Month: February 2015

Who is this Isabelle Kerr lady to be putting down my generation?

I think my generation is more like Shakespeare than she realizes. In-fact I would say that we are all mini Shakespeares in the making. We have created our own unique language that is strictly for us. Who else would understand the sentence; link me at s-way mans gotta bounce out real quick. The older generation would be totally confused however the younger readers would know exactly what I want to do and why. I want them to meet me at the south junction quickly as I need to leave soon. Now are you really going to tell me that’s not creative. Kerr actually says “Shakespeare will  be turning in his grave.” I would have to say that I agree. Shakespeare would be turning in his grave but not at us playing with and evolving the English language. As he did this himself all the time without him we would not have words like ‘addiction’  and ‘assassination’, and you can bet that she has used these words before. ‘haven’t you Isabelle?‘

Kerr also stated that words like “selfie” “unlike” and “digital detox” were “pitiful emblems of the current young generation’s contribution to language.” I strongly disagree as I think it is inspiring how young people are smart enough to create a  new language. It should be respected not undermined. She goes on to say “I am embarrassed and ashamed” and so she should be. She hasn’t taken the time to learn this new amazing language. Just because she feels left out, does not mean that the language  is rubbish. I’m sure she doesn’t understand Mandarin so is she saying that 14.4% of the world should be ashamed. When people first traveled the world loads of new languages were made; French, Spanish, Arabic etc. was that appalling?

Her inability to see that ‘slang’ words are an inspiration to the evolution of the English language and should be treasured and promoted, rather than criticized by people who are narrow-minded and do not understand.   To label it a ‘disgrace’ to the British language is a disgrace in itself. This is why Issabelle Kerr will never have a mind of her own, and will always be a ‘sheep’ who is afraid to break boundaries and be creative. It is clear that Issabelle Kerr has a biased opinion, and has never been exposed to the culture where this type of language has originated. Maybe one day she will see the beauty of this evolution of the English language.

Modern language or slang as Issabelle would call it is actually highly advanced and technical. If you understand how it has been formed an works you can find out where someone lives and the relationship two people or a group of people have with each other. For example in South London a young person would say ‘beef’ to replace the word ‘fight’ and in North London they would use the word ‘Beef’ to reference to a good looking male.

ation to the

http://mentalfloss.com/article/48657/20-words-we-owe-william-shakespeare

Can you remember when you were in school? Of course you do, it was the best days of your life right? Cast you mind back to that lesson you will never forget, in my school it was History.

I can tell you now that History is the lesson that gets your blood pumping, your fingers tingling and your foot thumping. When you step through the History classroom door you see the teacher standing by his desk. He grins at you with his bright sparkling white teeth and waves you in. His short stocky figure instantly comforts you as you know he is a friendly chap.

His knowledge and enthusiasm about History is like being in a time machine. Within a few of his words you are there fighting against Nazi Germany. Debates flying back and forth like bullets and bombs of knowledge exploding. Nothing pleases more that the constant colouring in, the bright colours reflect my mood. As I know the next fifty-five minuets are going to judgement free.

If only this was true, life would be heaven.

It isn’t true because your blood doesn’t pump it runs cold. Your fingers stop tingling and become still while your foot becomes static. When you step through that door your life drains away from you. You see him, the grin you long to see is not a grin, but a snarl. That short stocky figure has grown into a fire breathing demon, waiting for you to speak out of turn.

I was right about one thing: you do feel like you are in Nazi Germany. This Hitler impersonator imprisons you as if you were a Jew in a concentration camp. The idealistic view of a communist world is pulled away from you and dictatorship takes control. His words do not bring you back to the trenches, but make you feel like you are in no man’s land, cold and alone.

There are no colours in this classroom, but pages and pages of black ink scribbled into textbooks. The walls are dull and lifeless. The only sign of life and hope is the work from other students who have somehow made it through this torture pinned up around this cell.

This is a living hell, you die a little over and over again. Slowly you fall into a comer, not sleeping but not awake. Only to be brought back round by the fire and the screams of the demon.

It is sad to say that this kind of teaching is current into today’s schools, and hopefully there is someone out there who can make a difference one day. But realistically, lets take a look back in time. For years teachers have punished children; inflicting pain, embarrassment, custom term papers and physical punishment on them to stamp their authority.

But schools must have changed from the days of old, surely?

They think that they had it hard with the slipper and the cane, but they have not experienced this new kind of corporal punishment. This kind breaks you down, it makes your brain decay slowly but surely, this is mental torture.

If you have been affected by this article, or feel that this is something you would like to discuss more please email:

cwaugh@nautical.lambeth.sch.uk

The sunlight still burns your eyes as you walk towards the frosty playground. Then you see it, the LNS gargoyle standing in front of the gate ready to attack you. Your heart sinks as you know they are going to find some fault in your uniform. You make it through with no item apart from your skinny blazer protecting you from frost’s evil breath. The battle is not over. In the playground it is a war zone. You hear the screams of younger years as if they were soldiers dying at war. Then you see the ball flying towards you everyone sctatters as the active grande goes off.  If you make it through the playground unharmed you now have to face the mob mentality of the corridors. The corridors are a strange place if you are too week a trip down the stairs is awaiting you. Too strong and be prepared to be sized up by the world. You make it to your lesson, the sounds of laughter and chit chat die out as the day begins. You sit there still dead to the world. Slowly you begin to come to life and the bitter scent of hard work is like the thought of going over the trenches. The monotonous tone of your teacher’s voice drags you straight back to realisation with a bang. Tick……Tock……Tick ……Tock the sound echos in your head but the lesson never seems to end. Eventually the sound you have been waiting for comes.Its like finding a lucky penny, your heart races and you feel all fuzzy inside. Until the realization of the situation becomes clear. Its only period two and you have to run the whole sequence again as if your life is on repeat.

After school at around 6:30 you step out of you forced entrapment of an extra lesson and it is like the aftermath of a war. The corridors are now disserted and have an uneasy atmosphere to them. The silence is deafening and the still air blocks your way like a brick wall. You take every step with precision prying not to get spotted by the enemy. Capture at this point would be the end of the world. From a distance classroom you can hear the muffled noise of a teacher’s music. You will never guess what they listen to, it is torture to your ears. your heart goes out to what ever poor soul the have hostage. As you hurry to avoid the pain, your eyes focus on the tatty paint job. The winding staircase is just one more cruel joke the school has to play on you. Your legs ache and your head hurts as you try and work out if the narrow walls are caving in on you, or if you just have cabin fever for being here too long. The stench of stale B.O is worst than mustard gas, it attacks your nostrils and makes your eyes water. Suddenly your tears of pain become tears of joy as you see the school gate glistening like the golden gates of heaven. Your heart sinks and it feels like you’ve swallowed a stone, when you realize the gate is locked and you have not yet escaped this war zone they call school. Panic sets in, surely there must be a way out. You turn with disbelieve as you know the only way out is back through enemy grounds. You run through no mans land as fast as you can but its too late. The cold hand of the dictatorship leader grabs your shoulder. The proper-gander of his parties aims hits you hard, desperately trying to make you stay longer.  God is looking out for you as a more vounrable student passes by. Now is your chance as his attention is else were you make your final dash for freedom. you make it the fresh air is embracing as you know you are free.