Cribbage is a disease that causes the sufferer to freeze in a comedy pose. If, during a conversation with your friend, his fists raise to his face and press his cheeks into his eyes, it is polite to ask "ooh, nasty cribbage there?", then carry on talking.
It was funny for exactly one and a half days, by which time we'd run out of comedy poses.

Something all children are not in the least adept at. For example writing "Madame Bishop est un cons" on the front of your own French exercise book in really small letters. Didn't have the first idea how I was going to spend the time in all those detentions. Other examples include spending all your mother's change on bubblegum when she knows how much change to expect and you're not allowed to chew bubblegum. And coming back smelling of it. And your mum having a temper like Carrie.

Word that was thrown at me on various occasions because my wheelchair bound Mum has MS. It's not funny, but I'm hoping that those lads, having now grown up and perhaps become fathers themselves, will read this and in a paroxysm of sheer guilt and self-loathing, take their own wretched lives and those of their no doubt equally brain-dead offspring.

The standard, boring sandwich found in an average school packed lunch could be converted into a spectacularly crunchy culinary delight by the deceptively simple act of adding a layer of crisps between the bread and filling. I cannot remember a single instance of anyone not doing this at my infant/junior school.

I recently started doing this again after a break of around twenty years and am at a loss to understand why I ever stopped.

The Smiths Tubes Cannon - Chew up one Smiths Tube until it's good and spitty, then using a second tube like a pea shooter, blow globs of masticated potato at fellow diners.
Sadly, Smiths Tubes are no longer with us, but I'm confident that this will definitely work with Golden Wonder Wheat Crunchies.
The Long Wotsit - Take some Wotsits and nibble a small piece off each end. Using enough saliva, the Wotsits can be pressed together to make a single freakishly long cheesy stick. This will invariably lead to somebody declaring, "that's no Wotsit", in an Alec Guinness voice and then a dinner lady will gasp and faint.

Hitching a ride on a bike clearly designed with only one rider in mind. The compromised lateral stability of the bike, coupled with the fact that the 'passenger' invariably had to stick his legs out miles, invoked mirth and terror as this lurching four-legged monster wobbled between kerb and road. Matthew Blissett, a boy at my primary school was rumoured to have slid off of the seat and onto the wheel and had his scrotum 'eaten' by the mudguard. Naturally, once enough people heard this rumour it was accepted as truth.

Legendary cross-eyed music teacher with no control whatsoever over her pupils, either kind. Chronological age 30, but with white hair brought on by being made to cry, thrown down stairs, shut in cupboards etc. by lower stream classes on a daily basis. In retrospect, hope she wasn't finally driven to mental illness/death.

In Coventry, children were too poor to call it British Bulldog and had to invent their own name for it. 'Crop the wanker' was cheerily shouted across the Coundon area as little children's kneecaps were kicked in by 15 bigger boys.

Hurray! We've snuck British Bulldog in, under the wire. Phil will be FURIOUS!-The other Eds.

Responding to allegations of being left behind during the evolution of teaching methods, our R.E. teacher decided to show us this film during one double period. It details the admirable story of a minister who devoted his life to saving the souls of New York gang members, pimps, hoes and thugs, by spreading the word of God.
Naturally, you would expect some gritty dialogue and scenes of a violent nature. Instead, we were met by a gang who looked like the extras who had been rejected from Michael Jackson's 'Bad' video for not being 'Bad' enough - Coupled with memorable lines such as, "I hear you like Rap. Well two thousand years ago, this cat called Jesus used to rap - About God."
Note to teachers: Hear me up, jive-turkeys. Any attempt to be 'cool' is destined to fail. If you had any concept of coolness, your choice of profession would have been different. You dig?

Gentle art of running about a quarter of the distance you're supposed to by ducking into a graveyard and waiting for the runners to come round again. Under no circumstances should one recommence as the leaders come through, therefore breaking ones personal best by about ten minutes and getting thrust into the school team, only to embarass yourself when trailing in last by a huge margin at an inter-school event.

Our school's zero tolerance policy towards PE kit offenders went too far when Richard Muchamore was forced to complete a cross-country run in his pants. No ten-laps-of-the-school-field for Richard - they sent him out into the world.
Given that the venue for our cross-country runs was the infamous 'cottaging' area of Hampstead Heath, London, the story of a 13 year old boy jogging up and down in a pair of Knight Rider Y-fronts might well have ended more messily than it did.

