Pants checkers will go to the changing room during swimming, while everyone else was in the pool. Then, they would check all pants for "poo stripes." I agree, strange in hindsight. Philip Connors pants generally tested positive and then would be held aloft by the side of the swimming pool accompanied by shouts of "Err Connors got poo stripes".

Should your teacher exhibit such a lack of fashion nous as to dress in trousers with turn-ups, you must spend a significant amount of time "accidentally" dropping your pen, allowing you to get on the floor and flick paperclips at his legs with the aim of landing them in the turn-ups.

Chris Spedding was so adept at this game that Mr Law often walked out of RE lessons to a jangling musical accompaniment.

Verb: to parka
The act of swinging a smaller child by the fur-rimmed hood of their Lord Anthony parka until rippage, flight or boredom ensues.

More fun can be had by tying the parka's cords to the metal bars on the bus home, giving the wearer two choices - a new coat or an unplanned trip to town, missing Grange Hill.

While playing with a frisbee in the National Trust-protected park across from school, we saw one of the evil parkies hoving into view in his little electric cart. It was a warm, early Summer day and we had our blazers and shoes off, and our trousers rolled up. He looked angrily at us for having fun in his park, hooked one thumb over his shoulder and growled at us: "Shoes on, FUCK OFF". I guess this was meant to be authoritative and pithy. It wasn't.

This, of course, became the ONLY way to tell anyone to get out of anywhere.

Parnell. Where do you start? Parnell was an odd girl. In those days (1978 ish) we all had nick-names: Barton’s (see Barton Beatings) was the Ox because he was as strong as an ox and almost as clever. I’m not going to tell you my nick name because it will identify me. OK, it was Polaris Cock. Parnell’s was the Horse, or as Barton frequently said in a loud voice, the ‘orse’. This was because she was obsessed with all things horsey. She was also a bit sociopathic, fairly introverted and a total teacher arse licker. She had a strange habit of galloping when she ran: her head would go up and down like a race horse and she would occasionally do the reigns action with her hands which caused us all to piss ourselves. The best day for this was Wednesdays when people would put their bin bags out. On the way home from school Parnell, after a bit of encouragement or goading would gallop off, to cries of “they’re off!” and then, Grand National style, jump over the bin bag ‘fences’. Needless to say she never had a boyfriend other than a fledgling relationship with Osborne who shared her introverted and thick characteristics. We all felt she was barking up the wrong tree there as Osborne was widely held to be, as Weston, pronouncing every syllable would say, ‘a ho-mo- sex- u-al’. Despite having a face like a sullen mule, Parnell did have a great body and I did try to engage her in classroom gropings, but unlike Sarah, Gillian and Elaine (see Science lessons gropings), she was not interested and would stamp on your foot if you tried to fondle her arse in woodwork. Fucking lesbian.

The lyrics from Inner City's hit single "Big Fun" could be redirected towards a child as they sit on their own, to throw a spotlight onto how popular they aren't.

"We don't really need a crowd to have a party," you'd reassure them. "Just a funky beat and you to get it started."

The onus would then be on them to get the party started. You can encourage them with other lyrics, including "It won't take a lot of thought for you to do it" and "I think you're ready, Freddie".

A second option is to tell them "you're having big fun" until a bubble of stifled emotion plops out of their nose.

Just a fairly shit – if charming - insult song; sung to the tune from the Pet Shop Boy's hit single 'Go West'.
Pascal, wrestles grizzly bears.
Pascal, in the open air.
Pascal, in his underwear.
Pascal, that's why we don't care.
If we were really so indifferent to Pascal’s habits, however, it’s odd that we spent so much time singing about how much we didn’t care.

Variation on the more commonly accepted and widely practiced self gratification pastime, masturbation. Could be Italian in origin.

According to Ste Roberts, the method involved boiling an amount of pasta (pasta type was not specified so presumably most shapes will suffice)until 'al dente', then transferring pasta to an empty jam jar, leaving the lid off but covering the top with a double layer of cling film into which a small slit is made.

Once pasta cools from very hot to quite warm, the pastabater's penis can be inserted into the jar of pasta, at which point the pastabating can begin in earnest.

Never actually tried this, however having actually written the process up, it sounds more plausible than it did 20 years ago.

Mr Boyd was banned from driving a car, after one too many tipsy-tours. This confined him to a scooter, and freed up the whole day for guilt-free drinking from a bottle he kept on his desk. This came to an end on the day that Nick Reid had a drink from his bottle.
Mr Boyd whipped around from the blackboard and yelled "Excuse me, I've already had my breakfast!"
We all sat there in silence, wondering what he was talking about. He then explained with the following: "If you're going to drink in my class, drink from a glass".
So, Nick asked if he could go and get a glass. "NO!" shouted Mr Boyd.
Cue five minutes of stunned silence. Mr Boyd just stood there, obviously livid by this point, and asked "What are you all looking at me for?"
"Because you're the teacher?" came the mousy reply from Joe Boyer. Pat then stormed out, allowing us a replacement teacher for the rest of the year.

Our English teacher's attempts to remonstrate with Edward were met with a long, protracted 'tut', followed by an exclamation that she was a 'blodclart'. When ask to repeat what he had said, she was also told that she was a 'bumbaclart', and told 'not to distress' him any longer.
The teacher then informed the young man that she was fully conversant with Jamaican patois, due to the fact that she had lived with a black guy for several years, and had him suspended for a week.
For those that don't know, my extensive research has revealed that a 'blodclart' is a 'used tampon', and that a 'bumbaclart' translates literally as an 'anal tampon'.
God, I feel SO babylon. - Mansh

Announced in 5th year that he was the dirtiest kid in the class because his name could be loosely rendered as follows: Fat Prick Screw Sac. At a time when such terms were hot currency, this lent him definite cachet. Patrick Cusack also told me leeringly one day that if you pulled your dick for long enough, white stuff would come out the end of it. Such a practice, he revealed, was called "mestempation", and furthermore he had done it himself. I thought this was the biggest load of bullshit I had ever heard in all my life. White stuff coming out the end of your dick? Chinny on, Patrick.

