Tutor HuntResources English Resources
Gcse Creative Writing
Generating Language from a Picture
Date : 27/05/2021
A GCSE English Language Paper shows the picture of a moustached, scruffy and sad old man - asking for a descri ption, as suggested by this picture.
With a little inspiration, effort, and above all sanitation, Henry certainly can turn his life around. Does he not realise that appearances are type-casted? He might think that people are callous toward him but hey no, he is wrong! Who, in the whole wide world would want a sullied, sloppy, shabby, and scruffy, so-called old bloke work in a wholesome clean environment of their yard? Well, no work means no money. Being out of pocket doesn t get you entertained at eateries of course! The only other option is to dig your face into rubbish bins, sleep on footpaths come hail or snow and plummet deeper into loss of self-respect, day after day.
It takes nothing more than some motivation and courage to become presentable and acceptable in the better circles of society. The pathos and plaintiveness in his vacant stares beg for favour and philanthropy. It appears that he has no desire to change his circumstances by plan and pluck. He looks broken down in mind and thought - so unable to be positive about life. Once downtrodden by fate, he has clearly lost all self-esteem. Henry looks content and willing to stay coldly unattractive, homeless, and jobless - as if time does not tick anymore and opportunities have been buried forever. He crouches, hunkered down - waiting to be decimated out of vision!
Nevertheless, I can see a glimmer of hope when his worry-lines make crosses with those of serene contentment. The youngster his parents welcomed the man the world nurtured, and the one, who once loved to grow, still resides in him. Outwardly, he might seem to watch the world like an alien but the boy inside must yearn, returning to his train set. It seems as if, his soul is squatting on the bench of a station platform, shadowed by a century old trees, just to hear the sluggish crawling wheels of a steam-puffing engine. Who knows? Henry might one day, shed his pessimism and be the playful silly self again. They say it s never too late!
With a little inspiration, effort, and above all sanitation, Henry certainly can turn his life around. Does he not realise that appearances are type-casted? He might think that people are callous toward him but hey no, he is wrong! Who, in the whole wide world would want a sullied, sloppy, shabby, and scruffy, so-called old bloke work in a wholesome clean environment of their yard? Well, no work means no money. Being out of pocket doesn t get you entertained at eateries of course! The only other option is to dig your face into rubbish bins, sleep on footpaths come hail or snow and plummet deeper into loss of self-respect, day after day.
It takes nothing more than some motivation and courage to become presentable and acceptable in the better circles of society. The pathos and plaintiveness in his vacant stares beg for favour and philanthropy. It appears that he has no desire to change his circumstances by plan and pluck. He looks broken down in mind and thought - so unable to be positive about life. Once downtrodden by fate, he has clearly lost all self-esteem. Henry looks content and willing to stay coldly unattractive, homeless, and jobless - as if time does not tick anymore and opportunities have been buried forever. He crouches, hunkered down - waiting to be decimated out of vision!
Nevertheless, I can see a glimmer of hope when his worry-lines make crosses with those of serene contentment. The youngster his parents welcomed the man the world nurtured, and the one, who once loved to grow, still resides in him. Outwardly, he might seem to watch the world like an alien but the boy inside must yearn, returning to his train set. It seems as if, his soul is squatting on the bench of a station platform, shadowed by a century old trees, just to hear the sluggish crawling wheels of a steam-puffing engine. Who knows? Henry might one day, shed his pessimism and be the playful silly self again. They say it s never too late!
With a little inspiration, effort, and above all sanitation, Henry certainly can turn his life around. Does he not realise that appearances are type-casted? He might think that people are callous toward him but hey no, he is wrong! Who, in the whole wide world would want a sullied, sloppy, shabby, and scruffy, so-called old bloke work in a wholesome clean environment of their yard? Well, no work means no money. Being out of pocket doesn t get you entertained at eateries of course! The only other option is to dig your face into rubbish bins, sleep on footpaths come hail or snow and plummet deeper into loss of self-respect, day after day.
It takes nothing more than some motivation and courage to become presentable and acceptable in the better circles of society. The pathos and plaintiveness in his vacant stares beg for favour and philanthropy. It appears that he has no desire to change his circumstances by plan and pluck. He looks broken down in mind and thought - so unable to be positive about life. Once downtrodden by fate, he has clearly lost all self-esteem. Henry looks content and willing to stay coldly unattractive, homeless, and jobless - as if time does not tick anymore and opportunities have been buried forever. He crouches, hunkered down - waiting to be decimated out of vision!
Nevertheless, I can see a glimmer of hope when his worry-lines make crosses with those of serene contentment. The youngster his parents welcomed the man the world nurtured, and the one, who once loved to grow, still resides in him. Outwardly, he might seem to watch the world like an alien but the boy inside must yearn, returning to his train set. It seems as if, his soul is squatting on the bench of a station platform, shadowed by a century old trees, just to hear the sluggish crawling wheels of a steam-puffing engine. Who knows? Henry might one day, shed his pessimism and be the playful silly self again. They say it s never too late!
With a little inspiration, effort, and above all sanitation, Henry certainly can turn his life around. Does he not realise that appearances are type-casted? He might think that people are callous toward him but hey no, he is wrong! Who, in the whole wide world would want a sullied, sloppy, shabby, and scruffy, so-called old bloke work in a wholesome clean environment of their yard? Well, no work means no money. Being out of pocket doesn t get you entertained at eateries of course! The only other option is to dig your face into rubbish bins, sleep on footpaths come hail or snow and plummet deeper into loss of self-respect, day after day.
It takes nothing more than some motivation and courage to become presentable and acceptable in the better circles of society. The pathos and plaintiveness in his vacant stares beg for favour and philanthropy. It appears that he has no desire to change his circumstances by plan and pluck. He looks broken down in mind and thought - so unable to be positive about life. Once downtrodden by fate, he has clearly lost all self-esteem. Henry looks content and willing to stay coldly unattractive, homeless, and jobless - as if time does not tick anymore and opportunities have been buried forever. He crouches, hunkered down - waiting to be decimated out of vision!
Nevertheless, I can see a glimmer of hope when his worry-lines make crosses with those of serene contentment. The youngster his parents welcomed the man the world nurtured, and the one, who once loved to grow, still resides in him. Outwardly, he might seem to watch the world like an alien but the boy inside must yearn, returning to his train set. It seems as if, his soul is squatting on the bench of a station platform, shadowed by a century old trees, just to hear the sluggish crawling wheels of a steam-puffing engine. Who knows? Henry might one day, shed his pessimism and be the playful silly self again. They say it s never too late!
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