First blog post

Hi
I am a book worm, cricket loving, pesctarian boy [not your average kid]. I have become a blogger because of my love for writing and wanting people to read my work (as well as my teachers and my parents).
One of my favourite areas of writing is poetry but I do also like writing letters from the Harry Potter world, you could be seeing some of them soon if you carry on reading my work –but no promises that I’ll put them on my blog. I guarantee you will be seeing poems about animals and just normal information in a Column. I want to blog regularly because it will keep me busy and away from my annoying brother.

Bye

Writeboy

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas

I would like to thank everyone that has read my blog this Christmas and everyone that will in the future. I would like to thank everyone from the 37 different countries that collectively have viewed my blog 488 times, liked it 34 times and most of all my two followers.

I really want to get 300 views this year and at this point (25th December 2018) I have 298 so to get those two last views before the New Year would be one of the greatest Christmas presents I will ever receive.

I’m wishing you a merry Christmas from Writeboy!!!

GOAT

Before the world began, a single goat floated through space. It is the only goat of its kind ever to live. The Grey Shaggy Lazy Hungry Goat That Lives Forever (as you can probably tell this is a very true legend). Then suddenly, BBAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The world (and entire universe) appeared.
The goat flew around the universe before landing in a place called Oakmere in a field that would eventually be called Hollyoak Park, or as he preferred to call it “the Goat’s Field.” The goat also fell into a collar with a chain and peg attaching it to the ground. It fitted perfectly!
The nameless goat slept through the entire reign of the dinosaurs apart from waking up to eat a blade of grass three times in the Jurassic period. He then went through a particularly hungry phase and could not get to sleep.
He then encountered a caravan of French people (Celts). The only way he knew that they were French was that they had berets, onions, baguettes and smelled distinctly of garlic. After directing them to a hill suitable for their hill fort, he ate some grass and had a well-deserved snooze.
He was rudely awakened but still casually began the Stone Age by inhaling a pebble, coughing it up, kicking it to the Celts’ hill fort and eating some grass.
He eventually woke on the day World War 1 began and got annoyed by a group of young men, hence orchestrating a very successful recruitment campaign in Oakmere. Then the sleep deprived goat hardly got a second’s sleep before World War 2 began and a bomb in London woke him up. So he reluctantly became the best pilot ever, all from the safety of his field.
This legendary goat sadly had to leave us though, because the council ran out of grass. This shows us to cherish what is important to us, and not to take it for granted, but to keep it safe and happy. Also, not to trust the council to have an unlimited supply of grass for you.

Virtual or Reality Ch 2

This is the second blog in a series.

 

Chapter 2:
Running!

What do you do when you hear a sonic boom and see an alien space ship streak across the sky and land on an island in the middle of a lake? If you are heedless like Max, Jack, Lewis, Lucy and Emily, you run towards it…

A tidal wave of dust swept across the island, finally everything was as still as a car with no wheels. With a sigh of smoke, the four parts of the arrow- head- like-ship protruding out of the ground split revealing four monstrous creatures. Each one looked different, but all equally horrific.

The five children then witnessed a heated discussion consisting of gruff grunts and meaningful murmuring. As the conversation drew to an end, the lift chugged down the super structure and a squad of beasts were flung out of the base and soared towards them. Teeth baring, mechanical wings spread, the creatures advanced in formation towards the fear stricken children that can’t believe their eyes.

The five children, scared out of their wits, ran to the cover of a gloomy pine forest. After a minute’s breather, the children ventured further into the patch of forest that none of them had been in before. As they rounded a huge blackened tree they encountered a reasonably sized hut, it had boarded up windows and a crooked chimney stretching out of the roof. As they crept round the back they saw that the door was ajar. What could possibly be inside?

Virtual or Reality?

This is the first blog post of a series.

 

Chapter 1
Just a Game.

Laser beams were flying across the forest clearing like bolts of lightning. Neither of the two players (Jack and Lewis) had a clue that Max was there spectating, high up in a bushy pine tree. Max had already eliminated one unsuspecting player with the element of surprise, could he eliminate the winner of this duel and win the game?

Alien Tag was the most popular game of 2033, everyone was playing it. To play, you must have a body vest, headset and laser gun, you then register in a group and have thirty seconds to run before the game begins. Players eliminate each other by shooting with their laser guns, attempting to be the last one standing. The game can be played whenever you like, wherever you happen to be. Max and his friends had chosen to play in the woodlands near their isolated village.

