Horrid Henry's Autobiography

Horrid Henry's Autobiography Bang! Crash! Kaboom! Rude Ralph bounced on a chair and did his Tarzan impression. Moody Margaret yanked Lazy Linda's hair. Linda screamed. Stone-Age Steven stomped round the room grunting ‘Ugg. ' 'Rat about town don't need a gown. Where I'm goin' Only fangs'll be Showin, ' shrieked Horrid Henry. ‘Quiet! ’ barked Miss Battle-Axe.

‘Settle down immediately. ’ Ralph bounced. Steven stomped. Linda screamed. Henry shrieked. He was the Killer Boy Rats new lead singer, blasting his music into the roaring crowd, hurling- ‘HENRY, BE QUIET! ’ bellowed Miss Battle-Axe. ‘Or playtime is cancelled. For everyone. ’ Horrid Henry scowled. Why oh why did he have to come to school? Why didn't the Killer Boy Rats start a school, where you'd do nothing but scream and stomp all day? Now that's the sort of school everyone would want to go to. But no. He had to come here. When he was king all schools would just teach jousting and spying and Terminator Gladiator would be head.

Henry looked at the clock. How could it be only 9. 42? It felt like he'd been sitting here for ages. What he'd give to be lounging right now on the comfy black chair, eating crisps and watching Hog House. . . ‘Today we have a very exciting project, ’ said Miss Battle-Axe.

Henry groaned. Miss Battle-Axe's idea of an exciting project and his were never the same. An exciting project would be building a time machine, or a let's see who can give Henry the most chocolate competition, or counting how many times he could hit Miss Battle-Axe with a water balloon. ‘We'll be writing autobiographies, ' said Miss Battle-Axe. Ha. He knew it would be something boring. Horrid Henry hated writing. All that pushing a pen across a piece of paper. Writing always made his hand ache. Writing was hard, heavy work. Why did Miss Battle-Axe try to torture him every day? Didn't she have anything better to do? Henry groaned again.

‘An autobiography means the story of your life, 'continued Miss Battle- Axe, glaring at him with her evil red eyes. ‘Everyone will write a page about themselves and all the interesting things they've done. ' Yawn. Could his life get any worse? Write a page? A whole entire page? What could be more boring then writing on and on about himself- Wait a minute. He got to write . . . about himself? The world's most fascinating boy? He could write for hours about himself! Days. Weeks. Years. Hold on . . . what was batty old Miss Battle-Axe saying now?