Tom’s favourite part of the week was the art lesson on Wednesday afternoon with Miss Rose. The class went to the cramped but cosy art room; that many people said was more like a big cupboard; to have their weekly session of all thing creative (apart from writing). Miss Rose was a smiley young (21 to be exact) teacher who often wore her namesake flower in her hair or on her clothes. She was an enthusiastic, encouraging person who, if you walked past her on the street, immediately gave you a happy feeling. But the best thing about her was her artistic talent, she perfected every flick, every dot and every detail. She was an art mastermind and the pupils … well the pupils loved her.
It was a week and a day since the first prank had succeeded so gloriously. The atmosphere in the school was incredible: everyone was bubbling with excitement (except Miss Grumble and Mr. Sloth, as he was now frequently referred to). The prank remained a mystery, except that Ben and Alex had recruited Louis and Billy from their class onto the team for future pranks. As the pranksters walked into “the cupboard” they saw Miss Rose quickly flick shut her sketch book, but it did not stop Tom from getting a look at what she was drawing, a big fat sloth with green and brown wavy lines radiating from it signifying a horrible smell, holding a can of cola (with more cans strewn on the floor around it). This gave Tom a new spring of encouragement, he had a teacher on his side.
He sat down and carried on his watercolour painting of a jungle river by adding a sloth slouched in a tree asleep. He then took his incredible creation up to Miss Rose (unsurprisingly wearing a beautiful peach rose in her hair) – she smiled in amazement “that is truly astonishing Tom, can you go and show your excellent work to the head teacher please. Oh, before you go, do you like my latest sketch?” She opened her sketch book and produced the most astounding, beautifully funny picture of a truly incredible sloth slumped in a desk chair with cola cans all over the floor. “Like it?” Said Miss Rose, wearing her usual smile. “Yeah, it’s brilliant!” Exclaimed Tom. “Actually Tom, maybe don’t take that painting to Mr. Sloathington” she whispered to him with a cheeky wink, “you know what people are calling him … I wouldn’t want him to think you had anything to do with it.”
A few weeks (of being mentally tortured by Mr Sloathington) later, Tom, Ben and Alex had finally come up with the perfect prank. All they had to do now was to execute their plan, and then just play it cool and no one would know that it was them. The pranksters had started up their engine.
Today was Tuesday 28th January and it was time to put their plan into action. The school hall was their target and it was at a far remote area of the school. So Tom, Alex and Ben crept through the school to the hall, with the package that they had worked on for a long time. Alex (being the tallest) climbed up on a chair and attached the package at the top while Ben and Tom attached it to the bottom. After that it was a swift run back to class.
Before the Troublesome trio of Pranksters knew it, it was assembly time. So they lined up, like everyone else, walked to the school hall, like everyone else, sat down quietly, like everyone else. They just acted like everyone else! Then the assembly started. The first thing that was strange was that the screen was a shade of green similar to bogeys, instead of its usual grey. Then all across the screen in abysmal but gargantuan writing was scrawled “get rid of the stinky sloth (mr slothington).” The whole school was in uproar, some of the kids had puzzled faces, some had worried faces and some of the kids were laughing their pants off.
Miss Grumble was weeping enough to fill twenty very salty rivers. Mr. Sloathington was outraged and blew the roof off the whole school with his shouting. He screamed “no more play for the lot of you until I find out who the culprit was for this”, he pointed at the board with an absolutely disgusted face almost like he had picked up a cup with two week old mouldy tea bags in it. So they sat there in silence for the whole of break. And all of lunch.
This is my third post of my series all about Tom.
One crisp Thursday morning, Tom was running around with Alex and Ben in the playground. They were pretending to be Star Wars fighter pilots – just as Tom was about to heroically blow up the Death Star he was tripped up by a clumsy, bumbling Year 3 child. Tom was sent flying into … Miss Grumble, drenching her, Tom and a skinny little crying girl in tea.
Miss Grumble was enraged, “go to Mr. Sloathington’s office now!” she shouted. Tom trudged whilst dragging his feet and sorrowfully looking down at the4 floor across the playground and through the school to the dreaded head teacher’s office. When Tom shuffled into Mr. Sloathington’s office the first thing that he thought was “wow, he drinks a LOT of cola!” Mr. Sloathington’s face instantly turned purple when he found out why Tom had been sent to him. Once again the words meant nothing to Tom, this time because he was distracted when he realised what Mr. Sloathington reminded him of: a slow moving, hairy and stinky sloth. But when he was walking out the door Mr. Sloathington said “and that’s it for your play time.” Those words really sunk in.
As Tom walked back out to the playground, the first thing he saw was Miss Grumble’s soggy coat hanging on the railings like an ugly stone-grey rag, an awful reminder of his horrible punishment. He eventually found Ben and Alex and told them what his fate was. They were all disgusted at the new head teacher’s actions and swore to plot against him. Prank season had begun.
I am carrying on with my series about Tom. In this post you will get to find out about Tom and some of the characters who will appear in later stories.
Alex is a tall, lean, dark skinned boy. He has dark brown close cropped hair. His deepest secret is that he goes to ballet class but he tells his friends he is playing rugby. In his spare time his favourite thing to do is ride his bike, he plays out in the park down the road a lot.
Is a short, freckly, rounded child with dark eyes and hair. He always has at least one of his shirt buttons undone, he also has his shirt untucked, he wears a cheeky smirk and is always cracking jokes. It is unusual for Ben to be seen not in front of his computer or telly when he is not eating, sleeping or reluctantly in school.
