When someone farts silent or loud, the giver must yell 'SAFETY' at the end of the exertion. But if anyone else calls out 'DOORKNOB' before the giver yells 'SAFETY'...then all hell is loose! Anyone and everyone is allowed to pummel the giver till he can reach a legit doorknob and make contact with it.
Also, if the giver belches or burps, the giver must yell 'SAFETY'! if anyone calls 'WINDOW' before the giver say 'SAFETY' then all hell is loose again. Same rules apply as with farting.

A despicable breed who share interests and sympathy with the geeks, but have somehow managed to end up with a popular set of friends. These double agents may even go to their geek friends' houses at the weekend to paint little lead goblins, but within school hours they are inexplicably distant, their one concession to the sham of a friendship being the fact that they only laugh half-heartedly at the routine deconstruction of the geek's psyche.

Reserved for those boys small and stupid enough to sit on the shoulders of people playing bulldog, hence double bulldog. Small stupid boys would land on their faces with a chin-full of gravel, known as a chinny bulldog.

During a youthful LSD session, we invented Douglas Bader Football, which - you guessed it - involved running around after a ball in a stiff-legged manner. The humour was lost on me until after I'd come down. At the time I was paranoid as fuck and wondered what everyone was going on about, and why I didn't understand, and whether anyone would notice. Me and a mate ended up playing Douglas Bader Football on a busy summer's day in the park recently, pissed, for old time's sake. A middle-aged woman overheard us and couldn't control herself laughing.

These were the children who had the terrible euphemism "special" inflicted upon them more than any other. Technically, they weren't missing anything - in fact, they had one more chromosome than everyone else. It's not fair. They get all the chromosomes and then they get to hog the drama workshops too. Jammy bastards.

Alex Pennington and Andy Cruse were sat next to each other on the bus on a French trip. Alex was ripping the piss out of Andy for being a virgin (cos yeah, HE'D done it loads). Andy, being something of a nutter, replied by plunging a penknife into Alex's thigh, puncturing an artery. An arc of blood shot out and was making a right mess of the upholstery so, calmly, Andy got up, walked to the front of the bus, tapped a dozing Mr Kavanagh on the shoulder and said the now legendary phrase: "Excuse me sir, but I appear to have stabbed Pennington."

A home computer of the Spectrum generation, but made in Wales. The company that made them went bust quickly. Result: no good games, and a social problem akin to . But at least the Dragon had a proper keyboard.

"With a partner, come up with a short scene of a bully and a victim before showing it to the class," said Mrs Young.
Following several rehearsals, Dave and I stood up to present our five-minute piece:
Me: Oi you, give me your lunch money.
At which point he punched me full in the face, thus ending the play.
Unbelievably, I then got a bollocking for 'provoking' Dave - Mrs Young clearly oblivious to the fact that a) it was a piece of theatre, and b) it was Dave who veered wildly and violently from the script.

Very short-lived craze of tickling the underside of your schoolmate's chins whilst exclaiming "dring! dring!"
Considering how gay this was, I'm amazed I didn't get rightfully beaten up.

Was the prospect of launching some thirsty Joey's dool into your mouth not enough to deter you from using the public drinking fountains, then the stubborn rumours that Paul Murray had shit in them the day before certainly would.
(Always the day before, too. Never "earlier today". This means that Paul Murray must have stayed behind after school to shit in the drinking fountain every single day.)

Unfortunate sounding contraction of Andrew Peacock. Also see his older brothers Chris and James. The last one never really worked.

A game where you have to hook a chair into the air, using only your foot and shin, then dive underneath it before it hits the ground.
Surprisingly hard. Surprisingly painful. Predictably popular.

In primary school, reasoning that drug dealing was the ultimate in cool, yet lacking the knowledge of what a drug dealer actually did, I decided to collect cigarette butts, peel away the paper, and store the filter tips in a certain drainpipe in the playground.

This became a surprisingly successful craze at my school, lasting for a good few weeks before a teacher was told about our glamourous and highly illegal exploits and broke up the cartel.

A boarding school poo and booze story. What more could one want?

Colin, the school loser, thought he'd celebrate a boarding school weekend by holding a party for himself in his study with a bottle of spirits. He partied hard that night, did Colin.

