Sunday, 24 April 2011

A sample of my writing, through the ages.

Typed up versions (with translations where necessary) of stories I wrote during primar school. I am a literary genius.

Caravan
By Rebecca Condron, aged 4.
ogytfnpa
(Translation- 'caravan'... apparently)



In the snow
By Rebecca Condron, aged 5.
I Went santeseKeriis on a hels. I haved a snoww boll fald.
(Translation- 'I went sledging on a hill. I had a snow ball fight')



On the way to school.
By Rebecca Condron, aged 6.
Of you go on your way to school said mum to Lynn. be good yes said Lyyn. Lynn was sced of monstas. She warck along till she riech school. She did notsee one of her fidesends every one was a monsta. it was scery she stat to cray she crayd and crayd atl her dad. he was sced too. But gebt her and ran home. mena wayll (BEST SPELLING OF MEANWHILE EVER) mum was mack in dinae. she said wot are you doing herya now? I am herya becoz no body was gils or Boy they are monstas. Ok then you can stey home today oly.



The day I got lost.
By Rebecca Condron, aged 7.
One fine day I was on my way to dr. Jenkes the great inventers house. When I got there I was greated by 'do you What to go back in time' But before I colid saying anyfin I was pushing buttens for for 1414.

That is were I endden-up. So there I was not noing were I am. When allof a sudden a cowboy came and said 'howdey partner' not noing What it meant I said it back. but the cowboy then said soomething I did not say back. 'what happed your hat your boots and your horse' but i codild ansere I was at home.



UNTITLED
By Rebecca Condron, aged 8.
I meat a rat it groow and groow and soon started shrinking till it was gone. soon everyone in the same road was talking about it. Then after every rat in the world had had their turn it was the germs turn. So everyone was warnd to stay in so they didn't die from the bad bug. this happed to every germ.

But my friend didn't listen and went out the bus. She said 'so' then she died. I wasn't botherd. She was disabidiant anyway. My mu at the bus stop also died thats when I was bothered. She didn't say 'so' she didn't know. Soone every little thing had had there turn. It was the big thins turn starting with the biggest, the blue whale. But that shrunk then groow then disauppeared all together.

It even went back to dinosawes it happend to everyfin ingluding our bus. I was talkign to my friend about the world ending but I said this to soon. My dad and my brother died they got trod on. Not to mention my x boy friend died too. he also didn't blieve me! he said 'that stupid thing int going to scare me!' as you can see it did!

I soon were in a world all on my owen untill I died and everyfin in the world died. I am berryd in London and if you find my grave I will hunt you forever but nobbody has ha! ha!



The Rescue.
By Rebecca Condron, aged 8
'Plane 106 to China now boarding!' '
'Come on,' said mum, 'that's our plane, time to go.' As I climbed in I could feel something was going to happen. Well the plan was o.k until we spoted the thick mist. I think the piolt lost his way and BUMP! we crashed. Everyone got up and pancked. 'oh no!' they gasped and shouted one person was a docter and quietly went to see the piolt he came out and said our piolts died.

There was gasps from all over the plane oh no!!! Suddenly there was a rock on the plane and then we started tumbering ahhhhhhh!!! everyone screamed. Soone we was 3 miles down under water. Days passed. Weeks, mouths. nearly a year passed when 3 or 4 year old passed and say the plane 'daddy daddy!' the little kid called. 'someone drew a plane' 'oh no,' his dad said, 'that's a real plane 3 miles down under water!' and his dad called the police.

For 6 people survived and still to this very day they are alive and well. But one old lady who is 99 tomorrow and is very ill and probably dying.



In the middle of the night!
By Rebecca Condron, aged 9.
This story begins in the middle of the night. On Friday the 13th of October, 1982. It all happend at Mary-Jane's house- in her bedroom.

It was spooky for somone afraid of the dark like Mary-Jane. Her brother John was long asleep. Her mother too. There was a loud PLOP! PLOP! PLOP! Then a COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! A bright light shone deeply.

A.... WHAT LOOKED LIKE A DRUNK DINOSAWE! ...............

'HELLOOOOOOOOOW! He-Haw!' he said. Mary was terrified. 'Want the pub, come on, yeh come on' Mary was scared so scared she couldn't do anything else but climb onto his back. They was somehow reported to another dimension.

At the pub was dog lady mangers, cat cleaners and so on. 'Pint of Catsberg and a Dogs Smith and for the lady a Lemmingsade. Ta!' Some lemmings (what hadn't been jumping off a cliff) bonced up and down. Mary drank up and suddenly everything went black....!

