First Travel Writing Assignment

First travel writing assignment was submitted on Monday! I tried to be as descriptive as possible but then ended up sounding like I was a 50 year old writing a classic novel. It was not good, but ditching the ego, here it is:

Broughton is a large village, appearing dreary with its 1950s houses surrounding its centre. Locals of course know the secrets contained within; beautiful English countryside and heritage buildings located at the back of the village, hidden from prying eyes.

I am sat sunbathing in my parent’s crowded back garden, small but typically sized for the terraced red brick house we live in. There are many gardens like this in my village, containing a combination of garden furniture, vegetable patches and flowers along with a variety of animals.

“You shouldn’t have your laptop in the sun” calls Dean my boyfriend. I am cramming in some last minute work on my University assignment and was hoping to finish it before he arrived, but too late. Dean brings with him a need of fun especially during this long overdue heat wave and so abandoning my assignment we decide to go for a walk through my home village.

We exit my street and cross over Wellingborough road to the kissing gate located at the end of the village. Pushing through, we enter in to a trio of grassy fields usually home to the local cows.  I gasp, never before have I seen the fields like this before, they are covered in bright yellow buttercups; a vision of yellow and green polka dots. A rural landscape lies beyond with woodland, farmland and a local town visible in the distance under a clear blue sky. We continue through the fields until we reach a dusty pebbled farm track. “Are you sure you want to go down here? If you are too hot we can just go back through the village?” I ask Dean, but keen to discover Broughton’s secret he reassures me to go on.

It is not long before we reach a steep grassy hill, leading us down to a little stream which is shrouded in woodland; my favourite spot as a child. Welcoming the cool shade, we cross over a small wooden bridge on to a mud path which leads us through the trees; I tell Dean stories of playing here in my childhood. I divert left, with Dean following me I meander my way though the thick shrubbery, being careful to avoid the high nettles. Following a narrow track we climb further into the wood. Suddenly a gap in the trees reveals our destination; a natural spring flows into a large pond of cool turquoise water. The view is wonderful; due to the late summer there are still spring flowers, snowdrops and bluebells, and we take some time to rest on an old stone archway which protects the spring. We indulge in nature’s silence; only the trickle of the stream and the calls of sparrows and other summer birds can be heard. The sounds are captivatingly peaceful and calming. Our entertainment comes from an older man with his Alsatian puppy which plays a game of fetch, diving in and out of the crisp cool waters of the pond. We sit in silence, surrounded by nature, admiring Broughton’s best kept secret.

I quickly realised all of my mistakes after a couple of days of stewing over it. It's too cliche, there isn't enough depth to it and the opening is lame. So I am in the middle of a re-write which I hope will be much grittier.

I will post it up once I have submitted it :)