Discriptive Writing
Descriptive writing
Day 1: The time is 8:00am. I have just gotten of the coach to a beautiful landscape scene in Italy. I love the sight of the beautiful glistening river just outside the hotel. The colours are brighter than the brightest rainbow, full of beautiful greens, oranges and browns. The gardens here are amazing with beautiful pink and white roses, and the smell of fresh meadow grass.
I am here sadly for just a week, and have mountains of stuff I want to do whist I’m here. Taste a million marvellous flavours of ice cream, look at the magnificent fashion in the top designer shops, try the remarkable pizza, float on the famous gondolas, visit the Pope etc…….. The list goes on forever.
And the people here are just fabulous. I wish I had the Italian accent. I’ve already met one guy who lives down the hall from me and my friend’s room. I think his name is Paolo. He has dazzling, deep, dark brown eyes, skin as smooth as golden honey and long, admirable hair.
Time: It’s about 7:00. Me and mates are going out for a late meal at a superb restaurant called Alla Capannina. There are three of us all together and were a snowy white taxi. It makes a change from the boring, ebony English taxi.
At Alla Capannina: We’ve arrived at the restaurant and everyone’s ordered. I typically chose the phenomenal spicy pizza, and a glass of coke with a sun kissed lemon.
Seeing all the people eating yummy mouth watering spaghetti is making my belly full of empyness. Smells of fresh fish, deserts of all kinds and roasted chicken fill the air, making me even hungrier. I can almost taste each flavour melting as it hits my mouth. I adore the whole atmosphere, with the sounds of the cutlery banging, clinging and clanging from the kitchen.
I am here sadly for just a week, and have mountains of stuff I want to do whist I’m here. Taste a million marvellous flavours of ice cream, look at the magnificent fashion in the top designer shops, try the remarkable pizza, float on the famous gondolas, visit the Pope etc…….. The list goes on forever.
And the people here are just fabulous. I wish I had the Italian accent. I’ve already met one guy who lives down the hall from me and my friend’s room. I think his name is Paolo. He has dazzling, deep, dark brown eyes, skin as smooth as golden honey and long, admirable hair.
Time: It’s about 7:00. Me and mates are going out for a late meal at a superb restaurant called Alla Capannina. There are three of us all together and were a snowy white taxi. It makes a change from the boring, ebony English taxi.
At Alla Capannina: We’ve arrived at the restaurant and everyone’s ordered. I typically chose the phenomenal spicy pizza, and a glass of coke with a sun kissed lemon.
Seeing all the people eating yummy mouth watering spaghetti is making my belly full of empyness. Smells of fresh fish, deserts of all kinds and roasted chicken fill the air, making me even hungrier. I can almost taste each flavour melting as it hits my mouth. I adore the whole atmosphere, with the sounds of the cutlery banging, clinging and clanging from the kitchen.