Our frail, and not-quite-with-it biology teacher was called Mrs Dancey- it seemed only natural to rechristen her The Dancin' dancin' dancin'... Dancin' Machine! (said in a rising Disco intro stylee). She loved us.

This is a classic in the making. A joyous ending

There was (and still is) a game played at school, and at others (a bloke at rugby told me) known as mackerel. The rules being, when someone farted you would cry "mackerel", and were allowed to give them beats untill they said 5 times of fish. However, to counter this you could cry "safetey", an then if anyone mackereld you, you could give them beats.

There was also a less popular game known as doorknob, were the victim had to touch a doorknob, and this could be countered with "knobend" however this never took off due to our schools lack of doorknobs.

There was also a

Kid with Cerebal palsy in my school. Used t drive an electric wheelchair everywhere, hence the "Mad Max". Obsessed with Star Trek, (despite it being shit) something that every teacher saw fit to mention when they used him in assemblies in a cynical attempt to make him fit in as one of the normal kids.

Died in the fourth year, making us all feel slightly bad for going 4 years without speaking to him (he didn't do much speaking himself, mind). This was alleviated by riding the chairs in the ICT rooms around with our tongues in our bottom lips.

If one of your peers has said something blatantly mad it is considered necessary to chant the following at them to further compound their shame.

Curly Wurly, Curly Wurly, Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

With each cry of "Cuckoo" you point your finger at the mentaler, and the "curly wurly" can be accompanied by a twirling of one's fingers around one's ears.

That'll teach them.

I'm glad that actual schoolchildren are joining us...

we get this dumb maths teacher called mr mcdonagh (mr mcdoughnut, madonna). when he walks past, we say really loudly, 'i hate maths dont you? (hannah says yes) especially this teacher mr mcdoughnut, he reeks doesnt he?' he always gives us this really queer look. not just that but he pervs on you, he fancies hannah, he tries to look up her skirt or down her shirt he is a total perv.

Shouted and accompanied by a flexing of a little finger. Denotes the possession of a unimpressive member. An abbreviation of Maggot, which little willies look like.

Variations include, maggee, Mr. Magoo, magga magga magga and magwaaaaah, shouted in a Zippy from Rainbow style voice.

The only reversal is, sadly, lacking in finesse. Simply shout back "No you're the MAG! I'm a MONSTER!" Meaning, obviously, that your penis is huge, and very hairy indeed.

During a time in a young lad's life when touching your willy or thinking of boobies made you feel funny inside, finding a full-page poster of all the Gladiators from the 90's TV show - including Jet and Lightning - was thrilling.

I kept the magazine for a few years, and having now realised that the lady Gladiators were sexual creatures, I decided the closest that I could get to any sexual activity at age ten or eleven was to rub my pecker against the picture of Jet on the poster. Lightning was alright, but hell, it was all about Jet, wasn't it? This liason continued for some nights, taking the UTMOST care not to let my nob touch anywhere but Jet. If my cock so much as stroked past Wolf's arm, or Rhino's leg, then surely I would become a big poofy 'omo.

Anyway, convinced I was no longer a virgin, I confided in my friend that I had a shag with Jet from Gladiators by just rubbing my nob against a picture of her. Intrigued, and equally as sexually confused, he asked if he could borrow the magazine, so that he too could become a man. I was happy to oblige. He'd pork Jet for a night, and she would be mine forever more.


Then, some years later, I found the magazine under my bed. Looking through it, I found the picture. Chuckling at my own childish naivety, I remembered how I made my nob avoid the male gladiators at all costs. Then, with utter terror, I realised that I had continued my affair with Jet after my friend had fucked her. Shaken by the cruel irony of the fact that I took great care in not touching Wolf, Rhino or Hunter because I didn't want to become gay, only to rub my cock where my mates cock had been not a day before, I became too afraid to touch my own nob for weeks after. God knows that ten or eleven year olds don't hold the concept of personal hygiene, especially when a right dirty shag with Jet from telly is on the cards, I became convinced that my nob had become infected with gay, and if I touched it, then the disease would spread.


When the other lads at school started talking about touching their own cocks for enjoyment, I kept quiet. I didn't want to become gay twice in one lifetime.

Maggie More, she was a whore
She sold herself ten pence an hour
The army came, the navy went
They left her cunt all broke and bent
Now she is dead, but not forgotten,
Her frilly knickers are fucking rotten!

At my catholic primary school we used to sing
"Maggie Thatcher stick her in the bin
If she gets out then selotape her in
If she gets out then bang her on the head
Then the old bag's dead!"
Which in hindsight is odd because John Major was Prime Minister at the time and had been since 1990, when we all started at school. Still, I think we win the award for left-wing extremist catholic toddlers 1996.

An abomination of nature. this rambling shack on wheels was a mobile butchers, suposedly to be more convenient as it was mobile yet everybody knew it was mobile so the health authorities couldnt track it down. While on a binge with some of my more questionable friends we found the lair of this dragon of the road in emley, west yorkshire

An extra violent version of Mallet's Mallet (From Timmy Mallet's Wacaday)

Kevin Maddock (a.k.a. Maggot) was always the quizmaster, hence the name of the game. He used his fists or sometimes a stick instead of a big foamy mallet.

Game played on school trips in dormitories. Consisted of combat between by boys who had to remain at all times on the floor wrapped up in duvets. Were it a cartoon scene, the word "squirm" would appear three times in each frame.

