Meet B. You could describe B as small, shivery, asthmatic, bespectacled. You could also describe him as religious, so he was almost perfect for good natured probing.
One day, we were gently interrogating him about his wanking regime; he replied that it was sinful, then became wincingly tight-lipped on the matter. Eventually, a larger child got whiff of the conversation, and boomed "what, don't you wank, B?"
He finally exploded; "No, I don't, and I wouldn't want to, even if I could!"
There was five seconds of perfect silence, while every child said Grace for the wonderful gift they had been given.
One day, we were gently interrogating him about his wanking regime; he replied that it was sinful, then became wincingly tight-lipped on the matter. Eventually, a larger child got whiff of the conversation, and boomed "what, don't you wank, B?"
He finally exploded; "No, I don't, and I wouldn't want to, even if I could!"
There was five seconds of perfect silence, while every child said Grace for the wonderful gift they had been given.
Large Child : Do you know how to make a match burn twice?
Small Child : Gasp - surely that isn't possible?
Large Child : But it is!
Small Child : Then show me! Show me this magical match!
Big child strikes a match, blows it out, then sticks it on the arm of the small child.
Small Child : Gasp - surely that isn't possible?
Large Child : But it is!
Small Child : Then show me! Show me this magical match!
Big child strikes a match, blows it out, then sticks it on the arm of the small child.
Randy 5th former Graham took a strong liking to our French teacher and sent her a card declaring his intentions. He included a packet of three condoms and the punchline "from me and my Mates". What he hoped to achieve by this and what actually happened are events that belong to different sets that intersect at no point.
Legend had it that Gary Everitt got his cock stuck up the bath tap. How or why this happened the legend never stated, but we knew it must be true because, well, he looked the type.
A song was composed to the tune of the Matey bubblebath advert on TV at the time:
Gary Everitt's a bottle of fun
You put him in the bath
He sticks it up the tap
and everyone has a laugh!
He had to endure 5 years of this song, which was passed down to the years below and was particularly enjoyed by his younger brother, who presumably gained a good deal of revenge for older-sibling-based bullying.
A song was composed to the tune of the Matey bubblebath advert on TV at the time:
Gary Everitt's a bottle of fun
You put him in the bath
He sticks it up the tap
and everyone has a laugh!
He had to endure 5 years of this song, which was passed down to the years below and was particularly enjoyed by his younger brother, who presumably gained a good deal of revenge for older-sibling-based bullying.
The noise that a spastic produces when trying to say the word "spastic". Probably.
School bully and all round fat cunt Rebecca Stubbs was flattened by me applying my maypole ribbon across her overdeveloped chest as we danced around the Maypole. Kudos lasted only until break time when I had to hide.
Sadly, despite the limited opportunity for premeditated assault, Maypole dancing was the only Pagan rite tolerated by our school. My requests for a wicker man went entirely unheeded.
What about Morris dancing? A dried pig's bladder upside da bitch's head wouldda been DOPE - Mansh
Sadly, despite the limited opportunity for premeditated assault, Maypole dancing was the only Pagan rite tolerated by our school. My requests for a wicker man went entirely unheeded.
What about Morris dancing? A dried pig's bladder upside da bitch's head wouldda been DOPE - Mansh
MC Hammer sounds a bit like MC Spanner. This was combined with "Wanking Spanners" to make MC Spanner a term for wanker.
Fairly basic, but always a pleasure to see someone interrupt a conversation with - Stop - Spanner Time - then mime wanking for a while.
Fairly basic, but always a pleasure to see someone interrupt a conversation with - Stop - Spanner Time - then mime wanking for a while.
When your handwriting isn't all that good, as it tends not to be when you are nine, you might write "Merry Christmas" so that it looks a little like "Meany Christmas".
Then, if your teacher is the hysterical sort, who can't abide there to be any hint of unpleasantness in the world and squeals at the merest whiff of Roald Dahl, she might rip up that card, throw it in the bin, and scream "Have a Meany Christmas? What a horrible thing to write! You awful child!"
And when the child tearfully explains that it said "Merry", that same teacher - the one who strives for a perfect world in which children never have to feel pain - looks into that child's baffled and hurt eyes, sees that she has ripped up his innocence, and hopefully spends the rest of her life clawing at her own forearms like a damn maniac.
Then, if your teacher is the hysterical sort, who can't abide there to be any hint of unpleasantness in the world and squeals at the merest whiff of Roald Dahl, she might rip up that card, throw it in the bin, and scream "Have a Meany Christmas? What a horrible thing to write! You awful child!"
And when the child tearfully explains that it said "Merry", that same teacher - the one who strives for a perfect world in which children never have to feel pain - looks into that child's baffled and hurt eyes, sees that she has ripped up his innocence, and hopefully spends the rest of her life clawing at her own forearms like a damn maniac.
