In the view of our woodwork (Design/Technology, if you must) teacher, the activity definitional of homosexuality; much more so than the rubbing together of four balls and two dicks.
Mr Hardy: "Where have those two boys gone?"
Mr Laurel: "They're both in the storeroom."
Mr Hardy: "Humph. Reading the Gay Times, I expect."

All of the trays in our canteen were dark brown wood except one, which was still brown, but slightly lighter. This was the gay tray, and if it was top of the pile when you came to the stack, you were obliged to use it. This usually meant losing your dinner, as you would be decked (qv). Taking the normal, presumably straight, tray from underneath it was even worse. You were then "gay scared" (a kind of state of beyond gayness) and got a beating behind the stage curtains. One boy got set up with the gay tray every day for a week, until he was caught throwing it into the skip during break. The preferred interpretation of this was that he was on a secret date with the gay tray. So; "Gay Paul Clay With the gay tray Sticks it up his bum Then he bums his mum"

Collective term for any gang of lads from a rival school. Only one of them needs to be wearing a denim jacket for this term to be applied to all. The terrace style chant “gayboydenims, gayboydenims” (repeat x32) will eventually create a rift within the rival gang that will tear them apart.

An effeminate Adrian. Also known as Aidsdrian.

Another of those 'not knowing the actual meaning of the word gay' thing. This name was enforced upon anyone who was weak, small, or young. Which of course defines gayness.

Insult currently in use amongst 5-6 year olds. They simply like the sound of it, and are probably not even aware that it is a highly sophisticated conjunction of the words 'gay' and 'Flymo'.

If only we had thought of calling Raymond Smardon this whilst in school, and not in a pub at the age of 19, it would have been far funnier and probably destroyed his life.

Maybe he was a sexual revolutionary; maybe he was an early developer; maybe he was simply bereft of attention following his parents' acrimonious divorce: but whatever the reason, Bob Eccles (name slightly altered) decided that, in the second year, he was gay. However, such homosexual cliches as listening to Shirley Bassey or anal rape were too mundane for him: his sexuality manifested itself in a tendency to eat sweets that he'd found on the floor. As he became gayer, we'd throw sweets into muddy puddles and watch in amazement as the ginger-haired poof gobbled them up. The zenith of his bummery came when he ate a polo that'd been thrown into the urinal.
By the summer term he declared that he wasn't gay anymore. Indeed, he's married now, whereas I haven't had a sniff in years. Kids may be cruel, but time is crueller still.

Gerard Big Head had a big head. During a school trip to Chester Zoo he took his shoes and socks off and jumped in the carp pool to collect all the copper.

Aptly demonstrated by the wag who wrote "Parklands High School GCSE certificates" on the toilet paper dispenser.

Another good toilet wheeze, for those of you that haven't read those Nigel Rees books, is to write "Press here for a 30-second speech by the headmaster" on the electric hand drier. - Matt

A simple way to draw attention to someone with greasy hair. Simply touch their hair while saying "geese!" in a stupid voice. Repeat. Occasionally you may want to fall over as if some of the grease has come off their hair and made you slip. Geese, as with all insults, is particularly effective and intimidating when a small gang surrounds the target. I have no idea why the letter r was taken out of the word grease.

"You're not allowed to be nasty to me," said nine-year-old Sylvia Page, "I'm related to the Queen."
"What?"
"Everybody in the country's related to the Queen."
That was how she thought it worked: the first family of the country was, like, the FIRST family.
Mind you, if she'd tried that "Everybody's related to the Queen" in some other parts of Belfast at that point in the '70s, she'd have got what she richly deserved.

A very difficult thing to achieve. In our mocks, a group of 12 to 15 people decided to have a competition to see who could get the lowest mark. This was not as easy as it sounds, as 70% of the 6 hours of exams were made up of about 300 multiple choice questions. So you had to be pretty bright to get *all* of them wrong. Only Bazaz proved to be that bright. In fact, he was the only one to do badly enough that the school was confident enough that he had done badly on purpose to be willing to not allow him to take the A-level. At one point during the exam we were asked to write an essay about how we would go about determining, by scientific means, the validity of the phrase 'Too many cooks spoil the broth'. He wrote a very detailed account of how he would take an enormous cauldron of boiling water and a large panel of testers who could grade a broth from 1 to 10. He would then add one cook to the boling water and stir him around, and then get all the tasters to taste the ensuing broth. The marks would be averaged. Another cook would be added every 5 minutes, with the mixture being judged after each addition. If at any point the resulting average mark was lower than before the latest addition, one would have proved conclusively that *at that point*, too many cooks had indeed spoiled the broth.