Tom is a skinny and very pale boy. He is not quite as short as Ben but is nowhere near as tall as Alex. He is blond and sporty, he likes running but he prefers long distance running to sprinting. He suffers very badly from Sun Burn and used to suffer from Eczema. He has over one hundred different napkins in his napkin collection!
This is going to be the first blog of a series of stories about a boy named Tom and his horrible head teacher.
“He had forests growing out of his nose,” that was Tom’s first impression of his new head teacher. He also noticed that Mr. Sloathington was as wide as a door, smelled distinctly of full-fat cola and his neck was exactly the same width as his quadruple chin. This was Tom’s first day at Oakmere Primary School; it was also the first day for the head, Mr. Sloathington. The previous head had a heart attack and dropped dead on Boxing Day, leading to Mr. Sloathington’s immediate assignment.
This was the first day of school after the Christmas holidays: Tom was extremely excited to get off to a good start to his new school and make a good impression on the teacher. Miss Grumble (the Year 6 teacher) looked somewhat difficult to impress. She was as thin as a lamp post and her mouth was like a beak, always pulled into a disapproving frown.
Tom was so eager to start working on his story in English that when he tried to snatch his pen up from the table he accidentally flicked it away from him and hit Miss Grumble in the face. The enraged teacher ordered Tom to go and see the new head at break time.
Back in Mr. Sloathington’s office, Tom was looking up into the scariest, hairiest nostrils he had ever seen while Mr. Sloathington bellowed angrily at him. The most disgusting bad breath smell filled Tom’s nostrils, but the sight of the hair and the stench in the air meant that the words being bellowed did not mean a thing to him. He had not got off to the start he had hoped to.
This is a story based on Disney’s Rogue One, I really enjoy watching Rogue One so I decided to write a story about it. My story is about the Hammerhead Corvette that pushes one Star Destroyer into the other in the battle at the end of the film.
As we came out of hyper space we joined a battle we would never forget. Almost at once orders came through from Admiral Radis ‘Drive at full power into the Star Destroyer dead ahead, knock it into the next star destroyer , may the force be with you.’
Full speed we careered into the first star destroyer. Boring into its side we forced it into the second Star Destroyer’ completely removing the bridge. The second Enemy Destroyer achieved our goal by obliterating the shield gate. As the shield came down the crew of Rogue One were able to transmit the death star plans.
This is a poem that I have written about one of my favourite animals, African wild dogs.
The African Wild Dog
The African wild dog,
Trotting as a pack.
Defending the young,
Not leaving the sick at the back.
The African wild dog,
Has a new pup.
When they play fight,
They jump back up.
The African wild dog,
Hunting with each other.
Sharing the work out,
Between sister and brother.
This is a follow-on from my previous post. Here Dumbledore replies to Sirius’ letter.
I have read your letter and thought about it very carefully. I have come to the conclusion that you cannot send Harry the details of where you are currently in hiding. But, only where you think it is safe for the two of you to meet.
The reasoning behind this, is that if the letter was to be checked (which is extremely unlikely to happen but it does sometimes) you could be found. You can after all tell Harry everything when he visits you (which I am sure he will). Don’t put anything about where you currently take refuge.
I would quite like to discuss Harry, he has been chosen for the tri wizard tournament. I want to bring this up because he is magically bound to complete all three tasks, so no matter how much you plead with me he has to do it.
The next Hogsmead visit is in exactly two weeks today.
Hope all is well,
This is fan fiction from the world of Harry Potter by the wonderful J K Rowling. I wrote this because I was absolutely thrilled by the books. This letter fits into the period when Sirius is hiding in the mountains during the Triwizard Tournament.
I have been living, cooped up in this tiny cave, which is stinky, dirty and not at all a nice place to live for some time now. This letter is for many reasons but most of all two questions, they are for the same reason; the first question is, when is the next trip to Hogsmead due to take place?
I know you might be quite shocked at my question, but I will explain it perfectly well, I am asking permission to send Harry a letter containing the details to where I am in hiding so he and his friends Ron and Hermione can visit me?
I and Buckbeak have been getting on very well and I haven’t even had to stretch the packages of food that you have been sending me. This is because I have been letting Buckbeak have night time flies and he usually comes back with multiple dead animals from forests near-by. Buckbeak looks so free and wild when flying something that I shall never feel, and it’s all down to that traitor Pettigrew who got me locked up in that God forsaken place of Azkaban.
I remember the days when I, James, Lupin and Peter would go out laughing, joking playing and pranking, the world seemed that it was good [mind my manners] apart from that grumpy and moody Sniveluss of a Slitherin.
If you are all right with me doing so please send a letter A.S.A.P.
Your forever faithful friend,
This is a piece of school work that is inspired by Andrew Fusek Peter’s poem “Last Night I Saw The City Breathing.
Last night I saw the city waking,
In Central Park at the crack of dawn,
The daisies began to yawn.
Last night I saw the city breathing,
Car engines respire,
Same as the church choir.
Last night I saw the city laughing,
Windows giggled so they cracked,
On a bus that was packed.
Last night I saw the city dancing,
The trees jived,
As the swimmer dived.
Last night I saw the city crying,
A whistle wailed,
And then inhaled.
Last night I saw the city sleeping,
Offices blinked into a nap,
While a drowsy man tried to stare at a map.