Connor Hugh was the gayyest boy in the class, so I wrote a song about him. It went;
Connor Hugh,
Connor Hugh,
He loves to put his cock in poo.

Shit but traditional time-waster of a game played with pens, strips of paper and as many people as possible (pointless if played with two, heartbreaking if played alone). The idea was that everyone started off by writing someone's name at the top, folding it over so that the next person couldn't see it, then passing it along. The next person would add a random sentence beginning with the agreed word, usually 'went', 'met' or 'had', occasionally 'shagged' or 'sucked'.

This went on until the strips were full, usually dictated by the thick kid with the huge writing, and the hilarious stories that you'd created were unfolded and read aloud. Most of the time, sadly, they were not the dada-ist flights of whimsy one would expect. They were either total bollocks that either made no sense, or contained endless variations on the same sentence from kids with fuck all imagination, like "went to shag a prostitute!!!" or "had a big shit on the toilet!!!"

William Burroughs did not write Naked Lunch after a game of Consequences.

Aged 8, Ian claimed he caught asthma from me after a particularly bitter game of tag. I did not know, until recently, that asthma is not an contagious disease.
I like to imagine myself, grown up and knowlegeable, retrospectively putting him in his place with an arsenal of words like respiratory, non-communicable, and retrospectively.
As it was, I just apologised for giving him asthma.

Biology teacher, Mrs Bennison gave us this frankly forgettable mnemonic to help us remember the sections of the spinal column: Cervical, Thoracic, Lumbar, Sacral and Coccyx.
Cue a voice from the back of the class providing us with one that was much easier to remember: "Can Tony Lick Susan's Cunt?"

Not having yet learned words to express the merits of an object/person/pop star, etc, only-six-months-in-London Sabil would exclaim excitedly, "Wow, creeping camels, man!" "Dancing baby baby!" and my all-time favourite, "Play rock and roll and suck it up your cock!"
Somehow, using the words "cool" or "smart" never had the same appeal.

Had a useful double meaning. As well as its common sensical meaning, it also stood for 'crazy on old ladies'.

What a schoolmate was said to have joined when he discarded his Game Boy, signed up for driving lessons, and started sneaking off to the pub at night with other cool-gang members instead of meeting the rest of us near the spooky old house around lunchtime on Saturday. Used with the jealous sneer.

Hugh Simms and Michael Torbay were the two coolest guys in our year, but had radically different styles. Simms was a cocky, stocky little cunt with a short fuse and a cruel talent for mimicry. Torbay was more your aesthetic dandy type, enigmatic and aloof.

They were pretty well neck-and-neck in the coolness stakes, until the day in Year 9 that Simms saw Torbay getting ready for a shower after gym, and noticed that instead of grabbing his t-shirt by the collar and dragging it off across his head, Torbay crossed his arms, delicately grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it gently up & over in a rolling motion, like a fucking girl.

Once this got around, Simms' #1 Coolest Guy status was undisputed. Not only was Torbay revealed to be a girly undresser, but the deeper implication was that Simms could draw the comparison because he himself had witnessed a girl getting her gear off.

Game set and match, Tor-GAY.

A new student arrived at our school. She was called Asamara, she was from Somalia. Being the only black girl in school, there was endless speculation amongst all the boys as to what her beavoir would look like. One of our number, who claimed to have worldly sophistication, declared that it would be "All pink and orange inside, just like a coral garden." Asmara subsequently became known as "Coral Garden" and invites, (for some inexplicable reason in a southern American Negro accent), of "Come inside my sweet Coral Garden honey!" were constantly thrown at her. Asamara at first used to smile graciously at us - until some other girl told her what we were on about. She stopped smiling, then. I felt bad for years, because I was involved in her being dubbed Coral Garden. Years later I started seeing her on the train on the way to work. She was really friendly, and I thought I was on my way to the garden until she told me she was getting married soon.

1976, when teachers still had coloured tissues pushed up their paisley sleeves. I was 6, and we had a lady come and give us a special talk about musical instruments.
At this juncture i should point out that my mother and father expected blood on my pages and had already crammed as much prehistoric knowledge into my still hardening skull as they could.
Anyway, this woman, probably called Mrs Fuller or something showed us slides of the very first musical instruments, up popped this image and she said, "this is the very first piano" I put up my grubby mitt and said, "actually the first keyboard instument was called a virginals", to which she replied, "Aren't we precocious". I said, "no, merely correct."
For my correctness i was made to sit in the 'entrance hall' at play time for about three days.

The Assembly mantra of our head of year, Mr Farquarson. In a blatant case of not listening to one's own advice he was found dead in his car on a mountain in the Lake District.

Tom MacPhearson was suspended a few days later for finding an exhaust pipe on the school field and asking the Bursar if it was Mr Farquarson's.

A cautionary tale to all those embarking on important modular exams. Upon the announcement of: "Last few seconds, finish what you're writing", DO NOT loudly sing the coundown tune: Do-do do-do dudududoo BOOOOOOO.
This contravenes the pre-specified exam conditions rules, as I was reminded whilst my testpaper was torn to pieces in front of my very eyes.

