Thoughts about 'Shrooms'

Tonight, I went round to my friend’s and was the first to arrive at his house. I naively asked him what movie we were going to watch, expecting (or rather, hoping) for a response such as ‘mamma mia’ or ‘you can choose, Louisa – as long as it’s a cheesy musical’. But no. With a smug grin, he thrusted a dreary looking trashy-horror film at me, and with disgust I read the blurb. I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and all that, but it was called ‘Shrooms’ and was basically about a group of teenagers who experience a horrible trip after eating some mushrooms they find in the forest. Yeah, it’s as good as it sounds - find out for yourself here.

As soon as the others arrived, the host showed them the film and, typically, us girls all rolled our eyes and asked for the wifi code whilst the boys couldn’t wait to put it on.

As the film started, we immediately realised that the movie would bring more laughs than screams. At one point, it actually got a little bit good, when we were told about a ‘true story’ from the past which basically addressed the generic ‘something-bad-happened-now-people-die-here-and-are-found-mutated’ catch. It was actually quite scary, though (although I think this was provoked a little bit more by the fact that there was a really scary tree outside which kept swaying in the wind and making us jump).

As the climax built up, we gradually lost understanding of the storyline, although it wasn’t any good to begin with. Being a horror movie however, it had all of the right effects yet I don’t think these were executed to the best quality – the gore was very cliché and looked fake, and the ‘dark figure’ started off scary, but we saw too much of its face so it lost the mysterious and creepy element and the suspense therefore dropped. I think this was one of the main mistakes of the movie – showing the audience too much. Rookie error.

All in all, as far as trashy horror movies go, this was no different to the rest of them. One might describe the plot as ‘unique’ but to be honest, it was just stupid. Other elements of the storyline were actually quite gripping – such as the ‘horror story’ of the psychiatric men in the forest – yet the actual reflection of these in the film let down its potential. The film made us laugh a lot, particularly one of the characters who (we assumed) was supposed to scare the living daylight out of us. He was meant to be a psycho but my friend immediately saw a resemblance of Lennie from ‘Of Mice and Men’ in him, and from then on, none of us could take him seriously. Ironically, somebody spotted a dead rabbit hanging from the doorway of this character. I guess Lennie never got to tend to the rabbits in the end. The best part was the extremely unexpected catch right at the end. I won’t give it away but it did give ‘Shrooms’ the edge off other similar movies because it wasn’t as predictable as we had thought.

In summary, if you want a lazy night in with a couple of friends to have a laugh, rent this movie (don’t buy it – you probably won’t watch it again), but if you actually want a big scare and something to talk about for weeks after, I’d veer towards better quality horror films.   

What did you think about the film? Leave your comments below!

Pressure.

I stared at the keypad, trying to remember the correct code that had been drummed into me over and over again. “Twist the dial, type ‘2-0’, flick the sw— no wait,” what was it?

I felt the pressure. The pressure from my peers and everybody around me, dependent on my next move. But more importantly, the pressure from myself. I had to do it. I had a lot of energy at my care, but how was I going to control it? What was that code? I knew that one wrong step would deplete my chances, and a careless action would make the whole contents in that small box, which held no prisoners, explode and burn to a crisp. What a waste that would be.

C’mon! Think! I could drive a tank, operate a gun, navigate across the harsh Afghanistan desert, yet when my comrades needed me most; my mind had hit a wall. “Twist the dial, type ‘2-0’, flick the sw—“

‘YOU JUST TRIED THAT!’ one of my companions yelled, the stress and panic leaking out of his voice like water from a tap. ‘We haven’t got much time left’. In immense dread, I touched one of the buttons and, unbeknown to me, it bleeped and the whole box sprang into action, leaping and whirring as it eventually lit up. My last sense to realise what had happened was my touch. But I soon felt the immense heat radiating through my bones, like a wave of water drenching a sandy beach, seeping into every nook and cranny available and making me aware of it, as if it was just tapping me on the shoulder. Everybody around my flinched in anticipation as a harsh countdown started and I knew this was it.

10, 9, 8—“EVERYBODY GET READY”, 7, 6, 5, 4, —“IT’S GONNA EXPLODE!”, 3, 2, 1

*ping*

The popcorn was ready

Does anyone actually know the words to Auld Lang Syne?!

People always point out that ‘New Year’s Eve is always underwhelming’, making out like they are saying some kind of shocking, controversial opinion. Whoever they are telling then proceeds to agree, thinking it is the spookiest coincidence in the world.