When Mary woke she was in her room. John came in 'ah your awake' he smiled. 'Just,' said Mary. 'Dinosaur?' Suddenly he stuck his head round the door and winked!



An Amazing Discovery.
By Rebecca Condron, aged 10.
Above me the grey clouds formed an arrow. Well, it wasn't necessarily a perfect arrow but my imagination was so strong it looked like one anyhow. My first thought was to run home and tell somebody but they would think I'd gone mental. 'Maybe I have,' I said aloud. Pleased to hear my own voice, for some reason I decided to follow the arrow.

After about three quarters of an hour, going West. I saw something. There on the sand was a rusty, old, metal chest. it looked like something Danny (my little brother) was so intrested in. When I opened it I found a note saying:

Welcome finder of this treasure,
The gold that can only be used for pleasure,
For anyone who opens it but the poor,
Fool's gold is what is in their store!

As I read the letter I puzzled over what it could mean. In the end I decided it couldn't be too important because it was under the lid, taped there with blood-red tape. So I layden down my pockets and hurried along knowing mum wouldn't mind or notice if I had some extra money. You see were rich. My mums a famous model and my dads a famous film director. In the end I called mum up on a pay phone with some money I already had and went into town.

Three hours later my pockets were empty. No I had not spent all my money, it had disappeared. I walked along feeling broke. I walked back to where I'd seen the treasure. It had gone. And then at the end of my road, I noticed something. more people had moved in, poor people.

I realised what the poem ment. The money had gone to a worthy cause and I was pleased.



Lost (AKA, Rebecca Condron watched too much Wild Thornberrys)
By Rebecca Condron, aged 11.
I stood still well aware that my airhead sister Sasha was staring at yours truely expecting me to come with a boredom busting plan. it had been twenty months since dad had found out he got a job working for some wildlife trust in the alps and since then both me and Sasha, who is 4 years younger than me, had been skiing everyday (as well as studying our school books!) and were sick of it the only other option was to stay in bed all day (fine with me!) Sasha had got it into her ditzy skull we could go explore. Who was I to disagree.

There was a rumble from above us, gently rocking then getting violenter and violenter I recognised the tell-tale sound sof an a- brace yourself... AVALAUNCH!!! I called sasha my jet black hair waving around as I twisted and turned dodging falling bolders of snow. 'Oi! Kira, I think the kiy's falling in!' A muffled voice suddenly shouted. 'Sash, where are you!' I hastily asked, I knew the answer straight away. There would be no answer. I knew what i had to do.

I made it to the snow-proff cabin and looked around, eyes searching for the unused radio. I was one button away from talking to dad. Sensible, reliable dad. Of course, once dad knew, very breathily, what had happened he was there in a flash and together (well, with the help of Aaron, a TV camera man and Mia, a TV show director) we dug. The avalaunch had subsided. We had no hope or so we thought, of finding Sasha alive but we kept digging. After a time of an hour Mia found Sasha and puilled her to the surface.

Aaron gently lay Sash on the bed and covered her in a gazzillion blankets. Mia phoned the ambulance service while me and dad stayed with her. Sasha was taken to the hospital on a flat stretcher in a bumpy ambulance. The final outcome was after being in the snow for ages she had pneomonia. The outcome looked bleak, but she survided. But then she died. Dad has now taken a job in the sahara desert. GULP!!!!

Monday, 18 April 2011

Loyalty.

Sometimes I need to know that I matter. That my feelings matter. I'm so used to starving or throwing up any feeling I had that now I don't know what to do. I'm struggling. I need to know that somebody cares a little, enough, because right now I'm struggling to care about myself. And I can't handle being walked over, having my feelings discarded. I need somebody to notice me. I can't hold everything together and I can't take your shit. I just need a bit of reassurance right now. I need to know that my absence would be noted, besides what a disruption it might cause. That my presence is... I don't even know. I feel so pathetic for even needing validation, because this has come from such a small, insignificant thing; it's just the final straw, petty. Self-indulgent.





I feel so fucking ugly and disgusting. Not even just physically.

Thursday, 14 April 2011

30 photos (well, ok, 5 photos), part trois.

As before, I'll do a block of pics so that you can pretend that you know me and not just my mental disorders, hahahaha. I'll tag this post so that it'll be linked with the others in this series thing!

11. A picture of something you hate.

I'm extremely intolerant of intolerance.

12. A picture of something you love.

When I grow up, my garden will be a forest of gnomes. A gnation, if you will. Hahahaha.

