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My life is hardly worth thirty interesting words, at least not yet. I was born in a quaint little village called Whitwell, but we moved to High Wycombe the year I was five.
I loved my first year of school, the aimless playing, cutting random shapes and sticking them onto paper, then pretending that they actually vaguely resembled something. The next two years swum by for the most part uneventfully, but I met my match in the teacher of my year three class; I was as stubborn as a mule. I believe she once told my parents that I needed mental help. I was home schooled for the rest of the year.
During school I became less stubborn, less headstrong and opinionated, more afraid of conflict. I passed with full marks the exam that, in Buckinghamshire, must be taken on transition to secondary school.
I now attend Wycombe High, an all girls school. I have three best friends, and I am very happy.
That is not the end, but it is all I have to write so far.
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