A cluster of spotty chairs

A maze of high-street boutiques

A collection of wolf-whistling, fat builders

A seclusion of rolling, green land

A boredom of grumpy politians

A riot of shouting football fans

A colourful mixture of all different races

A constant drive of grey, grey drizzle

A mess of candy-floss selling; breaking piers

An old-fashioned, old woman we all call queen

A roaring, monstrous group of red buses

A town full of trash and tramps

A salty whiff of greasy fish and chips

A growing majority of obese people

An ever-turning wheel to give a view of our London

Freshly cut torists with an elegant dressing of landmarks and posh hotel tea ad scones

 Starter

Soup; cream of builders and tea severed with white bread and flora spread of avenues.

Main

leg of tube and bus with the option of a touch of class or concil estate crust

Dessert

White van cheesecake served with vinallla, scoops odf diversty.

bundled inside a soggy sandwich

Feels like a creme egg

smooth on the surface but when you dig a little deeper

there’s a whole different story beneath.

Smells like the fumes in the petrol station on a hot summer’s day

Looks like a pavement coated with multi-coloured chewing gum and the remains of old cigarettes.

Sounds like the violent scream of your alarm clock on a Monday morning.

By Georgina, Caitlin, Ellie, Alex and Daisy

An enchanting opinion, is the white van man the new Brad Pitt?

It’s the boisterous booming of a car horn.

A parade of personality.

A king of creation.

A circus of rucus, always on the go.

The country that tastes like it needs more flavour.

A dash of sun or a grate of strong chilli to give him some spice.

It’s the concrete jungle

Where every monkey goes to work for their share of bananas.

That is
England! 

by Joel ?

The banter of bands,

A cluster of coins,

The holding of hands.

A dizze of Rascals,

A clatter of chips,

A rave of ravens,

The smooching of lips.

A question of queens,

A flapping of fishes,

A flutter of flags,

The washing of dishes.

By Unknown

Feels like…. cold crisp snow falling through your fingers.

Smells like the freshly bound red, white, and pink rose leaking with beauty.

Looks like…. a cracking red fire fighting to stay alight.

Sounds like….. the soothing yet annoying early morning chorus. Colour flashing past the window.

Rivers everywhere.

Car exhausts, blaring horns,

Pollution clothes the air.

National sports: football, cricket

People having fun.

A young woman screaming

Looking down the barrel of a gun.

Yorkshire puddings, fish and chips,

Fried breakfast and tea.

Young hooligans, pissed out of their minds

Glaring menacingly.

Wherever I may travel, wherever I may roam,

I will always remember that England is my home.

Sometime in the future, maybe you will see

Just what being English really means to me.

By Matt Fallon, 9E

Feels like a mass of concrete

Smells like second hand cigarette smoke

Looks like a collage of hundreds of different shapes and colours

Sounds like a pub after England scores

swigging on strongbow and munching on bangers and mash.

Sipping tea with Tony Blair and eating scones with he queen.

We’re all English but so many races you’ve never seen,

Korean, Turkish, Indian and Chinese,

So many ethnicities not just these.

You could be White,Black or mixed,

For the English race is not fixed,

 All cultural ethnicities accepted,

Yet somehow the English race is left neglected.

Split into stereotypical classes,

Looked down like half empty classes,

The bus life to the high life,

Those who pick up a pen to pick up a knife,

From the carnival in Nottingham to the carnival in Tottenham,

The festival in cherry tree,

To the queens Golden Jubilee,

The red and white flag for some represents more than just englishness,

The Germans and  the English going to war over stupidness,

The green fields and the brown of the estate blocks,

Seagulls bombarding the pebbled beaches in their flocks,

Big Ben and the London Eye

like Kanye West the touch the sky.

From Pete Doherty to Kano from Oasis to Sway,

it’s the little things like these that make the UK.

Feels like a mass of concrete,

Smells like second hand cigarette smoke

Looks like a collage of hundreds of different shapes and colours

Sounds like a pub after England score.

By Matt Fallon 9E