Haven’t people yet noticed that New Year’s Eve is, in fact, nothing at all but an excuse for a good party? I mean what are they expecting? The clock strikes midnight and all over the world calendars leaping in the air off their own accord and transforming into pages plastered in the new date? Historical figures rising from the dead to welcome in the new year? Our true love actually arriving at the party and giving us seven swimming swans? The reality is that, when the clocks strikes 12, and our countdown reaches its climax, it’s over. Christmas is over for another year and we are just left standing, staring at our phones and watches to check that the date has changed. "New Year’s Eve doesn’t interest me really, I’m more of a Christmas type of person" says everyone. Who are these people who prefer December 31^st to the 25^th (and do they know it’s Christmas time??) Everybody has an idea in their mind that they are missing some kind of New Year’s Eve twist; that they are on their own in thinking that night is over-rated but do you know what I think? I think Christmas is gone, another year is over (a new one just begun) and we just want a good old moan at anything we can set our sights on. The clocks strike 12, the crowd disbands, we go to bed and wake up grouchy the next morning. That's all that's gonna happen. Deal with it.

Do you agree with me? Post your NYE views below!

The introduction to my autobiography...

I hate to say it but that fringe has only recently gone. I should've ditched it sooner

Now that I think about it, it’s actually really difficult to introduce my autobiography. I mean, how am I supposed to start - “Thanks for wanting to read about my life, but bear in mind it’s not very interesting”? I thought about starting it like one of those soppy videos, ‘a message to my 16 year old self’ and proceed from there, but bearing in mind I am only just 17, my advice would be less along the lines of ‘follow your heart’ and more along the lines of ‘don’t forget to take your toothbrush on holiday when you go to Turkey’. So here goes – I was born on a battlefield on the South of the Serbian border, whilst the enemy was shooting from both sides and my father was recovering from a nasty blow to the head; my birth was truly a miracle. Nah, just kidding. To be honest, my birth was pretty normal I think. When my mum went into labour with my older sister, Eleanor, my dad was late to the hospital because he had just scored 100 runs in an important cricket game. I don’t have an interesting story like that. I think that was the closest that Eleanor and I had ever been to succeeding in sport, much to our father’s dismay. The rise and fall of my football career came when, in year 5, I tried to impress a boy on the playground by kicking a runaway ball back to him, but it ended up plummeting straight for a wall and bouncing right back to me. Anyway, all my mum has really ever told me about when I was born was that the midwife on call was ‘fat, sweaty and grumpy’ and my timing meant that mum missed ‘Coronation Street’. It doesn’t get much more interesting; the majority of my childhood was spent sitting, alone, in our spare bedroom, waiting for somebody to come and buy a stamp from my makeshift post office. Nobody ever did. In fact, the biggest profit I made from it was when we sold it for £2 at a car boot sale last year. 

School homework - 'Write an introduction to a novel'

“It’s gonna be okay”. But it’s not going to be okay is it? People always say that, but how do they even know?

My friend Tara always says it, and then chuckles as I snarl, “you don’t know it will be okay”.  “God Georgia, you’re so pessimistic for a 15 year old! Lighten up a little,” she says it with a grin, but I know that when she uses my full name instead of ‘Gee’, she’s being serious. I understand where she’s coming from but it’s so difficult to lighten up when everything in my life is so dark. Nothing’s going to be okay for me; even Tara, my best friend, doesn’t understand this.

I don’t try to be miserable, misery just has a way of finding its way to me and making sure that I know nothing is ever alright. It snakes its way through even my happiest memories, tinting them with the doubt that relentlessly whispers to me ‘why should you have this happy memory?’ So when Tara naively tries to cheer me up, it is thrown back in her face as I remember why nothing will ever be okay again.

My thoughts are constantly flickering, like the sound on an old CD which jumps and stalls, but unlike track 6 on Take That’s first album, or the last track on ‘Now That’s What I Call Music! 24’, my thoughts always go back to the same place. I used to be a bright and happy child. Normal, I guess, but everything changed when I was 7…


Where do you think this story is going? Write the next part in the comments for me!

A piece of creative writing which includes certain given phrases

NOTE: The phrases which I had to include are in bold

As my pace quickened, my surroundings slowed. Every step, fuelled by the relentless rhythm of my heartbeat, seemed like an eternity. The silence was overpowering yet I could tell someone was there. The shadow of the trees? From the corner of my eyes they were creepy figures. The flap of a bird’s wings? These quickly became the pounce of the enemy. The darkness of the sky? I knew this was the spotlight in which my murder would occur.

Lost, scared and alone, I became two people. A shell and a consciousness. The frightened shell of a girl began to cry but I ignored her tears. Tears smell of vulnerability and vulnerability smells of danger.

Stay confident.

Stay brave.

Stay alive.

People say we only have 5 senses, but at that moment I had 6. He was there, I knew it and I guess, deep down, I knew my fate. I smelt the faint stench of his coffee-tainted breath, and his staccato pant was not even drowned out by the unforgiving harsh Autumn winds. The snap of a branch behind me could not be passed off as an innocent four legged animal, it could only be the aggressive stomp of his heavy boots.

My consciousness knew what to do; it took the fear and twisted it. Reshaped it. Used it. Fear became adrenaline which spurred on my legs to run faster. I whispered for my legs to help me, to speed on, to sense the danger. They had to rise to the challenge; it was their time to be heroes. I needed my legs to get me out of the forest, which would be quickly transformed into a taped-off murder scene by the morning. But they wouldn’t believe me, they didn’t sense the urgency. My adrenaline wasn’t enough for me to rapidly carry myself out of the forest. I tripped at every opportunity, each tumble bringing me closer to the inevitable.