David Lucas was our Patrick. Fat chinky-eyed cunt with fish lips and oversized tongue. He left at the end of the second year, and as I thought that this would be the last time I saw him, I punched him really fucking hard in the gut.

As it turns out, I actually did see him again, a few years back when he came into the Recruitment Agency I was working in. I got him a job making Pork Pies for minimum wage, the cunt.

How could one person manage to be so feeble, yet so resilient? Patrick Seers is a paradox. The school's most prominent geek, he was the person that the regular geeks used as a cushion to reduce their own noise on the bully radar.

It was as heartbreaking as it was unstoppable. Patrick Seers. Bullied 8 hours a day, five days a week, for 5 years. Patrick Seers. Even the usual sympathetic types kind of gave in after two minutes of civil conversation, coming away with the sense that he did, somehow, deserve it. He played the euphonium.

He has also survived to become someone that exists, seems successful, and has - from limited Facebook snooping - developed a good circle of friends.

Just goes to show. It really does get better. And not just for the gay ones. For Patrick Seers.

Forgetting your kit would result in PE in your pants. If many forgot, then the hall would resemble a Blue Peter Romanian orphanage crossed with one of Jonathan King's less extreme fantasies.

This is a post-shower game invented by me and my brother. Straight after our shower, we would do a 'peacock parade' to our parents (and sometimes other adult guests) who were sitting in the living room next door. The 'peacock' effect comes from taking your towel and sticking one corner firmly between your bum cheeks and squeezing tight. Then you walk around on your tippie-toes with your head held proudly back. After a couple of laps, you go back in your room and everyone is going 'ooh isn't that funny'.
Occasionally however, in an effort to avoid the towel slipping out (from the friction of the carpet), which it sometimes did, I would stick the towel up my bum a bit too far, so that the corner went a bit brown. Then my brother would go and tell Mum and it would ruin the whole game.

A game for peanut allergy sufferers. The boy with the allergy puts his mouth at the end of the table. Other boys try to flick peanuts into his mouth. He is allowed to use a Coke bottle as a goalkeeper.

The pulling of a tie so that the knot is so small that it can only be undone with microscopic needles. A defence is to tie a two pence coin into the knot - although you may be called a jew or a gyppo if it is discovered that you keep two pees in secret hiding places.

Teacher: Mr. Lambert, Technology teacher, always looking down my shirt making comments like " save thoes for later"*winks*, and saying"youve got it all babe" after me telling him i didnt have all my project done..Then he got a stiffy when we were talking about something, and it was right infront of me sitting down. He had cameras set up in the classroom too. And he even asked me to babysit his children for him. But I did get an A+ in that class

A simple trick, and something of a once only event, the Pen Fifteen Club was used on every new kid at my school. Ask them if they want to join your club. Tell the new kid that all the cool kids are in the club. They will always want to join. At which time you take the industrial size permanent black marker and ask the victim to hold out their right hand. Then, very slowly, deliberately and neatly, write a huge PEN15. Because you did it on their right hand, the teacher will always see the PEN15. And the victim will not squeal.

If a boy asks to borrow your pencil sharpener, on no account give it to him, it means you want to have sex with him.
Conversely, never borrow a pencil off a boy, as this also means you want to have sex with him. A rubber is alright, as long as it is scented. But scented rubbers are gay, so it's not alright, because that means you want to have sex with him.

Urban Myth. Young man, overcome with stress, puts a pencil up either nostril during an exam and brings his head down on the desk. The pencils go into his brain, killing him instantly.

The rumour that everyone in the room gets compensated for their mental trauma by getting a free A* means that most people have the vague, unspoken idea that witnessing a suicide would be fucking brilliant.

Warning! pencil scars on your face can happen to your face!

I was in fact stabbed in the face with a monstrously sharp pencil in my face. Six weeks later I had to have many small fragments of graphite removed from my face because they already beginning to make a dark blotch on my face. I carry the scars to prove that pencil tatoos can happen!

A more controlled version of "pencil fencing" (qv). At primary school, someone said that if you poked your skin with a sharp pencil, a bit of the lead (ie. graphite) would be left behind under your skin, which (as far as we knew) was a real tattoo. We all tried it, but, speaking personally, any marks that were made just washed off. Easily.

In the second year of my primary school, we were all given standard edition chunky pencils, which came in red, yellow, green or blue.

Although the teacher thought she was assigning pencils at random, little did she know that she was actually defining our social status for the rest of the term.

Red, red, wet the bed
Blue, blue, smells of poo
Green, green, parasheen (a totally made up word which sounded like it should mean something cool)
Yellow was casually skirted around cos no-one could think of anything that rhymed with it.

The special 'parasheen' status was a blessing, but the glory could be short lived. An owner of a green pencil could be given a red or blue pencil in the next school term, bringing them back down to earth to join the common folk.

Those on the bottom of the social pile were known to try and colour their pencils in with felt tips, but this only resulted in green palms and being called David Bellamy.

A more elaborate and good-natured version of simply scrawling a cock on your neighbour's work. Cut a corner segment of blank paper and add your crudely-drawn phallus. When your classmate's back is turned, place your corner of paper over the corner of his work, with a carefully-placed ruler hiding the join. After your friend has noticed the ruination of his work and let fly with a suitable outraged outburst, you can slide the paper away and reveal that it was all a joke. Relief generally diffuses anger, and a jolly good laugh is had by all.