Sounding uncannily like 'mega hurts', when used in questions, can cause physics-minded kids to unwittingly consent to a solid beating.
What's that, Spod? You want 10,000 Mega Hurts? Well, OK, but it's going to be painful...
or
Simon, can you help me with something that's been bothering me? I was just wondering what you call a thousandth of a mega hurts. [receives answer] He says he wants a killer hurts, Stephen. Would you be so kind?
Before you look them all up, the only other ones that kinda work are "terror hurts", but that's a bit rubbish because you'd have to pull a scary face while you're punching, and "fem two hurts", which is tenuously useful if you're punching two lady's tits.
What's that, Spod? You want 10,000 Mega Hurts? Well, OK, but it's going to be painful...
or
Simon, can you help me with something that's been bothering me? I was just wondering what you call a thousandth of a mega hurts. [receives answer] He says he wants a killer hurts, Stephen. Would you be so kind?
Before you look them all up, the only other ones that kinda work are "terror hurts", but that's a bit rubbish because you'd have to pull a scary face while you're punching, and "fem two hurts", which is tenuously useful if you're punching two lady's tits.
The name of the substance that drips from the anus after a rigourous session of bumfunnery. Also a girl's name.
Mental Man lived on the Perrysfield estate. He would catch any child who got too near during daily taunting sessions, and would only release them when the police were called. This happened daily, for at least six years. Neither children nor Mental Man ever learned, but Mental Man did at least have an excuse, being mental.
Very well known game, in which combatants link fingers and attempt to get the other person to say 'mercy' by damaging the other person's wrists as painfully as possible. More fun if you use the other person's hands to hit themselves mid-bout, BUT watch out for the one in 2,000 children whose wrists bend back painlessly to meet their arms.
These children can never lose at mercy, and even if they're too weak to get a mercy out of you, there's no dignity to be had from trying to hurt someone who is smiling in that sickening way that shit people have when they're doing the one thing they're good at.
Additionally, if you let go, that constitutes a 'mercy', so you're stuck - effectively holding hands - with this leering feebler, until he gets bored. And he won't get bored, because he's doing the one thing he's good at.
Just be careful, is all.
These children can never lose at mercy, and even if they're too weak to get a mercy out of you, there's no dignity to be had from trying to hurt someone who is smiling in that sickening way that shit people have when they're doing the one thing they're good at.
Additionally, if you let go, that constitutes a 'mercy', so you're stuck - effectively holding hands - with this leering feebler, until he gets bored. And he won't get bored, because he's doing the one thing he's good at.
Just be careful, is all.
A rap written and performed by Nick Prendeghast in our festive assembly, about the birth of Jesus. It went: "There-he-lay / In-the-hay / Merry Christmas, Pucky Poo". No-one understood it, and those were the only lyrics. The choir couldn't sing after that for pissing themselves laughing, and Nick was suspended soon after.
The residential home of choice for pupils studying Community Studies between 1980-87. Once weekly visits included pupils interviewing residents, helping the staff and writing a weekly report. This culminated in the pupils coming back to Merry Hill House at the end of the school year to give presentations to the staff and residents.
One girl did a talk on 'lovely old Elspeth and her fondness for peppermint creams' Barry Rush did a song written for the residents which warmed the hearts of everyone. Then Roy Bird presented us with his highly complicated, mathematical graph of the most common causes of death amongst residents and even predicted at what age the remaining residents would die and of what cause.
Our school was subsequently banned from sending pupils to the MMH.
One girl did a talk on 'lovely old Elspeth and her fondness for peppermint creams' Barry Rush did a song written for the residents which warmed the hearts of everyone. Then Roy Bird presented us with his highly complicated, mathematical graph of the most common causes of death amongst residents and even predicted at what age the remaining residents would die and of what cause.
Our school was subsequently banned from sending pupils to the MMH.
MERVYN : "I've got a Mervyn" - my knickers are wedged somewhere between my buttocks and are, therefore, causing me discomfort. In order to yank them out discreetly, one must confide in a friend, "I've got a Mervyn", so that they can walk behind you, forming a shield.
MELVYN : "I've got a Melvyn" - for some reason I have been running about in a pair of ill-fitting tights. The motion of my legs and arse has caused the tights to slowly wend their way down my thighs. The crotch is now suspended between my knees, allowing me to part my feet by no more than six inches, and meaning that the cold air is now circulating around my knickers, buttocks and upper thighs. Don't run in ill-fitting pairs of tights, you will only end up with a Melvyn.
MAUSTYN : "I've got a Maustyn" (pronounced "Moss-tin"). My sleeping bag zip is very stiff, and while I was fiercely yanking it up, I somehow managed to wedge the end up my arse. This is most painful, but results in much mirth at sleepovers. Whoever looks most uncomfortable has definitely got a Maustyn.
