The air of the hall tingles with anticipation. A low murmur of chatter bounces of the acoustics, echoing this way and that. The lights are dull and the red velvet décor gives an impression of warmth. The stage is set, orderly lines of chairs, sleek black stands, thousands of pounds worth of celli. The musicians walk onto the stage, almost unnoticeable in their black concert dress, clutching their precious instruments. You can taste the expectation, the knowledge that this will be an exceptional performance. The conductor walks on to astounding applause and, as he lifts his baton, the eyes of everybody in the hall focus on the small, unassuming stick. The lights dim, casting shadows across the walls. The conductor swishes his baton; and the show begins.
Every morning I wake up to unimaginable pain. At night I lay awake unable to sleep because of the pain in my knee. Pain is my constant companion; overshadowing every step, every action, every day. And this is CRPS: it’s hell.
I’ve recently been stuck on crutches due to an ill placed and ill-timed knee injury (though when is a good time I don’t know). Now, some people may be under the impression that crutches are ‘fun’ or perhaps a bit of a laugh. Nope. Not true. Whoever came up with that idea is delusional… or stupid. So, other that the constant stream of hospital appointments, physio session and the ever lasting need for pain killers, what’s the worst thing about being on crutches? In no particular order:
The wrought iron gates loomed above me, their twisted metal bars contorted into mirroring shapes. As I breathed in I could taste the sharp tang of metal attacking my tongue. If I peered carefully enough, like snow drifting to the ground, I could see the dusty red flaking off. Even standing outside the gates, I could feel a presence hovering over me, the whole grounds were sacred.
Inside the box lie the worst fears of everyone. There it sat, in the middle of the room, like an executioner waiting for its victim. The four of us watched it, weary. It began to shake; then, ever so slowly the lid creaked open. It turned to look at him. All of a sudden the room was filled with flames. They consumed me – choked me. The smoke viciously attacked the back of my throat, making it impossible to breathe as it snatched away every last breath of oxygen I had. My heart was pounding with adrenaline and I thought I was going to die. Then through the roaring of the flames a distant voice shouted, “Ridikkulus!” And the blazing inferno turned into beautiful fireworks. I took a deep breath of fresh air, as I watched them dance across the room, twinkling like stars.
Switzerland. Have you been looking for a diverse yet picturesque place to spend your holiday? Look no further. Just a few hours away by plane, with English speaking residents and a fascinating local culture, Switzerland is also the place to go for a romantic getaway. So why not read on and find out more about what Switzerland has to offer?
Harry Potter is the greatest literary series of our generation. And probably the next few generations after us; in fact, I’m pretty sure it will last forever. Just about everybody has read it, if you haven’t, do, or be the social outcast of society forever. However, during the reading of the books many questions are raised, not the first being the most hated man for six books: Severus Tobias Snape. Who really is he? Where do his true loyalties lie? Is he really the greasy haired git he’s made out to be?
I’ve just watched the latest Hobbit film and I really must send out my heart given thanks to Peter Jackson for such a breath taking conclusion to an epic tale. The story of the Hobbit isn’t just about rings, dragons and wizards but of friendship, morals and some awesome fight scenes. The final Hobbit film is a wonderful journey which will transport you to Middle Earth where you will stand alongside dwarves, elves, wizards and Bilbo Baggins himself to watch the final battle against evil.
My eyes flew open. The bright white pierced my pupils, stabbing tiny pinpricks of light into my eyes. I didn’t care. Today is the day; the day of the Quidditch world cup final. Excitement tore through me like a racing car around a track. My palms were sweating and my only thoughts were of Quidditch. I thundered downstairs like a herd of elephants, excitement stealing all elements of self-control I may have had. Bacon was frying on the stove, its fragrant odour reached my nostrils and I inhaled the god like sent. I pulled the worn chair from the table and sat down with an ominous creek. I placed the bacon in my mouth and my taste buds exploded. The salty sweet taste erupted – it was heaven. I continued my divine breakfast, worshipping each mouthful as though the Holy Spirit was contained within. I finished my glorious breakfast and raced back upstairs, my state of euphoria returning after my brief period of composure. I brushed my teeth in a matter of seconds, the cool minty taste washing away any lingering tastes of bacon, then rinsed out my mouth where the icy water created a small inferno in my mouth. My breath coming out in small puffs of steam like a fluffy clouds on a summer’s day, I raced into my room (though admittedly at a slightly slower pace). Pulling my dark red sweater over my head I was soon dressed. The jumper, though itchy, showed my adoring support for Bulgaria. Back downstairs in record time I threw open the front door and stepped out into the morning. My Father trailed behind, at a slightly slower pace, laden down with bags; I raced on in front the grass glistening and each individual drop of dew shining in the sunlight like stars in the night sky.