The #life Of Hugo September 2 1997 Today I started school again. Well, I hate it very much. Just like all the other kids I suppose. The bell rang in my ears throughout the hall, and suddenly there was a rush of people pushing and shoving. I just stood there, took a deep breath and fought through the massive swarm of year elevens. My first class was English and my teacher is Miss Pizzianio but everyone calls her pizza. She moved here from Italy a year ago and she is the most lovely teacher, very beautiful and not just on the outside; She has big green eyes and long silky brunette hair. Today she wore a red jumper with a black skirt imprinted with little hearts. I asked my sister if all teachers were this lovely but she said they aren't so I guess I'm pretty lucky to have her as a teacher. She is quite young probably 23 is my guess but the boys in my class only care about one thing. Unfortunately. The rest of the classes were a drag. All my other teachers are old and shrivelled. Mum asked if I made any friends today. I said that I hadn't because that's the truth. I asked dad what for dinner and he said to ask mum so I did and she says she doesn't know but it will probably be a chickeny stew of some sort. My sister hates chicken stew when she was little apparently (my uncle swears by it) she threw it up all over the little boy next door. There must be an element of truth in that because when it is told every Christmas, mum always looks shifty and goes in the kitchen pretending that she has something to take out the oven. I'm going downstairs to watch top of the pops. It is currently my favourite programme. Love, Hugo