Sonny Moston was a hard bastard, who, even at the age of nine, would not think twice before ramming your head between the bars of the climbing frame. His particular punishment for me was more simple - an endless labelling of myself as 'gay'.
In a move that still shocks me to this day, I decided that the only way I could end this torture was to 'become gay', thereby somehow negating any further comments. Why call someone gay if everyone knows they are?
I announced my new found sexuality to Sonny by kissing my best mate David on the cheek. David ran away, but Sonny remained. I then 'came on' to him, by approaching him and making 'kissy' noises with my mouth. This was all too much for Sonny. He ran away and cried - and never came near me again.
Interestingly enough, David, my then unwilling partner in gayness is just about to graduate as a fashion designer. Sonny's sexuality remains unknown.

Country Fayre was a house that had been converted into a cob shop. It was run by an immensely fat woman, who was given moral support from the back room by her family. You never saw the family, but the noises they made were unnerving evidence of their existence. It seemed like the fat woman lumbered from room to room collecting the various ingredients, then presented it to you in a white paper bag. The cobs were very nice indeed, but trade suffered from the widely held belief that she buttered the cobs by rubbing them against her armpits.

Victim was approached and asked: 'Would you rather run a mile, jump a stile or eat a country pancake?' Hilarity ensued if the answer was the latter (as it usually was). A country pancake is a cowpat, y'see. Sadly if anybody gave the first or second answer, the riposte was not quite as cutting: 'Er, go on then.'

Secular assembly song. The line "West Virginia, mountain momma" was all too easily changed to "Wet Vagina, mounting momma"

Rural fun based on the cow's inability to move sideways. Generally results in cow being killed. Sometimes, if it's been raining, and if urban myths are true, the child will take a run up, hit the cow, slip through the cow's legs, and get landed on by a freshly tipped cow. Then they both die.
(Rural readers! Have YOU ever tipped a cow? Did you chortle as the cow, its fate sealed, lay helplessly on the ground? Did her big, confused eyes look at you as though to say “this was a horrible accident, right?” Or do you just make it all up to impress gullible city folk? Answers in the usual way…)

9:50am is Cowboy Time. If someone asks you the time, and it is 9:50am, you must tell them that it is Cowboy Time. It's a fair bet that you'll be met with a blank stare, in which case you can launch into the following rendition of the Lone Ranger theme song*
Ten to ten to ten-ten-ten
Ten to ten to ten-ten-ten
Ten to ten to ten-ten-ten
Tennn to ten ten ten
With enough people aware of Cowboy Time, the first lesson of the morning can be turned into a rousing Wild West chorus.
* non-Philistines will of course recognise this as Rossini's William Tell Overture.

In a wild bid to become more popular, the fat kid in our class boasted that he knew everything there was to know about drugs.
One of his many claims was that Crack Cocaine got its name from Duran Duran when they had wild parties and took the drug from naked ladies' front bottoms. This earned him a severe kicking, not because it was a complete lie, but for liking Duran Duran.

Study periods and an unguarded changing room = free time and a place to smoke. Kinda like a male, uncool version of the cool girls in American school toilets.
The one time a teacher walked in, and asked the inevitable question - "What are you doing in here?" - we surprised each other by answering "fixing the toilet, sir" at the same time.
This togetherness must have lent the crap excuse some credibility, as the teacher seemed happy enough. Perhaps he just didn't give a shit.

The Geography department's Scrap Paper box.

Conkers and marbles year after weary year, school crazes were the very bedrock of playground life. For some inexplicable reason, we broke from tradition, and mouth fresheners were the fashion one year. Unfortunately being approximately 9 or 10, it involved a myriad of schoolchildren waltzing into the local chemists and proclaiming they wished to buy some mouth freshener. To which the response would almost always be - "Are you smoking love - give it up, it will kill you one day" not realising none of us smoked but were too embarrassed to admit it.

Works when the tables are arranged in a three-sides-of-a-square formation. While the teacher is out the room, one person is nominated to select desks in or desks out , which is written down and passed around the room once the teacher returns. This may seem fairly pointless, but it adds to the general feeling of naughtniess. Every time the teacher turns his back to write on the board, everyone should move their tables in or out, according to the mandate. Some teachers can be extraordinarily slow to catch on to this, and therefore it can be quite upsetting for them to realise that no-one's been paying attention at all, and have been simply laughing for the last ten minutes.

A game that involved eating a Creme egg faster than your opponent.
The game was short-lived, and effectively ruined in its early rounds, when a competitor managed to somehow empty his mouth in three seconds. There seemed little point in choking ourselves to beat such an admirable and physically impossible record, so we went back to whatever we did before Creme Egg Speed Eating.

A 20 metre square cock and balls motif drawn on the school field in creosote. This killed the grass and meant that the spectacle was visible for an entire school term (and then some). In true crop circle fashion the artwork only made sense if viewed from the top floor of the tower block.