I would like to share this lovely homage to the '70s hit "Seasons in the Sun" Courtesy: Southfields Infant School, Peterborough.

We had joy, we had fun
Flicking bogeys at the sun
But the sun was too hot
And the bogeys turned to snot

The act of fighting whilst in the 'arms retracted inside jackets' official flid position. Often accompanied by Joey Deacon-esque 'Mmmnuurrr' (or 'belm') noises.

Flid flippers is the practice of hiding your elbows inside your shirt, rolling up your sleeves and poking your hands out of the them. The phrase "flid flippers" is funnier than the practice.)

Based on the hilarious thalidomide tragedy, in which pregnant women were prescribed a drug to treat the symptoms of morning sickness. Worked a treat, but it also caused the children to be born with a seemingly random collection of limbs. Easily simulated by pressing your wrists against your shoulders and flapping them like an eager seal. The links are therefore obvious - if you've demonstrated lower than average dexterity, you are a flid, and all your actions amount to nothing but flidding.

'This bloke woke up one morning, and, you know how you sometimes wake up with a bonk on?'

'Yeah'

'Well he did, anyway he decided to have a bath, but he couldn't get rid of it, and you know how your bollocks start to ache if you've had a lob on for a while?'

'Yeah'

'Well, his did, so he decided to have a wank. Anyway he finished but he had a problem cos, well, you know how spunk floats in the bath?'

'Yeah'

'OH MY GOD YOU WANK IN THE BATH YOU MASSIVE BATH WANKER WANKER WANKER WANKER'

Contemporaneous with Garbage Pail Kids, and probably confined to our school. The fluff was a small strip of synthetic felt that lived in a matchbox. Everyone had them, and some of the more adventurous kids made whole cities for these little cloth-strips at home. No one know how this craze started, but it lasted for about a year.

Ask the victim if they want to get high and see amazing colours. They usually say yes, and so the game shall begin. Place the victim (who, it must be said, has to be a very trusting victim) on their knees and hold a towel in front of their face. An accomplice would then pull the towel up while you pushed on either side of their nose with your palms. Once the towel is removed, ask them if they can see the flying colours. Obviously, they don't, so you try again. This time, however, press your arse against the victim's nose and teasingly drag the towel away. It might help if your accomplice presses their face forwards. It would seem a terrible waste to go through all this effort if their nose didn't go up your arse.

An esteemed colleague of mine developed an aptitude for graphic design at an early age. He spent the entirety of the second year drawing dildos with wings in French text books, which we had to find. These were known as Flying Talbots. I believe "Where's Wally" owes substantial royalties.

Every lunchtime, at about 1.10pm, a strange white foam used to emerge from the bottom of the pipes. Children used to play with it - run around the playground with it on their faces in winter pretending to be Father Christmas, or in summer, an ice-cream to fun and fool your friends with.
I now realise that this was the cooks emptying the sinks of all the greasy, fatty, food-encrusted gunk. This, added to a dash of Fairy Liquid, would cause giant clouds of this foul-stinking dirt. Everyone from Hillbrook School will probably get cancer from this by the age of 40.

Fog, The

Book by James Herbert and most peoples first experience of breathing takingly, eye poppingly, gobsmackingly, hardcore pornography. (If you are 11)

Fog, The could be read in public with total impunity, as it’s cover in no way belied the graphic, frank depictions of adult lovemaking that could be found within.

The only problem with Fog, The was Herbert’s use of sex as metaphor. Herbert explores the idea of sex as celebration of life, with death as the great disclosure, revealing the lonliness and horror of life’s seedy underbelly with the literary device of contrast. ("In the midst of life we are in death", and so on.) To demonstrate life’s rich tapestry of light and dark, pleasures and woes, sex is used to throw death into sharp relief, and vice versa.

This means that just as a sex scene was getting to the really filthy bit, the character would chop off their own cock with a pair of gardening shears, or throw themselves into the sea on top of a load of corpses after a big lezzing session.

Most psychosexual dsyfuntions can be attributed to early childhood exposure to Fog, The.

(See also: American Psycho, Judy Blume’s Forever)

Favourite television programme of Mark Foster, who would constantly ask me if I'd seen the most recent episode and then look at me in disbelief when I told him I'd never heard of it. It was about a year before I realised he was talking about "The Fall Guy" which, of course, I watched all the time.

(At the time Mark was receiving regular speech therapy)

The essence of foot chuffers is to stamp on the opponent's foot. To do so is to score a chuff. However, to prevent random stampings, rules were developed regarding a signing on and off process. To sign on, both combatants must raise their right leg and declare the commencement of foot chuffing. You remain in a state of war until one player signs off. Formerly, a mutual and simultaneous signing off was required, in the same fashion of the signing on. However, some warriors would refuse to sign off, and carry on stamping on their opponent's feet for days after, sometimes weeks. After much injustice, the amendment was passed to allow unilateral signings off. Special moves include the reverse chuff, the double chuff, and the total chuff combo (a reverse double chuff). Exotic moves, such as the flip chuff, the uberchuff, and the black spin, were postulated but never put into practice.