Finally Jack landed a good shot on Lewis and knocked him from the game. Circling the clearing Jack stopped just a few metres away from Max. “Oh thank you,” whispered Max, lining up his sights upon Jack, and when Jack turned Max let loose a flurry of laser bolts into the back of his friend’s head. As Jack’s body vest vibrated, Max’s headset said in a robotic voice “you have won the game.”

The three friends (Max, Jack and Lewis) took off their headsets and shouldered their laser guns. They set off to find the other two players, Lucy (Jack’s sister) and her friend Emily. As the five friends made their way out of the forest they heard a bone-shaking crash from the direction of the lake…

Eye of the Storm

Eye of the Storm

Today was the annual meeting of primary school leaders. The meeting consisted of the chair of governors and the head teacher of all the primary schools in the area. This year it was Oakmere’s turn to host it.

At first, everything was running smoothly: the meeting had started on time, refreshments were plentiful, and Mr. Sloathington was a very happy man. At 11.20, the meeting had been running for 20 minutes, but Miss Grumble had a very urgent message for Mr. Sloathington that he needed to see right away, so she commanded Tom to take it up to the Head Teacher. She took a malicious pleasure in making students, especially the ones she loathed, do a lot of jobs and errands for her. Tom was her favourite victim.

So Tom unwillingly trudged up to the hall to deliver the “urgent” note. When Tom arrived at the hall door he knocked and courteously said “sorry to interrupt you sir, but…”
As soon as Mr. Sloathington heard the word “sorry”, lightning flashed in his piggy little eyes. His chair flew out behind him as he stood up, knocking over the poor caretaker, and his eyebrows turned to menacing grey clouds. Tom could hear the thunder in his voice as Mr. Sloathington boomed “Tom, you wretched creature, I am not going to have one more **** mention of that stupid word in my school! Get out, you **** boy.”

First, there was silence, deadlier than the storm of anger. Then, one of the visiting head teachers cleared his throat and spoke wisely: “Tom, maybe you should leave that note with me and go back to your classroom.” As the door swung shut behind him, Tom heard him say to Mr. Sloathington “Norman…” and then the room was filled with cries of anger, but one phrase stuck in Tom’s mind, “you should not have the privilege of working with children.”

They never saw, heard or smelled him ever again.

A few months later.

Tom was now in secondary school, enrolling at Oakmere High, and he was buzzing with excitement about his first art lesson of the year. He walked through the classroom door, eager to succeed, and heard a familiar voice: “Hello Tom,” spoke Miss Rose’s soft, petal-like voice.

Science Fair

The first story in the series is “Introducing Tom”.  Please check it out on my blog.

Science Fair

Volcanic. Volcanic and explosive. Have you ever seen anger that is volcanic and explosive? Well Alex and Millie did on the day of the Science Fair.

It was an Oakmere tradition that every Year 6 class pairs up and creates a science project, then the class teacher accompanied by the head teacher goes around to every pair and tests their project. Of course, for this particular year group, that meant Miss Grumble and Mr Sloathington. SORI weren’t going to miss their chance.

The class were learning about the Romans, so Alex and Millie were making a volcano based on Vesuvius. In Vesuvius’ last eruption part of the volcano caved in, blocking the crater like a cork or a plug, Alex and Millie were going to act out the next eruption. The construction was built up of papier mache and a container of bicarbonate of soda was hidden inside. Hidden inside the crater was a little straw to add the vinegar and red dye to create a messy mixture.

It was the day of the Science Fair and everyone was buzzing. All around the hall there were circuits, lanterns and electromagnets – but only one volcano. Alex and Millie’s insides were bubbling like the red-dyed ‘lava’ mixture that soon was going to explode inside their volcano.

Striding in came Miss Grumble followed by her fiancé Mr Sloathington. Their cold-blooded, menacing faces stuck out like a sore thumb in the excitement of the hall. Alex and Millie had positioned themselves at the back of the hall (to be seen last) so as to get everyone watching and to make sure no one missed out.

