We had giant chessboard painted on the floor in the playground. It was put there so we'd all play some sort of clever chess-related game, or something, during or breaks and better ourselves. So we'd all stand round the edge and take it in turns to try and beat up Chunk, the fat kid. If no-one could do it then we'd all rush the bastard at once.

Racist song, presumably sung by Africans to Indians. Shame on your batty, 'Cos your batty smells of curry. Let me smell (sniff sniff) Bloody hell!

"Shame on your batty when your batty get fresh". Not sure what it meant, but rolled nicely off the tongue (not that an actual batty has ever rolled off, or on, my tongue you understand - that would be hideous).

In the seventies there happened upon us a contemporary group that pushed the boundaries of tastefulness. They were known as the Bay City Rollers, and as a direct result of this devil's music, GANGS rose up in the playground. Some of you may recall their rallying cry:
B-A-Y
B-A-Y
B-A-Y C-I-T-Y WITH AN R-O-L-L-E-R-S
BAY CITY ROLLERS ARE THE BEST.
Oh the sex, the intrigue and the tartan.

A weeble-shaped physics teacher with a voice as camp as John Inman. His trials included, but were not limited to;

• Simulation of gas leaks by blowing through a bic biro, leading to regular evacuations of the class.
• When told to stand outside, it was essential that you actually went and stood outside the school and wave at him through the window.
• Whistling in class until he ordered the whistling boy to get out. Then, every boy would stand up and stand outside the school and wave through the window.

Baz Bucklow has since died of a heart attack.

Baz man was our maths teacher, and he would get purely abused by everyone in the class.

One lesson, he was helping some of the clever people in the class, when the class rebel [who's name I won't say for legal reasons] decided it would be hilarious to spit in his coffee. Now this lad [who we'll call Duke] was a keen smoker, and was incredibly unfit, so this lad coughed up the biggest greenest flem I've ever seen in my life, and that alone made my stomach turn, and imagine my discomfort when Baz Man necked the whole brew!

its always custom to have the year 11s running up and down the corridor screaming have you had your bcg yet!? if you said yes they would punch you on the freshly jabbed arm making it blead all over your shirt and if you said no they'd say, so this dont hurt then? and then punch you on the freshly jabbed arm making it bleed all over your shirt.
Another practiced favourite was the year 11s asking if you had had the bcg, replying yes they would then ask if it hurt, replying yes they would then ask you if you would like to go home. If you said yes, they would puncch you on they arm making it bleed all on your shirt if you said no they would punch you then ask you if it hurt now, replying no will end in another punch and the question being repeted. At this point it was always best to say yes to prompt the question would you like to go home? Also saying no and running to this question always resulted in sever beats.

Ultra lame girl group formed to counter "The Freds" (where everyone in the group was called Fred) and the less-cool "Hermans" (same deal). No girls were in either club, so they decided to counter with "The Be-Yourselves," which was laughably pathetic, really. One guy hawked up a bunch of snot onto a piece of paper, wrote "The Be-Yourselves" with an arrow pointing to it, then showed it to the head girl of the group. She cried.

A phenomenon in which at periodic intervals, perhaps once per half-term, a pupil would announce the instigation of a Beagrie Hunt, usually at lunch break. A large mob would form and would seek to flush out Beagrie from wherever he was lurking, and he would then flee onto the playing fields pursued by a large and growing pack, attracted by the loud cries of "Beagrie Hunt"

A particularly successful Beagrie Hunt would see him temporarily evade capture with several twists and turns, but inevitably he would ultimately be hauled to the ground and gobbed.

The name given to all lab assistants.

What fun it must have been to write your name in shit on the toilet wall of infant school! And yet how sad that you spelled it "bean" instead of "dean".

A highly-evolved and subtle method of chinning in which no chin is necessary. Simply stroke your imaginary beard at the liar, who will look confused and carry on fibbing.

The practise of stroking your chin to express disbelief. Usually in response to a statement of achievement or ownership.

For example, child one: 'I can get 6 borbons in my mouth' child two: 'Beard' (stroke chin). Sometimes becomes 'chinny chin chin'.

Vehement 'bearding' includes the frantic miming of a massive curly beard thet stretches around your head and back again.

Evolution of bearding includes reference to all body hair- for some reason mainly eyebrows.