Harry found him. It was the horrendous niff in the toilet block that aroused our initial suspicions. Upon closer inspection, a flaccid, pale leg was seen poking out from the bottom of one of the cubicles.

The door was pushed open to find a half-naked unconscious Colin and an oozing mixture of piss, shit and vomit gradually fanning out across the floor. Well, there’s only one thing to do in such circumstances. We got a camera and took a whole roll of film.

Somehow, Colin got wind of the forthcoming poster production, and he tore Harry's dorm to pieces, destroying every roll of film he could find including the incriminating one. However, instead of hushing up the event, this act of desperation just added to the legend. Before long, everybody knew about it, and Colin’s status as school loser was set in imperishable crystal for future generations to admire.

Thing you were supposed to get when you had shamed yourself in some way. As in "Get your dubbins" or the sing-song version "get your dubbins, fresh from the Daily Ma-il!"
A West Country version of "gutted". West Country viewers, if you know what a dubbin is and why you get them from the Daily Mail, write in.

A fantastic game played at Ashfield High School in New South Wales (Australia).
Get everyone's pencil sharpeners, and remove the blades. You may need a screwdriver.
Then, turn the ceiling fans up to full, and when the time seems right, yell "duck or get stabbed", and throw the blades into the fan.
Children and teacher alike would then dive under their desks to avoid receiving a chaotic facial slash.
This being Australia, the teacher probably didn't cry and leave the teaching profession forever. She probably said "heh, nice one, blue" before hopping onto a jetski and doing a double-dunny in Gedunga Bay, or something like that.

A potentially brain damaging game played - in general - with the class Warhammer fan.

It involves shouting duck!, and then hitting the victim around the head with a hard object.
After some time, the subject may get wise to the game, and take steps to defend himself. At this point, simply shout duck! after hitting him with the hard object.

Exclamation of incredulity. "Tommy Cooper's dead!" - "FUCK a DUCK!" A bowdlerized version spawned the fairground "Hook A Duck" stalls, in which you win a goldfish with athlete's foot coming out of its arse.

A Nottingham extension. Also, if William Shatner's famous cop had come from Nottingham, he would have introduced himself by saying "I'm TJ Hooker, duck", which relates a little to the previous entry.

Constructed, like coats made from animal skins, by the zipping together of five or so duffel coats. Then, climb inside and giggle until bored. Ski coats, which had detachable arms (in case you became trapped under a tree whilst skiing, and needed to sacrifice a limb), could be made into a ski ensemble, by unzipping the arms, zipping the arms to each other and wearing them as trousers. Then you could walk around like the Lord of the Manor, even if you did walk like duck wearing a nappy full of shit.

The lowest level of the DoE award is notoriously hard to fail. But if the teacher running it drowns in front of his own children, you do kind of lose heart.

Due to my love of the cartoon of the same name, mu mum and dad got me a dungeons and dragons set for christmas one year.
On reading the instructions I quickly realised it was quite complex and not as light-hearted as the cartoon had appeared so I got an expert (my mate who's older brother was a d&d keener) to help me set it up.
Me and my other mate sat for what seemed an eternity but was probably just over an hour, rolling dices while the 'expert' wrote down the values next to our powers categories.
On rolling the final dice, the 'expert' looked at our 2 figures stood on the board, deftly flicked them over and announced 'you're dead, you're dead'.
No explanation. No Nothing. We packed the game away and went out to play footie.

Condom, Durex, Rubber Johnny. As 10 year olds we used sticks to hook used 'dunkies' out of streams and recycle them as biological weapons in playground fights.

The white ones with the green bits. A sure sign of poverty.

Strange, Weeble-shaped glasses used in school canteens that seemed to be made of solid diamond. Their real purpose was to prove who was bestest at the table. Every Duralex glass had a a two-digit numbers on the bottom - so whoever had the highest number on their glass was clearly the bestest.

Unacceptable behaviours included:
- Trying to convince anyone that low scores were best, like Top of the Pops, or Golf
- Turning your glass upside-down to make your number higher
- Declining to play

It's only now I realise they're name is aa bit like the famous brand of sponkies. Dunno how we missed that at the time.