Rugby Tour 2002.

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Creative Writing GCSE Coursework.

Rugby Tour 2002.

It started well in my opinion, arriving at school on time, the place in which I have been enclosed for the last four years and to come back during a summer holiday was weird, no one around shouting, screaming or kicking footballs at you. Looking around, the Car Park seemed different in the dark, almost as if it had a second personality, the trees flowing in the wind, under lampposts, which cast long, deep dark shadows across the dark tarmac surface.

It felt like we were prisoners, being hauled onto a bus, struggling to find a seat and when we did, complaining because you had someone who just didn’t smell or sound right.

We drove off, down the road, leaving parents, English countryside and the native language behind us, it gave me a sense of independence, being away from family, breathing down your neck, or just homework, waiting to squash you into a pulp because there was so much. Although the burden of all that was on my shoulders, I still found time to forget it all, and concentrate on the trip itself, we had a long journey, so I had plenty of time for that.

As the magazines were passed around for around the third time, and we started to grow old and bored of Mr Hunts and Mr Burleys jokes, I felt the only thing I could do was sleep, I thought this would probably pass time effectively, only to find that we had arrived at Dover, and had no time to sleep.

The ferry could be described as a disaster waiting to happen, it was very windy, wet and rather cramped, but it was only an hour or so until we reached the French continent, so it was something I just had to put up with. Sleep wasn’t the best option by this time, with little screaming children running around, adults shouting at them plus the continuous swaying of the boat meant that I was rudely awakened quite often. It often reminded me of school, sat down, with people running around, shouting and generally being a nuisance. Also perhaps a laundrette came to mind, lots of people sitting on benches arranged in rows, cramped and pushed together, it was hot and condensation was forming on the windows, im sure someone had to be sat next to the fat sweaty one.

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As the sun rose it felt like a new beginning, like I was a new person. I was now a foreigner, I looked different, I smelt different and I spoke a different language. If you think about it, we do the same when foreigners enter our country, but we don’t know that were doing it, I thought about this, and realised that the native people weren’t being as rude as maybe I thought, but just acting the same as we would if they were in our country.

Accustomed with coach journeys are the long hours, and pointless boring films that ...

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