I fought, begged and pleaded. Not only on that night, but on the lead up to it. “Don’t”, “Stop it”, “Go away”, “Leave me alone”. How many times can you say the same thing? I cried … again. Not from the pain, the pain came later on, but from the fact that he had, once more, succeeded. The most painful part was the sound of his laughter; it was the first time I had heard him laugh and this was when both me and him realized, as I lay tripped on the ground, that he had won. I wonder if he laughs at all of his victims.

I’m not sure where I was but I saw it all. I was now separated from my shell, who lay, waiting to be found. My memory appears in flashes.

The dog walker, not knowing that this would change her life forever. How can you forget the image of what lay in front of her in a muddy ditch?

The police, breezing over their emotions as they, naively, tried to piece together what had happened as if they had a chance. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again, don’t get involved. I should know. I got involved.

My father, having to make that transition from the anger over my overstepped curfew to the … well he doesn’t know what he feels. Perhaps he is still angry. Maybe he is just sad. I hope he stays strong.

My mother, crumpled in a heap as she receives the news, and later, (much later) arrives at the harsh reality that I’m never coming home.

…and Him. With no thought other than “so who’s next?”

In around 500 words, write either the beginning, 'magic moment' or endto a romance style novel. Include a variety of euphemisms and cliches

As the rain pattered against the rattling taxi window, she realised what she was losing. She didn’t know his second name, his favourite colour, how many siblings he had. She had not met his parents or been on holiday with him. She did not know him in a way that she knew her best friend or her parents, but in that second as he closed the car door and walked up to the train station, she knew one thing. She wanted to be with him. She loved him.

It did not take her long to realise what she had to. After forcing the driver to grind to a halt, she had never moved quicker, dodging past anonymous figures on the platform and fighting, begging and pleading with destiny to stop him getting onto the train. Raindrops splattered down, merely adding to the tears which tricked down her delicate cheeks whilst her panic built up.

“John! John! Stop!” she cried with sheer determination as onlookers jumped in confusion. He was an oblivious target in the distance, but somehow the only image that was focused in her eyes; he mattered and suddenly the argument didn’t.

Heart in mouth, she stumbled through the mob of people. It didn’t matter that she bumped into an elderly gentlemen, or barged through a couple, deep in conversation. They all loved people, they would understand her desperation if only they knew.

The train pulled in and people moved to get on. She was now desperate; her length of opportunity was being harshly monitored by the speed at which passengers boarded the train, which was impatiently waiting to depart. As hoards of people moved towards the train, she lost sight of John. The train left. And the crowd of people who had got off the train and spectators who had been saying goodbye to people began to disband. She never even got to say goodbye.

Heart in mouth, she stumbled to a wall and leant against it, suddenly letting the tears flow. She couldn’t support herself and collapsed onto the ground, not even caring that she was drenched from the puddle underneath her. The minute she had realised how much he was worth was the minute that she lost him. She sat there, head in hands and shivering from both the cold and the loneliness she felt. What was she to do now?

Suddenly she felt a warmth on her shoulder, with all of her hope based on this one sense, she looked up but her disappointment was reimbursed merely with a uniformed platform attendant telling her to move on.

As she stood up, wondering what to do next, she looked ahead of her, and that’s when she saw him. John. Sat on a bench watching her.

“I couldn’t do it,” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t leave you”.

Thoughts on The X Factor 2013

It's that time of the year again when families all over Britain snuggle down on a Saturday evening and prepare themselves for an evening of 'X Factor entertainment'. I love this show, and have done since Leona Lewis's victory, even though this meant staying loyal through the rougher days of Jedward, Wagner and (although I'll admit I had a crush on him) Frankie Cocozza. Although the auditions are my favourite part every year - giving us a proper laugh and something to talk about on a Monday morning during double maths, what keeps me hooked is the way we fall for an act and support it until it's (inevitable) last show - whether it be an ending in week 8 (I was a strong Chico supporter) or the grand final (I was one of thousands who were gutted when 1D came third!) we all love to follow their progress through the shows and backstage activities.

I cannot review this part of the programme yet as we have only just started the series and the acts are not long out of bootcamp, however from what I have seen, I am slightly disappointed with the re-vamped format this year. I love the room auditions as these provide us with the truly hilarious and outrageous auditions that everybody remembers, however why can the auditions not stop at these? I find the Sunday night 'stage' auditions very tedious and do not understand why acts need to be auditioned twice; as far as I know there have been no major problems with single auditions before? Furthermore the show is simply not the same without our own Simon Cowell. In his absence, the judges try too hard to fill his place instead of making their own mark on the show.

I look forward to seeing how this new format pans out, but at the moment I am not impressed with the X Factor 2013; it is turning into one of those programmes that stays on the Sky Planner for weeks until it builds up and we eventually delete a few odd episodes, and this is coming from a previously avid viewer!