13. A picture of your favorite band or artist.


N-DUBZ (no, seriously, hahaha)! I saw them live last night and they were so, so, so, so amazing. AHHHHHH :D

14. A picture of someone you could never imagine your life without.

My little cousin, Emily. Isn't she adorable?

15. A picture of something you want to do before you die.

I know I'm probably supposed to say sky-diving or swimming with dolphins or, whatever... but that'd be easy. I want to go at least two years with no hospital admissions. I want to be happy and HEALTHY, please.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Eating disorders and contraception.

I am most definitely at a bit of disadvantage when it comes to contraception and knowledge of it and all that balls; I seriously would never even consider sending my child to a faith school. Even if not for the fact that most religious people are bigoted twats (I love to generalise, shhhhhh), hahahahaha. So come on, let's have a bit of, um, peer learnin' and teachin'. Momma Ginge is all about the pill, she wanted me to go on it when I was about 13, but obviously that's probably not the BEST idea for me. My eating disorder is pretty stable right now, in that it's not all that bad, but I don't know how long that's going to last. So I'm not sure I should be reliant on summat I could vom'.

I thought I fancied the injection, 'cept that's more likely to cause weight gain. So that's out. Maybe. I don't know, I guess I'd gain more weight if I was pregnant, eh? I don't want the IUD/IUS because I like to think that my vag is all delicate and that (at least some part of my has to be, right?) and I don't want owt to shatter that allusion, hahahahaha. And I'm not having the (g)implant 'cause that grosses me out. I have no problem with vom' or shit, but having summat that I can poke out of my arm is just A LITTLE BIT TOO DISGUSTING.

Maybe I should revert back to the Catholic way of pulling out, HA.

I've actually just sort of talked myself into the pill, purely 'cause the NHS tells me there's no evidence I'll gain weight on it. But I found a website that said 20% of people lose weight on the injection... I'm drowning in information. TELL ME WHAT TO DO.

Friday, 8 April 2011

Poo train.

I had the shits yesterday, and told my mate that I hoped there would be only one toilet per train that I had to get today (yes it's very nice to be home, thank-you. I'm having my own private welcome home party as we speak. Well, I'm having a cheeky vodka) and that I hoped it would be broken. I can't help but think some god or other heard that and took me a little too literally, like that joke where- pah, I can't be arsed finishing that sentence. You know a joke about shit being taken literally, fill your own blank. ANYWAY my train between Peterborough and Doncaster featured some severe over-crowding, several broken toilets and a broken heating system. Result? Poo sauna.

Yum.

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Home time.

I'm going home tomorrow, I'm not quite sure how I feel. On one hand, I'm the only person in the world (probably in the universe, but I'm not well travelled enough to know) that likes Scunthorpe. Like really, really LIKES. There's something magical about a place where you don't need a cigarette or owt to smoke. Just a big breath of that, um, smokey shite in Scunny's air (I think sulphur might be in there? Sulphur is the one that smells like poo, right? I think? Maybe not, I may have just made that up because my spell check doesn't even recognise that word). I like how being drunk by midday is perfectly acceptable and how if you say hi to someone on the street, they say hi back, they don't grab their handbag and shuffle quickly and nervously away from you. I like how people don't read The Daily Mail (mainly 'cause they can't read. But I'd take illiteracy over The Hate Mail any day) and don't think Waitrose is good place to do a weekly shop and would never, ever admit to voting Conservative. I like how everyone always looks a bit grubby and old ladies say the word 'minging' and how being charged more than 2 quid for a drink is EXTREMELY UNACCEPTABLE.

But then, the south does has it's perks. Actually, besides my mates (and I am not going to do a gay arse-kissing thing here, hahahaha. My mates know who they are and know that I love them), there aren't THAT MANY perks. I mean, before a load of southerners tell me to piss off out of their land, I like Essex but it's just no Scunthorpe. The things that have me unsure about how I feel about going home are more, yanno, linked with being up north. The fact that most of my memories of the last few years of being home include being very, very ill. I sort of have in my head that being down here means healthy, being up there means being ill. Which isn't true. I mean, I haven't been as ill down here but that's nowt to do with BEING DOWN HERE. It's not the southern air or summat in the water that's made me better. It's my work. My bloody hard work.

So good feelings about going home. Think happy etc etc. 'Cause if I can do it here, I can do it there. And enjoy that pollution.

Tuesday, 5 April 2011

The exam diet.

I was going to blog about-
I can't stop-
I'm sick of-

I'm fat.

And I have no thoughts, no coherent thoughts, about anything but my size. Actually, I don't even have any coherent thoughts about my size. 5kg. Just need to lose 5kg.

5kg.
5kg.
5kg.

Shut up, brain.