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Creative Writing about A Holiday in London

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As I leave my sparse but adequately furnished hotel room to head off to meet my family I feel a buzz of excitement and nervous energy shoots through my body. I press the lift button and hear it shrieking and grinding as it approaches my floor. This does not seem safe but it is still more appealing than a descent down eight flights of stairs. I enter the lift, nervously press the ground floor button and after a moments hesitation it begins to sink sluggishly to the ground floor where I emerge into a warm, vibrant reception area. As I leave through the slowly rotating door I am instantly hit by a wave of noisy traffic and a haze of pollution. I hurry to the bus stop to meet my parents. I inquisitively ask what our plans are for the day and am shown a well-thumbed tourist guide of London proudly displaying the Monument. At the sound of high-pitched squeaking brakes I turn around sharply to see a bright red bus approaching with a cloud of black smoke belching out of its exhaust. ...read more.


I am relieved and delighted when I my mum signals that the next stop is ours. I escape as quickly as the crowds allow and breathe a sigh of relief. I, along with my family, dash up the escalator, through security and out into the open. As we finally see the natural light of the sun again burning consistently in the pale blue sky, .pounding on each and every head shuffling through the hectic crowds, I think to myself that maybe walking is preferable to the underground. Our station is called The Monument so as I expect we have to travel only about a 100 metres to reach it. It still takes longer than I imagine though because the only way to reach it is to barge through the crowds of people. Everything in London seems to be speeded up. It is like Nottingham city centre on some crazy, energy-boosting drugs: like the ones many athletes are being caught taking. Shops either side of me are bulging with customers and no doubt prospering immensely from all these tourists. People all around me are being drawn in, enticed by the carefully laid out window presentations. ...read more.


I feel like I am in a stereotypical picture of running towards heaven, which is usually depicted by the light at the end of the tunnel. I reach the top. I am shattered and out of breath. I cannot take in what I am seeing. The view leaves you dumbstruck. What my eyes are seeing cannot be translated into words. I suppose the best attempt is to call it awesome, although that does not really do it the justice it deserves. The rooftop gardens gently lying on the houses neatly. I could see the river Thames gracefully flowing under London Bridge and all the busy people above it. I could hear the cry of sea gulls calling to their peers, swooping in elegant circles. I could feel the gentle breeze brushing against my face keeping me cool in the blistering heat. I looked down and I saw specks of what must be people gazing at what and me I was standing on. Every building, every person, every attraction and the sunset: it is all perfect. A cloud of red being gracefully drawn over the sea of baby blue that covered London's sky. It was as if a pair of vibrant red curtains was saying good night to the sky. ...read more.

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