Stop the fucking press. Now. LOTP has entered the next 22nd Century.

SIGN THIS GIRL UP NOW SHE IS BRILLIANT

Fantastic! I FINALLY have a visual way to demonstrate doubt!Thanks, Hannah!

I want to marry her (i want to 'marry' all the ladies)

The practise of stroking your chin to express disbelief. Usually in response to a statement of achievement or ownership.

For example, child one: 'I can get 6 borbons in my mouth' child two: 'Beard' (stroke chin). Sometimes becomes 'chinny chin chin'.

Vehement 'bearding' includes the frantic miming of a massive curly beard thet stretches around your head and back again.

Evolution of bearding includes reference to all body hair- for some reason mainly eyebrows.

A simple game. Push all the desks together in the middle of the room, close all the blinds and doors, and jam chairs in all the gaps at the sides of the desks and stuff.
Nominate the beast and give him a heavy ruler. The beast begins captured under the desks. Everyone else (the beastkeepers) would try to stop him escaping by holding the desks down, all the chairs in the way, and so forth.
When the beast finally did escape, he'd run around hitting everyone until we got bored.

There was a lad at our school accused of the heinous crime of shagging his sister, so we called him "BEAST" - if ever there was a word that was pronounced in CAPS it was this one.

During a school photograph the BEAST for some reason decided not to be photographed, and stood behind the photographer, whilst the rest of the school stood in front. An opportunity like this couldn't be missed - and cries of "BEAST", various insults and bizarelly "where's your pram?" where heard echoing around the playground. I swear that some teachers joined in as well. The BEAST remained impassive throughout.

a kid in our class had no qualms masturbating when and where the mood took him. Often in the middle of a class and it wouldnt take long before the whole class knew and even though the teacher never said anything they must have been frozen with fear.

This was an illusive seat which migrated around the bus but which seemed to have a pattern of following Joe Pogson, who at this point no one really liked. The trend was for a tougher boy to yell "BEAT SEAT" and launch himself upon Joe pummelling him with his fists, mainly on the head, then others would pile on squashing poor Joe and no doubt causing massive internal injury.

I saw Joe in a pub about a month ago, now 20, when I brought the subject up he seems to not be able to remember.

if someone's bothering you during lunch, just say, "Shut up or I'll beat your muffin." For the rest of the day they'll wonder if that was a threat against their baked-goods or something far more sinister.

It may not sound like a good idea, but when I did it, nothing happened. Probably because, living in Bromley, there were no gangsters.

Retaliating for farts: in Croesyceiliog school during the 60s and 70s this took the form of shouting "sixes" and raining blows down on the farter. Unless, that is, the farter had immunised himself from the rain of blows by shouting "taxi!" immediately post-fart. Insofar as I can remember, said immunisation was strictly observed. From that day to this I have heard of no other fart-beating rituals until encountering the above entry on "Beats".

Game played with two teams of four or five. One team would pick a password or phrase, and then peg it off. The other team would hunt down the opposing individuals, catch them, and beat the password and shit out of them. Two matching passwords from two (usually badly hurt) individuals, and the game was won.
Often phrases like "fuck your mum" were chosen by the running team - knowing that the weakest and saddest members of the team would get caught first. The only way they would therefore be able to stop the beating is by shouting “fuck your mum” at the attackers, which obviously sounded more like a spirited defiance, and left you five times likelier to get your nose broken.

Having initially always known beavers as slightly odd and entertaining creatures, when the class was asked; "So what for example do the tribes of the Masai Mara farm" One ginger tosser who temporarily cleared his name for this, shouted "beavers!" the mere idea being rather entertaining, only to be sent out of the classroom. The foolish teacher did not bear in mind that we were only 11 and possibly didnt know the adult meaning and, having finally realised this had to attempt to quietly back out of the situation she had got herself into. Needless say this failed and we soon learned the real meaning. Classic education.

As God is all-powerful, the reason for anything bad ever happening to anyone has to be because God wants them to suffer - this is plain logic. All got a bit out of hand when a lad called Tim Tranter died of a heart attack and someone shouted that it was because "God Hated him." Come to think of it, that was last week. How distressing.

The justification for being He-Man when an impromptu Masters of the Universe game broke out. The key would be made of lego, which would mean anyone could have the key given 30 seconds.