Maggots had no winners - play was its own reward.

The original, Silent E, was done by Tom Lehrer who is better known for the song 'Poisoning Pidgeons in the Park' and 'National Brotherhood Week', a very funny man.

An animated wizard, who had special e-mazing powers. Voiced by Derek Griffiths, he would sing;
Fat becomes fate with me!
Rat becomes rate with me!
and of course
Shit becomes shite with me!
I'm magic magic E...
After comically noting that shit becomes shite with him, children would rack their brains, without success, to think of another rude word ending in a removeable "e".

The original, Silent E, was done by Tom Lehrer who is better known for the song 'Poisoning Pigeons in the Park' and 'National Brotherhood Week', a very funny man.

Every time a policeman or fireman came to school to give a sermon on how not to burn down your dog and dial 999 they would bring a box of pencils to distribute. At the conculsion of their tedious moral lecture they would give everyone a pencil with the grandiose claim it was a "magic pencil". A thrill indeed for any group of children. The excitment would only be dampened slightly by the revelation that the pencils magic power wasn't shooting fireballs or the ability to fly but that it never made mistakes. Here was the ticket to the easy life. Joy filled years of exams passed with full marks having done no work stretched before us. The police/fire mans revelation that the pencil doesn't make mistakes but YOU do lead to lots of disgruntled children and many broken pencils. It may be the reason authority figures are treated with such mistrust today.

The Magic Potion would be made from a hlaf-empty yoghurt pot, plus added ingredients such as barbeque crisps, bread crusts, apple pips and anything else to hand. The challenge was to make it as big and filthy a mix as possible, and for it to be stirred clockwise with the dinner-lady's pen, otherwise it wouldn't work.
The hapless yogurt owner would then have to eat this mess. If sucessful and was able to keep the mix down for more than ten minutes they were crowned "the Great Sage" for the lunchtime. If they lost the contents of lunch within the ten minutes, they were made to eat grass, because that's what cats do when they have a dodgy stomach.

"What's underneath the Magic Table?" I asked, out of the blue, one lunchtime.

Naturally curious, I bent my head to investigate the source of the witchcraft and wizardry, which proved to be Jane McKeating's eight year old, hairless genitals.

Even if you are wearing trousers and underwear, if you press your fingers hard enough up your buttock cleft and worm them around, a small amount of anus smell will be transferred to your fingers. The process by which this happens is entirely magical. On a really warm day, I managed to get the smell through underpants, trousers, and jumper.

FINGERS!Among the more mental things this kid called Kia did at our school was to once steal a long strip of magnesium ribbon from the chemistry labs then later waiting to go home to lob it onto the train tracks so that it linked the two live live rails.

There followed a blinding white light and a mini mushroom cloud of smoke, which within five seconds everyone had decided was a terrorist bomb (in Sandwich for fuck's sake) until I, who had been playing too much metal gear solid or something calmly told everyone it was probably just one of them stun grenades

For a brief period in my middle school, three boys stood together as a perfect example of victimhood. These boys were Greg Rutter, Robert Douchanicz, and "American" Nate Pinar. Individually they were all ripe targets, but together, they presented an unresistable opportunity to deal misery.
Nate- a very strange, smelly American boy who liked trading cards and Power Rangers. He even attempted to use these cards to protect himself while being attacked, for God's sake. On our Year 8 French trip, he also displayed some... interesting breakdancing skillz.
Greg- a morbidly fat boy with behavioural problems who would throw a spaz and attack anyone who said anything mildly derogatory to him. He also possessed a large cadre of helpers who accompanied him to lessons, but were helpless to contain his rage.
Rob- somewhat less deserving than the other two, Rob's only misfortune was to have a less than able brain, dodgy legs and to hang around with an abusive fat boy. Still, he was rumoured to have once shaved off his own eyebrows to prevent someone else doing it.
The fellowship was broken at the end of Year 8, when Nate went to another school. Rob and Greg remained mates, despite the latter's violent abuse of his only friend.

Mispronunciation of "My Keith". Used primarily by the mother of Keith Morrell, a gargantuan lumpy beast of a woman, who had a melted owl face and corned-beef arms. Her protective cry of "MAHR KEEF", warped into a gigantic trumpet by her fatty fatty fatfat lungs of fat. She drove a car named "Cheese On Toast", presumably because the idea of sitting inside of a huge piece of food made her wet her fat knickers in morbid glee.

Make friends make friends
Never ever break friends
If you do you'll get the flu
And that will be the end of you

Junior school chant sung by you and your best mate just after you best mate has pulled your hair and just before you punch your best mate in the nose. Method of diplomacy pioneered in Israel and refined in Northern Ireland.

(never, never break friends/if you do/you'll catch the flu/and that will be the end of you.)

So we all know this one, but interestingly enough, the popular comedian Adam Bloom genuinely believes he invented this rhyme, in a playground in Richmond in 1977. No one else knew it before he invented it, and he will accept no argument to the contrary.

if you fell out with a friend, after the pathetic bitching (i mean how bitchy can 7 year olds be? - well im talking about in the 70s anyway.) had ceased you then decided to make up.

this involved a ritual of linkinf little fingers and chanting

"make up make up
never do it again
if you do
you'll get the cane"

whilst shaking your links hands up and down.

in retrospect the whole "get the cane" business sounds a bit gay to me...