Considered a way to impress mates. Take a new box of matches, light one and stick it back into the partially open box with the others. Quickly, step well back and hold breath in expectation of huge pyrotechnical display. Sigh, at the tiny puff of acrid smoke. Net result, a millisecond of crap entertainment and no matches left to light to light your fags. Friends gained: none.

People never ceased to ask you, in more and more obscure terms, whether you had a penis or a vagina. The idea was to catch the person out, and then taunt them interminably until you thought of something more personal and embarrassing to ask them about. We soon moved on from Pencil/Sharpener to Spaceships/Space, and Lorries/Roads. It was a Christian school, they weren't about to inform us of how far out our ideas about genitalia were. Instead Mr. fucking savage would come and dance about like a moron with songs about the cool cat from Galilee every Wednesday.

Correcting the biological ommissions in textbooks with the correct genetalia. Bonus points if the photograph allowed for acts of copulation or fellatio, or if someone was in the background with a surprised look on their face.

i can't breathe Sadistic ritual in which a victim was selected, immobilized, and had his airways blocked until he went blue and his body lapsed into involuntary spasms. The frequency of these rituals is increased when a teacher informs the school in assembly that it could cause brain damage.

Readers! An intriguing conundrum for you now. Two wholly unrelated submissions landed with a 'whump' recently, both bearing the title 'Geordie Racer'. So, was Geordie Racer a short-lived kids drama, or a crap computer game? Or possibly even both? Answers on the back of a pack of Sovereigns to the usual address. Firstly, from Anna Williams:
At primary school in the late eighties, bored children were forced to watch a drama series about a geordie kid and his prized pigeon, 'Blue flash'. No-one I've spoken to can remember the plot, but it caused my entire class to shriek "Blue flash!" in a falsetto geordie accent every time they saw a bird zoom across the playground.
And an alternate theory from the imaginatively-monikered Mary Woozley:
A shitty computer game, which required you to choose one of three pigeons, and then come up with as many words as possible using the letters in said pigeon's name. However, the sheer rubbishness of the game meant that it would accept almost any combination of letters, provided the pigeon's name had them all. Naturally, everybody chose the pigeon Bonny, and typed in 'nob'.

The name by which Helen Day knew Tim Baggott for her first six months at school (she joined in the fifth year). Despite everybody else calling him Tim, she stood by this belief and the further assertion that Tim's dad had made millions as a biscuit designer (the Rich Tea and Bourbon Creme being his greatest achievements).

Our teacher once spent a whole morning on April Fool's Day teaching us about Scottish haggis. Haggis were small animals that lived in the Highlands and were caught, to be eaten, by men who had one leg shorter than the other - the difference making it easier for them to chase the haggises around hills (though only in one direction).
How the teacher must have laughed and revelled in her superior intelligence as a class full of half-listening six year-olds fell for her crafty gag. Stupid bitch.

Basically myself and one other friend decided to let our gerbils out to play on the playground, but in order to stop them running away we sat on the ground with our legs apart, facing each other so that our feet touched, effectively forming a leg-barrier between the gerbils and the outside world. Being a tomboy I wore trousers all the time, and you could have knocked me down with a feather when one day a gerbil decided to investigate my trouser leg and ran all the way up to my crotch and back down the other leg. I giggled insanely because it tickled, but soon discovered that I enjoyed the sensation of a warm, furry creature tickling my inner thigh and myself and my friend (also female) began to encourage the wee creatures to do so more often. We were so innocent. I actually can't believe how incredibly dodgy it now sounds. Does this make me gay? Did anyone else do the most horrifically perverse things because it tickled?

One day Tez came into school with a rhyme his mate from another school taught him:

In the German nick
They hang you by your dick
And the bats play snooker with your balls.
Then your mind goes blank
And you're dying for a wank
And the cum goes shooting up the walls.

This rhyme proved to be so popular that by the end of the first lesson, the whole class were singing it. The only problem was, I didn't actually know what cum was. Eventually I asked Tez who laughed in my face and told the rest of the class who also all laughed at me. I still reckon none of them knew what it was either. Bastards.

Whilst innocently measuring the circumference of the playground with a pedometer, a friend and I were approached by an elderly couple who announced that they were German Terrorists in need of directions to the centre of the village. Despite a lack of formal anti-terrorist training we managed to direct the couple to a fenced-in path running alongside the playground, where we pelted them with stones, causing them to run until the man hurt his leg.

Aptly named hiding game in which girls hid from the boys under the pretence of secreting their jewels, only to be found, wrestled to the ground and groped. Unless they were ugly, in which case aforesaid groping took place out of sight.

Used as a way of protecting yourself from girl germs, boy germs, David germs, etc. Simply clutch the area that comes into contact with a boy, girl, or David, and shout germlock!.
Leave it too late and you might accidentally lock the germs into the affected area, so be careful.