Back in junior school we were forced to undergo the abject humiliation of cross-stitch. Designed specially for retards, this involved threading shoe-lace sized string through some material which had specially made holes in it, using huge, but annoyingly blunt, knitting needles. Whilst some fun was derived from the fact our intended space shuttle designs turned out like - in all honesty - a big cock, the best was yet to come. The class retard, Lisa Smith, who had sat quietly, intently embroidering, for the best part of an hour finished with a flourish and, standing up to show off her creation, realised, along with the rest of the class, that she had managed to sew the entire thing through her dress. The only thing better than the downright fuckwittedness of this act was the realisation of exactly how much effort it must have taken to force the blunt needle through her dress. One particular bonus was that whilst the teacher spent an hour unpicking every stitch it gave a great opportunity for the more inventive to try putting the needles through each others legs.

A nickname applied to me early on in Grade 7 by a flat-chested girl clearly deluded about her own attractiveness. According to friends, the name derived from the fact that every time I looked at her, I would get a steaming erection, which I would get out and beat off.
Even if I had been inclined to spontaneous public dickwanking, I wouldn't have done it over a girl who looked like a fucking man.

The punishment dealt out to those who deserved it, and equally often to those who didn't. On the workbench where there was a vice in each corner, your victimchild would have a blazer cuff in each of the top two vices and trouser leg in each of the bottom two, leaving him open for various wood and sawdust-centric gags. Chisels presented those playing the Romans with interesting sword-in-the-side opportunities.

The act of taking a classmate's pen / pencil / ruler, going to the toilet and rubbing the object up and down the crack of your arse with unseemly relish, then quietly replacing it. A bonus occurs if the victim thoughtfully puts the crustied item to his mouth.

Crystal was a girl at my primary school who had been kept back a year due to her mental health problems. One lunchtime, Darby Dorass went to the toilet for a piss and came out screaming. We went into the toilets to see that Crystal was standing there having a shit into one of the urinals. Nobody ever used that urinal again.

One who wipes their nose/arse/mouth/whatever on their cuffs to such an extent there is a buildup of crud pretty much to the elbow. Just a tramp, basically.

The process of placing fruit into Adrian Thomas' half empty yogurt pots and anonymously leaving them at the back of someone else's locker for days or even weeks. The Culture's crowning glory came when one fell over in self-styled "hard kid" Scott Cornwell's locker and festering strawberry goo was deposited over his stuff.

In Latin, cum means "with". There was a particular way of constructing a phrase where it took on a different meaning; eg "word" cum "word" cum "word" The middle word, therefore, is in a cum sandwich

Variation on the game fuck (qv), where you have to say "cunt" and get louder and louder. Rarely does the cry get very loud, as the word is so bad. We were all basically a bunch of soft girls, really.

Inform a child how great Clint Eastwood is, and how much he or she loves them. Then make a special Clint Eastwood cap for the child to wear in lessons. This is a rather shonky origami affair with the word Clint written across it.
Be sure to write Clint in big capital letters, with the L and the I meeting at the bottom, though.
C LI NT

Word coined by a boy in my primary school who thought it was the Best Insult Ever because it was a compound of the two Worst Swearwords Ever. He was disabused of this idea when he tried to use it to insult smarter kids, who pointed out that if you thought fucking ladies in the cunt was bad, then you were obviously a big gaylord.

At nine, I wasn't totally sure what this meant, or whether it would get me in trouble if I said it within earshot of a teacher. It did.

Walking cautiously home from school behind some big fat year nines, I overheard one say to the other, "You're a cuntstack!". I gaped, wide-eyed, thinking I had stumbled across an ingenious new insult with hilarious origins. I later found out the bloke was called Kevin Stack, and his mate was therefore merely calling him a cunt, but this didn't stop me using 'cuntstack' at every possible opportunity.

Usually dispensed in the school dinner queue. In order to make a Cup-a-Poop one hand was cupped over the arse crack, so that an SBD could be stealthily emanated.
The warmed and stinking cupped hand would be clenched into a fist to contain the smells. Then opened up over the mouth and nose of any unsuspecting smaller kid along with the shout of Cup-a-Poop! Cup-a-Poop! Cup-a-Poooooooooop! You would rub your hand quite hard in their face, to make sure every last drop went up their nose.
Occasionally you would ask your victim first; 'What is your favourite flavour Cup-a-Poop?' Whatever they answered would be challenged with 'Well I think it's beef' before the Cup-a-Poop was served.