highlights of my day. As Jared drags me up the hill and pulls me over the road, the reason for this is because I have always had a phobia of roads as a few years ago my father and I were walking the dog, the lead broke and I ran out into the road, my father had to make a decision weather to grab me or skip as an Asda lorry came charging up the road. He chose me as a father would and sadly that was the end of skip it caused a great deal of grief to my family but it would of caused a lot more if it were me under the wheels of that lorry. Ever since then I have always felt unable to cross the road without somebody walking beside me.

       I throw open the door and drop my coat and bag to the floor, head to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice and collapse onto the sofa to catch up with my programmes on series link, sky plus has to be one of the greatest things ever invented to be honest whoever created it is a genius. After about 2 minutes of being in an empty house, then enters my sister and brother I don’t know how they come in after me as we finish school the same time and I always thought I walked really slow, apparently faster then them. Once they’re home the peace and quiet quickly come to an end and is interrupted by the sound of drums banging and music blasting and guitar playing, I’m quite surprised that our neighbours haven’t staged a protest and kicked us out of our street by now. Our neighbours are sure to be sick to death of the noise that our house generates by now, between a musical brother, a dancer and a television addict it must be hell living near or next door to us. When mamma pappy come in from work my sister and I have usually worked our way through the list of jobs, neatly written on a post it note in the kitchen, that have been left for us to do. For doing these few odd jobs we get rewarded every week with twenty pounds pocket money plus money off my granch, not bad for a couple of jobs in my opinion. Dinner is usually made before seven o’clock and then most nights we all sit down and watch television together or maybe some nights whilst everyone else are glued to last night coronation street my pappy and I sneak off to the gym or to Asda for the weekly shop. I love going to these places with my dad, mostly because in the house with an aggravating nine year old brother you’re not exactly top of the priority list if you know what I mean, click of his fingers and he has dad grovelling at his feet. Its quite sickening to watch, but whenever I confront dad about It he always uses the same phrase “I don’t have favourites, I love you all the same”, I’m used to this by now so I just look forward to my dad and I’s secret trips in and out of the house. After an hour of watching television with the folks my mind starts to wander and I can’t really concentrate for much longer so I just have to get up and find something else to do. This usually consists of lying on my bed listening to my I-pod station in complete darkness, a little time on my own to relax and just think about whatever may be on my mind during those particular moments. Some nights I escape to my room and go onto the internet to IM to my friends to talk, I know it’s silly because we only left each other in school just a few hours ago but I suppose a lot can happen in the small space of a few hours.

       My head falls gently onto my pillow I stare up at the stars through my velux window, which has to be one of the greatest things about having an attic room you have the most gorgeous views especially during the winter when the skies are completely and totally black, it’s magical. My parents have always told me since I was a little girl at the age of seven I think and my nanna Gwenda died of cervical cancer that if I looked and found the brightest star in the sky that it would be her watching over me, and that would never change. And she will always be the brightest star in the sky because she was the most kind, considerate, loving and thoughtful woman you would ever meet, anyone that knew her would and will always say the same. I have always done it and I do still believe that she is and always will be watching over me. I shout “sweet dreams” downstairs to my family, I close my eyes thinking about tomorrow and what the day will bring and drift of to another exhilarating adventure where anything can happen. It’s all about the imagination behind the story, never the story itself.