A piece of graffiti which was scrawled on almost every wall, lampost, garage and fence between our school and Phil's front door. The perpetrator simply found the name Phil funny and its genius lay in the fact that it never specified what Phil would actually do if you dialed his number.
In spite of this ambiguity, it didn't stop Phil's parents sending him out into the dark and rainy night to scrub it all off.

Very old teachers - it was rumoured - wore adult diapers. To test this theory, hold your breath as the teacher walks past your seat; if you can hear crinkling, then they are wearing diapers.
If you can't hear crinkling, they must be wearing some new space-age diaper where they've fixed the crinkling issue.

http://www.lyons.mcmail.com/playgroundsongs/d.htm

An exhilarating game of chance that may have inspired the seminal novel 'The Diceman' by Luke Reinhart.

We had two big squishy rubber dice in the playground, and the game was played by assigning a particular dare to each number (for example running round the back of class 4, which wasn't allowed, or chucking a stone at a dinner lady.)

Alternate versions played included 12 people coming up with one BIG dare (like knocking on the headmaster's office window) and each taking a number in the lottery of doom. No-one ever refused to do something once the dice had decreed it.

I can't see how the relatively consequence-free 'knocking on the headmaster's window' is a bigger dare than chucking a stone at a dinner lady - unless Sam's headmaster was, like, a demon or something.

Draw a dick on a Rizla and stick it to your tongue. Suffused with saliva, the Rizla will go transparent, giving the highly realistic impression of having a dick tattooed on your tongue. This may be accompanied with gleeful shouts of "Dick on Tongue!".

Some unknown wag had carved the words 'The Dick Seat' onto the back of one of the chairs in our French classroom. As if controlled by some higher force, the location of the dick seat could never be reliably predicted from one lesson to the next. It was, of course, accepted without question by everyone that sitting in the dick seat would make you a dick. In some kind of ghastly parody of Musical Chairs, you therefore had to get into the lesson as early as possible to ensure that you secured a normal chair.
The seriousness with which this was treated was such that even the entrance of a teacher wasn't enough to put a stop to the titanic struggle between two boys having a tug-of-war over the last remaining safe seat at the start of a lesson.
I still check the back of every seat I sit in.

The act of rubbing your cheeks at someone, then gobbing in their face. For added authenticity, immediately fart on their leg then fall asleep. Tch! Men!

There was a boy at my school called Dickon Hares. I don't know what else to say about him, other than it really was his name, and it did sound exactly as you imagined it would when read out in the register.

The only insult you can say that automatically makes you more of one than the person you say it to.

Our fifth-year english class was in a Portable. Portables, for anyone lucky enough to not have them at their schools, are blocky, movable one-room buildings with office-style polystyrene-tiled celings.
The first time we were alone and unsupervised, I discovered that if you stood on your desk, you could reach the celing and push it up to reveal around a foot of empty space.
My eyes flicked from the foot of storage space, to the huge stacks of red dictionaries in the corner.
So, over the course of the year, the dictionaries slowly migrated from the pile to the rafters. Our teacher, sure of theft, started staging random bag checks, at which we huffed vaguely about human rights. And still the once-proud pile of red dictionaries dwindled.
She ordered another hundred dictionaries.
We put them in the rafters.
To celebrate the end of the year, we snuck out of the year-end assembly, climbed into the portable, stacked some desks and made a pyramid out of the 200 or so dictionaries. It was Itchycoo Park-level beautiful.

A question I was asked almost daily (with different films) by a kid in primary school.
"Did you see 'Indiana Jones' last night?"
"No? What channel was it on?"
"Oh, I watched it on video."
This wasn't at attempt to be funny, to his unadvanced mind - the same mind that had him violently playing the willy guitar to a small crowd of nonplussed friends - it was simply an attempt at conversation.

Bright sunlight. Teacher's eyes. Reflections from the watch glass. Interrogation simulation. Yum yum.

An obscure term for 'smelly cock', derived via the popular 'cheesy bellender'.

'Ding dong ding dong, your nose is that long.' Sung to the tune of Big Ben striking.
Weak insult, even by five year-old standards, but we laughed at the time.

A prat, wally, dingbat, prick or twat. A cunt. A short-lived insult that died out once we learned how to swear properly.

After successfully getting someone to turn around when you say "Look over there - it's Bobby Davro!" compound their shame by taunting them with the following rhyme:
Made you look,
Dirty duck,
You stuck your head in cow muck
You see? They stuck their head in cow muck. Because they turned around.
Also consider "Made you look, made you stare, made you lose your underwear."

During that nostalgic period of mid-secondary-school when primary school-level humour suddenly becomes acceptable again, it's not uncommon to remember the golden rule of primary school, which is that it's OK to get your uniforms dirty on Friday because they can be washed over the weekend. Cue twenty blazer-clad grammar school students doing what amounted, really, to not much more than rolling about in mud.

After an unsatisfying meal in the school canteen, we voiced our concerns by writing "FUCK YOU SLAGS" in tomato sauce on the trays before putting them on the conveyor belt to the kitchen.
Tomato sauce was subsequently removed from the dining hall. In my opinion still the most versatile table sauce.

Handfuls of soil and brown woodchips. Dirty rain was gathered from the shrubbery that bordered the playground before being distributed over a classmate's head with a jubilant cry of "Dirty rain!".

Then you got punched in the face.

Fraser Bairstow's arm ended just above his wrist. If you passed a piano, it was therefore an option to thump the keys with the back of your wrist, declaring that you are "Bairstow playing the piano".

A popular joke at our school went along the lines of:
Q: How did Mr Ashley win the disco competition?
A: He crossed the floor to get some crisps.
He also had polio and consequently two walking sticks. Hence the name.

Participants would go to bed as soon as they got home from school and get up as early as possible in order to watch as many Disney movies as possible before school. Claims of 5+ movies were common, and would have required getting up at around 1am. The perfect, sleepless score of 10 (Around 15 hours of pure Disneytainment) was never verified.
I mean, fucking Disney movies? Where's the kudos? WHERE?

I remember a rumour flying around the playground that there was an image of a topless woman in feature length rat tale 'The Rescuers'. Several of the more popular kids who could get away with blatantly lying to the masses claimed to have seen it. I personally cannot find it, does anyone out there know anything about this?
The rumours of nude flashframes also abounded in E.T., and the video for Frankie Goes To Hollywood's Relax. I think this is a common urban myth, and not serving as a cautionary tale (as most do, someone has sex then a lobster hatches in their anus), was probably put about by Disney themselves. Incidentally, I was told that Frankie's Relax was banned from radio play because just after he said "When you want to come...", he cheekily added, in a barely audible whisper, "let's have sex". Not understanding the concept of holding back from ejaculation - in fact, practising the exact opposite as often as possible - this seemed much more shocking to me. Frankie was, in fact, whispering an invitation for everyone to join him in a big sex; that's why it mustn't be played over the radio. I'm rambling. Log.

Similar to 'pissing up the wall' - contestants would start off their stream at the trough mouth and gradually keep shuffling backwards, trying to keep the piss going troughward. Great distances could be reached and the contestants would try to get back to the trough before running out of pressure. Clearly the floor was the first casualty in this sport.

Etymologically obscure. Div status is easily conferred by a stupid act, but does not attach to individuals, unless they act divvy really often. Even then, it isn't particularly harsh. Appropriate overlap with Co-Op Dividend Cards; especially because everyone who shops in Co-Op is divvy.