Original Writing Essay Research Paper

Original Writing Essay, Research Paper “Just calm down would you. For a few moments at least. You have got ages to think about what you are taking with you, 20 minutes before you have to be out of that door.” Pausing to listen to my mother?s unhelpful words has cost me yet another few precious seconds, seconds that I don?t have to waste, not now anyway.

Original Writing Essay, Research Paper

“Just calm down would you. For a few moments at least. You have got ages to think about what you are taking with you, 20 minutes before you have to be out of that door.” Pausing to listen to my mother?s unhelpful words has cost me yet another few precious seconds, seconds that I don?t have to waste, not now anyway. I won?t snap at her mind, she is the sole reason that I have the opportunity to be going where I am. You see, she has agreed to lie, to my somewhat over protective father, about my whereabouts, I owe her big time.

These were my thoughts as I realised, after having overslept by no less than 2 hours, that I had precisely 18 minutes to get a whole four days worth of necessities together, before leaving the house. Not to mention getting washed, dressed and making myself presentable, no wonder I was panicking! I was meant to be going to visit my boyfriend, who I hadn?t seen for 8 weeks, at his home in London. As usual I had decided I was too tired to bother organising my stuff the night before, I thought I?d get up early and pack whilst my mind was fresh and awake, I was wrong! So, I began trying to do about three things at once, it wasn?t working, mum tried to be useful but she seemed to be getting in my way more than helping. I packed as much as I could, knowing I had forgotten a lot of the things I had intended to take, I scrambled out of the door, into the taxi, washed and dressed but without picking up a hairbrush or applying my makeup! God, I must have looked terrible! Oh well, I began sorting myself out in the taxi, I got my hair in a respectable state and decided to leave the rest for the two hour train journey that awaited me when I reached Portsmouth. Trust me to be like this, I never had been very good at planning ahead. Collecting my thoughts together and calming down, it dawned on me where I was going, this day I had been anticipating for some time, long distance relationships are not the easiest at the best of times, let alone when yours is surrounded by a cloud of deceit. I started thinking about the many times I had lied to get what I wanted, deceit had almost become a tradition within our dysfunctional family.

I peered out of the steamed up window of the catamaran to see the approaching mainland. By my calculations I would have to wait about 15 minutes before I had to board the 09:10 train, at least I had some time to have a bit of breakfast, my stomach was not exactly making the most inviting of noises!

I had completely forgotten that it was the ?festive? season, that was, until I stepped into the train station caf? and noticed that most furniture was laden with a multicoloured variation of cheap tinsel, the selection of food available for purchase accompanied this theme well, mince pies and Christmas pud were among the obvious. I chose a strong black coffee and warmed piece of apple pie to sustain my hunger, surprisingly it was good enough for me to finish the lot, although it should have been for the extortionate price. No time to sit around, I had to go. As the heavy door slammed shut behind me I heard the announcement that was relevant, the tannoy arrangement of jingle bells was interrupted and the following message was read,

“09:10 train to London Waterloo arriving shortly at platform 5″

Platform five, just typical, right at the other end of this depressing, gloomy, concrete city. I readjusted my bag straps and headed off, only end up standing in the freezing cold for what seemed like an age. Forgotten necessities numbers 1 and 2, scarf and gloves. When the train finally came and I got a chance to sit down, I pulled out my makeup bag, I decided on green eyes and brown lips, to match my “Sex, drugs and rock and roll” hoodie and cords, one thing I could never tolerate, clashing makeup and clothes! I perfected the look and decided to take my mind off everything by burying my nose in my latest book acquisition, Our Man In Havana. The carriage quickly filled to capacity, with German tourists, screaming toddlers and old grannies entering at every station stop. Just what I needed.