Finally the stomach churning waiting was over, the children gathered round, the red dye was poured in by Alex, then in a very polite tone Millie asked Mr Sloathington if he would do the honours of pouring in the vinegar. When Mr Sloathington poured it in, it popped, fizzed, bubbled and whizzed. Suddenly the entire mixture flew out at Mr Sloathington, it caked his hairy face and splattered his sweat-soaked shirt, but the eruption of the volcano was nothing like the eruption of Mr Sloathington’s anger. His face turned very white, then very red, then very, very purple. In a menacing, blood curdling tone (worse than the smell in the hall at that moment) Mr Sloathington simply whispered “My office the two of you, now!”

The two satisfied children were escorted out by a wide round of applause. No matter what the furious head teacher did to them, it was worth it.

Please tell me in the comments section below if you have ever encountered anger that is volcanic and explosive.

The Red Rose

The first post in this series was “Introducing Tom”.  Please check it out on my blog.img_0208

S.O.R.I. had gone down a storm. They now had an emblem, the red rose. Inspired by their wondrous art teacher, their resistance had a new found driving force behind them.

It was a dawn of a new day, and (of course) a new prank. Mr. Sloathington didn’t exactly arrive early, he arrived late- very late indeed- but that still left just enough time for the leaders of S.O.R.I. to have a little play in the car park…

As soon as they met up, they set to work: seas of rose petals flooded the ground. A knee high barrier of the delicate but bold-looking petals sat in a ring around the filthy, rusty, old hatch back that had seen better days. S.O.R.I. thought that the rose petals made it look quite good, in fact better than it had in a long time.

That was not all though, S.O.R.I. badges started “mysteriously” appearing in everyone’s trays. The red rose also started “randomly” appearing on all of Tom’s books…

3:20pm
(When school’s supposed to finish)
Like a gargantuan, raving, fat bull Mr. Sloathington charged and started kicking the rose petals everywhere,”ssssssssooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.”

S.O.R.I.

Once more they were sitting in one of Mr. Sloathington’s unbelievably tedious assemblies; the group of crusading rebels had decided to form S.O.R.I. (Sloathington Out. Rose In) to campaign for the return of their beloved art teacher. The stakes were higher than ever for the children.

“Sori, Sori, Sori,” out of the blue, Millie started a whisper of a chant. “Sori, Sori, Sori,” the rest of the group joined in and the chant grew to a low rumble. “Stop this now,” bellowed Mr. Sloathington, bewildered. “Sori, Sori, Sori,” soon all of the older children were joining in, creating an earthquake of sound. “What is this?” Mr. Sloathington bawled as his head turned to an enraged plum. By now a tsunami was surging in the hall, the excitement bursting out as all the children found their voices. “Sori, Sori, Sori, Sori!”
“Stop this right this second,” Mr. Sloathington exclaimed as his foot came clattering down on the floor with a terrific bang. The noise died instantly – but the damage had been done…

During the following week, posters were flying up and being torn back down. S.O.R.I. was growing. Pictures of Mr. Sloathington stamping his foot with a giant baby’s head on his protruding neck, pictures of a sloth having a nap, and bottles of cola with “Sloth” written down the side. The campaign was gaining momentum…

Daisy

 

Daisy

IMG_0204

I am the proud owner of three humans! There’s Furry (Dad) who plays a game with me called Shoo – get off the chair, and then there’s Feeder (Mum) the infinite source of food, and best of all there’s Player (Millie), the one that came up with those funny names (Mum and Dad). Oh I almost forgot, then there’s Mr. Sloathington, Millie’s awful head teacher, I’m glad I don’t own him, I do my business in his front garden every evening when Millie takes me for a walk; oddly she doesn’t clear that one up and take it home in a bag.

If I were the eighth dwarf my name would be Bouncy, I just can’t help “bouncing off the walls” as Mr. Furry describes it. I have come to the conclusion that it’s all my species’ fault – whatever that is. I worked this out because when Mr. Furry complains about me Millie says, “It’s what she’s meant to do, her species is springer spaniel, she is meant to spring”. But whatever Furry says I just keep on bouncing, because I know he loves me really.

Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, when Feeder goes out to work, is my time to shine. I become so many superheroes, from the secret snack snatcher to the cheeky chair chewer and the proud pillow pillage. After saving the house, sort of, I have a little paws – ha ha, dog pun – and wait by the door for Millie to return home.

I feel envious of Millie, she has opposable thumbs, I wish I could throw sticks, unfair, but she doesn’t have a tail, so we’re even!! Also I have never seen her lick anybody, odd.