Our football burst one breaktime. Someone had the idea of taking out the deflated inner balloon through the burst seam and replacing it with some large stones.
We then 'accidentally' rolled the ball over towards a group of older bastard kids, knowing that they would try to kick it over the fence.
And it worked. Honestly, it worked. One of them took a good run up, had a huge hoof at the ball, shouted out loud, and hopped off on one leg in considerable pain, and probably saying "ooyah!"
I have never since experienced such complete satisfaction at the entirely successful execution of a plan. We strutted around like five little George Peppards for a week.

Everyone experiences a leather football in the face on a winter's day at one point in their school life, but not everyone gets to experience kicking the ball at full force in your history teacher's face on the coldest day of the year, then getting away with it because you can run faster than he can.

For good friends and for good food
We thank you, Lord
Amen
Compulsory prayer said before dinner at my primary school. To be said in a mindless drone, reminiscent of, "Good mor-ning, Mis-sus Jones".
More accurate would have been;
For the wondrous bounty
That is shepherds pie
Left over from last week
And for letting me sit next to Peter
Who smells of cheese biscuits
We thank you, Lord
Amen

It's the late 70's, it's going home time, and Darren is well impressed by the hard kids leaving the school gates with "AVFC" written on their foreheads in marker pen. Darren thinks it's the finest thing he's ever seen, and asks the lads to write "AVFC" on his forehead too. OK, say the hard kids.

Darren walked home that day with "FUCK OFF DAD" written on his forehead.

The first thing you notice about foreign exchange pupils is just how foreign they look. Invariably, their heads were a strange shape, they smelled odd and their clothes ranged from bizarre to hilarious.
Depending on their gullibility and command of English it was occasionally possible to get them to do silly and potentially dangerous things. Most of them were too wise to fall into any trap involving the words fuck, wank, bastard or shit. The skill lay in coming across as trustworthy and in using phrases obscure enough to raise no alarms. We had moderate success with a young French boy who we managed to send into a sweet shop, point to a big jar and say 'clitoris'. The same boy, without any inducement at all, surprised my sister on a cramped car journey by asking if he could come on her legs. She laughed and so did I. My friends decided he wan't a proper French person when he declined the offer of eating a whole raw onion.
On the whole, Germans were more fun becaue it was permissible to punch them for starting wars and gassing people.

A man named after his appearance - that of a muppet Michael Jackson. The most popular Fozzie-related sport was to roll up small bits of paper, dampen them in your mouth and fire them from your Bic biro case like a pea shooter, to get as much paper and other debris into Ferrison's hair without him feeling it. Alternately, you could empty the contents of a hole-punch into his hair like confetti.

The most notable game reached a climax with me losing five to eight. Matches were normally ended like a game of Buck-A-Roo, with Ferrison ruffling his hair and everything dropping out. This time, it ended with a more satisfying finale, when my poor aim led to a wad of damp exercise book entering a non-participant's mouth just as he breathing in.

Jennifer (never Jenny, twat) Campbell looked like a frog. So we made up an entire alphabet in her language, called Fraagian, obviously, and sent secret notes to each other in it. Bizarrely, we never used it to be mean to her or about her. But Niki Earp claimed to be completely fluent in it and even tried to speak it. We fell out in third year...bitch...

Grab another one,
Stick a chainsaw up its bum,
Turn the power on,
Now the fraggle's gone!

I don't know how or why, but the little bloke that used to ride by us on his pale blue motor scooter whilst we walked to school became known as "Frank the Bummer Man". As far as we knew, this meant that he liked rubbing bottoms with young boys. Anyway, this all led to us shouting "Frank the Bummer Man!" at him in very loud voices as he rode by.
One day, this became too much for Frank - if that was indeed his name - and he dismounted very rapidly and gave chase.
We ended up over the clay pits near the school, covered in mud, and eventually turned up for school over an hour late, receiving detentions for our trouble.
After that we left Frank alone as he'd shown us that being a bummer man didn't mean that he couldn't run after us.

Franzi was a cartoon pig in Deutsche Heute textbooks. A few swift swishes of the pen later and suddenly the illustrations showed him in a variety of homosexual/masturbatory acts. Thus he became "Franzi the Gay Pig". Some textbooks just seem to be illustrated in a way that invites scribblings of "ooooh, yeah, fuck my gash" and huge spurting members inserted up farting bumholes.
I wonder, if I went back to my old schools, and asked to see the textbooks, would the same one's I grafittied still be in use? Is it too much to ask? Please Lord...

A weekly process, involving writing 'freak' backwards on the blackboard and then shoving the pre-selected freak onto it. Tragically for Alan Tucker, he was a regular nominee and began to refuse to wear anything but a white shirt to school. His wintry shivering was especially pointless when someone found one of those green "calligraphy" pens that all schools bought in bulk in the early 1980s, and scrawled freak on his shirt in a primitive Times New Roman-style font.

Exclamation of surprise or delight. Also duetted with Elton John on the number one hit "Don't Go Breaking My Arse".