Clapham Junction, next stop?s mine, I put my bag back on my back and made my way to the doors that separated me from bitter coldness of outside. The train ground to a halt and the automatic doors opened. I?d made it. I jumped off and walked with the same enthusiasm as a child on their way to the sweet shop, looking at my watch, 10:30, bang on time. As I reached the end of the platform I felt a hand grab my shoulder and as it?s force spun me around I saw who I had been waiting for, the rock hard spiky black hair, pasty complexion and trademark worn trousers that altogether made up my irresistible Paul. We exchanged hellos, hugs and kisses before heading off, hand in hand, towards his abode in Kentish Town (NW5), a thirty minute tube ride on the Northern line and we were there, for the first time, together as a couple, it felt like the opening of a perfect gift. Entering the house, his parents greeted me, I?d met them before so it wasn?t one of those knee quaking moments. However his little sister, Katrina, was what could be described as a different cup of tea altogether, she made her entrance about 15 minutes later, stomping down the stairs, just as I was settling, and literally spat hello at me and left. She hated me, I knew it all too well, she idolised my best friend, Josie, and had always felt that I had ?stolen? her. The only thing to do in that situation was smile (gritting my teeth) and say hello in the friendliest possible tone. Paul and I went upstairs so I could sort out my belongings and put my clothes on hangers, before slouching down on the sofa with a cup of camomile tea, whilst Paul went to do something in his room. Stood in the corner of the living room, twinkling in the candlelight, was a Christmas tree decorated in silver balls and blue tinsel, it looked beautiful but something was wrong, there was not the presence of the pleasing alpine scent. I got up to investigate and realised to my horror that it was a fake, in all my years, never had I even contemplated using a plastic tree. That was it, the dream scene was shattered into a thousand pieces, the air turned from a sensual warmth to a clinical iciness. When Paul reappeared from his room, stood only in his boxers it was quite clear what he wanted, but I wasn?t in the mood now so I said I wanted to go have a quiet bath alone, he got the message.

I laid in the warm foamy water, the fake tree business really got to me, that was until, I drifted off to sleep. I awoke about ten minutes later to the sound of Paul trying to bash the door down! He was shouting “You OK in there? Hey Sasha are you alright?” After realising what had happened I chuckled and replied, to which he said exhausted “Don?t ever do that to me, I thought you?d drowned or something. You nearly sent me to an early grave. Now get out that bloody bath, we?re going out in an hour and I want to have a shave.”

Forgotten item number three. Bath towels. I nicked a couple of pristine sky blue towels from the heated rail and strutted out of the bathroom a new woman, at least now I felt clean, even if I did have hands like a shrivelled prune. After finding out I was being taken to a Christmas party, I picked out the evening?s outfit, a pair of huge baggy flared olive trousers, a little cream top and my trusty black skate shoes. It took Paul all of ten minutes to get ready whereas it must have been another three quarters of an hour before we left.

Walking down the road, under the dim light of the street lamps above, we strolled along hand in hand both shivering in the sheer bitterness of the evening. We reached the high street without seeing a single person, very strange as it was a Saturday evening, as we turned the corner to go towards Camden and the party destination, I saw the most amazing site, the shop windows were all lit up displaying the most over the top Christmas scenes, even though they were what you would expect, there were just so many different variations that it had me transfixed for a few moments, so this is what Christmas is like in London, I thought. Another 10 minutes and we arrived at our destination, in which I knew none of the people I was about to be ?shown off? to. I looked up at what seemed to be the biggest city house I had ever seen, it towered up into oblivion, I remember thinking “God these people must be loaded!”. We were ushered into a red hallway, up a set of stairs and through double doors into the ?party? room. There must have been 150 people in there, all making large amounts of noise as could be expected, but as we walked in arm in arm laughing the whole room went silence, I have never been so unnerved in all my life. Then a few people began drifting over and talking to us, breaking the silence, I was introduced to a colossal amount of people, but I remember the first, the host I had guessed, a guy named Ed. I gathered I had made a good impression because all the lads were interrogating me, asking questions left, right and centre. After the first hour or so, people began to drift off back into their separate groups and now, for the first time, was I able to actually spend some time with Josh, it may sound strange to you that, at a massive party, there was only one person I wanted to spend the evening with, but we hadn?t seen each other for a while and I knew that if my dad found out, I would never see him again. I reluctantly socialised for a few hours and, to my amazement, I had an amazing time. I met loads of really nice people, whose names are irrelevant really, and when it was time to go, I was pretty much in a legless state, after having consumed about 2 litres of a drink called Red Square and falling victim to the ?dentist?s chair? twice. At two am I heard the loud boom of Josh?s voice, “Hey, wake up, HEY!”, I opened my eyes to find myself staring at a white ceiling decorated with Artex and realised I was indeed back on Josh?s soft mattress on the third floor of 30 Burghley road, Kentish Town. Don?t ask me how I got from Ed?s house to there, I simply do not have a clue, apart from a blurred vision of twinkling coloured stars lighting the black sky.

To be continued??????.