Experience I'll never forget...

I come from Stockton. Somebody had to. Pigeons invade the town centre, targeting their next victim, and then they swoop down smoothly releasing their goods, like the Red Arrows at the finale of a daring stunt. They circle the benches, picking at the remains of food like vultures, devouring all flesh until just a carcass stands alone. A posh woman shoos them away violently, then sprays anti-bacterial and struts away, heading to the doctors. Litter is scattered throughout the streets, dancing in a gust of wind every now and then, they crave attention, pleading to be disposed of by the idle workers.

Buses pull up, loading old age pensioners, (who shove their passes in the driver’s face, obnoxiously - and you thought teenagers were bad!) and engulfing the road in a petrol-scented smoke. Along with buses, cars contribute to our forever-growing carbon footprint, it’s as if the air is a powerful leader, craving for the gases, whilst his measly servant feeds his bad habit continuously. The rulers of the road skip traffic lights, music blaring at top volume, smirking at the unimpressed faces. A flustered old lady hobbles down the path after them, shaking her walking stick outrageously and complaining loudly. However, the youth of Stockton approve of the behaviour, staring in awe at the speeding vehicle.

The park awaits visitors but the majority of people flock to the busy shops whilst the trees twiddle their branches and the leaves rustle half-heartedly. When you’re in Stockton the weather embraces you, whether it’s a gleaming sunshine, festive snow or autumn breeze. There are a few undesirable things in Stockton - one of them being the growing obesity caused by an avalanche of takeaway shops; it’s like a colossal epidemic, breaking out uncontrollably. Stockton isn’t exactly a highlight of Britain or a popular holiday destination but there is something that this little town is famous for - being home to the creator of the match, one of the rare things we boast. Another admirable point about Stockton is that it holds an annual carnival, an excellent event that brings the community together and makes the high street buzz. However uninviting Stockton can be, there’s one thing I can say, no matter how infamous its reputation is, it’s my home!

In my short life I have known pain. Oh yes! I remember…When I was around nine years old I began to have hassle with my teeth, consequently the dentist had informed me that I would need two teeth extracted. I didn’t think anything of it at the time until I discovered some apparently minor details and was horrified at the very prospect of syringes and pain. Keeping my worries unknown and private, we arrived at the dentists and I entered the waiting room in what felt like a death march. I flicked through the pages of a magazine, not really bothered by the latest gossip but trying to distract my self, frequently glancing at the clock. I was like a vigilant eagle, my beady eyes darting around the room nervously, alert for any sign of the predator. Through my glacial, tear-pricked eyes it seemed as though the dental assistant (ironically, right on cue from my thoughts) prowled in, baring her fangs as she spat out my name like a bad taste. It felt like a stab in the heart but I eventually made my way to the room and settled myself in the adjustable chair. The enemy gave me what felt like a tranquilliser piercing through my gum, (only to my disappointment, without the sleeping affect) which is always dubbed ‘just a scratch’ but feels so much worse. A glossy tool was inserted into my mouth; it wobbled the first tooth whilst I sat tensely. At last the metal piece gave one last jolt and the tooth was forced out - then dropped into a container with a clink like a beggar rattling his tin can, empty for all but one coin. I winced as he poised his instrument in what felt like a sinister way, eager to begin on my next tooth. He gave what I misconstrued as a menacing cackle, scoffing at my insecurities and my suspicions began - this so-called dentist was a crook! Evil, eccentric (any person who had huge pictures of gums and teeth on the wall had to be) and eerie but maybe I could sympathise, after all, If I examined other peoples teeth and had to inhale their foul breath every day maybe I’d start to get a little crazy. I still had my strong doubts although I sat still and persuaded myself that as long as my super-sonic mum was around I’d live to endure much more dental torture. The process continued for several minutes and then with one final move my tooth prised out. Later that night Crime Watch rolled onto our screens, I usually didn’t bother watching it…but now I had witnessed a hard-core criminal in action. I thought proudly, “Yes! My big break…I’ll be a heroine; the girl who caught The Deadly Dentist; I’ll sell my story explaining what torment I went through.” For a full hour my eyes were peeled but funnily enough there was no sign of him - I put it down to his patients being terrified that he’d set his fellow criminals on them. Was I the only brave one out there?

I’ll never forget that day…it was one of the most unrewarding times of my life. The hot summer sun blazed down on me as I swung onto my bike, like a cowboy mounting his trusty steed. I pedalled slowly, taking in the scenery; breathing in that fresh, warm air and then my bubble burst like a pin to a balloon. A grumpy old man passed me, his cigarette waving about wildly, the fumes destroying the sweet aroma I had just experienced. I avoided eye contact, as I couldn’t be bothered with a lengthy lecture on wearing a bike helmet. So, what I thought was going to be a perfect day was already doomed like a holiday without sunshine. I began the daily task, delivering papers whilst my bag glistened in all its fluorescent glory. I gathered speed, frequently inserting newspapers into scorching letterboxes. I nursed my blistered fingers then continued with the tedious journey, wiping sweat off my damp forehead. A few houses later and I felt like I was lost in a dry desert, hunting for water, my mouth desperate for some form of liquid. Suddenly it became much more difficult to pedal. It felt like my so-called trusty steed was dragging me back, like a bully clutching his victims collar; toying with their free will. A few seconds later and I was beginning to doubt my fitness…but surely I could manage a few miles on a bike? I came to my senses (it was like I’d been slapped on both cheeks with a wet fish) and suddenly realised that my rear-tyre was flat! I sighed heavily since I was very antagonised. I reluctantly leapt off my bike, no longer feeling like a triumphant cowboy but a defeated Indian. Pushing the wounded soldier along the ghost-town path, I adjusted my bag strap as the newspapers were weighing down heavily on my shoulder. I squinted in the bright, blinding sunlight; it was like a cheesy film scene, where a destined-to-be couple reunite in a romantic encounter. My eyesight became focused and I could at last see my sanctuary, like a magician revealing a rabbit from a hat. The balloon struck again, but this time it deflated entirely, no hope or happiness remained. The notion for me to complete my job just wasn’t there…but I laid my bike down all the same. I tearfully left my trusty steed, side kick, transport and partner in crime down, telling him with my emotional eyes that he would soon explore the roads again .I set off on foot, reminiscing about me and my bike, it was as touching as handwritten vows at a wedding or a reflective poem at a funeral. I smiled (surprisingly) knowing that this would not be the last of our adventures!

I come from Stockton but where will I end up? My life has been a roller coaster ride so far (well, more like a tedious, toddler ride) and I’m sure the rest of my life will be even more spontaneous. A husband and children seem imminent but first I would like to live my life, have a career, see the world and make something of myself. As for wealth, I would just like enough to live my life and have plenty of fun. I’m sure there’s a house being built right now that’ll be perfect for me in years to come – sleek but not like its just stepped out of an Ikea catalogue. Hopefully I’ll remain my youthful self but gain a little maturity, whilst living my dreams along the way. I’m not desperate to be in the limelight but I wouldn’t refuse my five minutes of fame. Take a note of my name, this won’t be the last you hear of me…