MELVYN : "I've got a Melvyn" - for some reason I have been running about in a pair of ill-fitting tights. The motion of my legs and arse has caused the tights to slowly wend their way down my thighs. The crotch is now suspended between my knees, allowing me to part my feet by no more than six inches, and meaning that the cold air is now circulating around my knickers, buttocks and upper thighs. Don't run in ill-fitting pairs of tights, you will only end up with a Melvyn.
MAUSTYN : "I've got a Maustyn" (pronounced "Moss-tin"). My sleeping bag zip is very stiff, and while I was fiercely yanking it up, I somehow managed to wedge the end up my arse. This is most painful, but results in much mirth at sleepovers. Whoever looks most uncomfortable has definitely got a Maustyn.
The only lesson in which it is possible to make death stars, and burn the ceiling with welding equipment.
You know when you sharpen a pencil, right? And you're excited, because you're going to draw a picture of your family outside your house, and you've learned how to draw bricks and what're probably seagulls.
But when you apply pencil to paper, the nib of your brilliant new sharp pencil gives, and flakes out to one side.
Pulling out the nubbin of graphite, you start to sharpen the pencil again. But now, you have about an eighth of an inch of futile non-sharpening, in which there is no "lead", just a broken collar of wood. While you do this, the mental image of your family outside your house is fading, like the photo of Marty McFly in Back to the Future.
After seconds seeming like minutes, you will have sharpened the pencil again, and paid no heed to the clicking sound that didn't feel like a natural part of the pencil-sharpening process. This recklessness will come back to haunt you, sooner than you think.
With your tongue hooked over your top lip, you start to draw the outline of your father's head. After a quarter of the circle is completed, your fingertips sense something awry, and it feels like a premonition when the pencil lead snaps once again.
That feeling of foresight leads to an overwhelmingly frustrating sense of I could have done something to stop it. This, heaped on top of the injustice of a twice-snapping pencil, can bring tears of impotence to the child who just wants to draw his mummy and daddy holding hands.
The explanation given by mothers and scientists in this situation is that "it's probably snapped in the middle".
But when you apply pencil to paper, the nib of your brilliant new sharp pencil gives, and flakes out to one side.
Pulling out the nubbin of graphite, you start to sharpen the pencil again. But now, you have about an eighth of an inch of futile non-sharpening, in which there is no "lead", just a broken collar of wood. While you do this, the mental image of your family outside your house is fading, like the photo of Marty McFly in Back to the Future.
After seconds seeming like minutes, you will have sharpened the pencil again, and paid no heed to the clicking sound that didn't feel like a natural part of the pencil-sharpening process. This recklessness will come back to haunt you, sooner than you think.
With your tongue hooked over your top lip, you start to draw the outline of your father's head. After a quarter of the circle is completed, your fingertips sense something awry, and it feels like a premonition when the pencil lead snaps once again.
That feeling of foresight leads to an overwhelmingly frustrating sense of I could have done something to stop it. This, heaped on top of the injustice of a twice-snapping pencil, can bring tears of impotence to the child who just wants to draw his mummy and daddy holding hands.
The explanation given by mothers and scientists in this situation is that "it's probably snapped in the middle".
Extended Play
In order to extend a playtime, the entire school would throw their bags into a massive teetering pile toward the end of break. Obviously the teachers couldn't allow us back into class without our bags, so they all had to be sorted.
Midland Extended Play
Extended play became even more extended when the Midland (the only local bank) offered every child a free low-rent black nylon holdall, if they opened an account. By the time we'd sorted over a hundred identical black bags to their proper owners, it was dinner time.
Except for the flash cunt with the Head bag, who went in on time and had to do some hard sums.
In order to extend a playtime, the entire school would throw their bags into a massive teetering pile toward the end of break. Obviously the teachers couldn't allow us back into class without our bags, so they all had to be sorted.
Midland Extended Play
Extended play became even more extended when the Midland (the only local bank) offered every child a free low-rent black nylon holdall, if they opened an account. By the time we'd sorted over a hundred identical black bags to their proper owners, it was dinner time.
Except for the flash cunt with the Head bag, who went in on time and had to do some hard sums.
Myself and two freaks used to sing this inspired "non-scanning" version of the theme tune. "Mighty Mouse is on the way. Here he comes to make your day even greener." After which we would make massive bringing-up-snot noises. We were nine.
In the days before Thatcher stole our breaktime school milk, the bottles were delivered to my Primary school in two differently-coloured crates.
It was crucial that you got your bottle from the green crate because, of course, "Green green, the football team". Taking one from the red crate was social death, because, naturally, "red red, you wet your bed".
Milk from the red crate definitely tasted worse as well.
It was crucial that you got your bottle from the green crate because, of course, "Green green, the football team". Taking one from the red crate was social death, because, naturally, "red red, you wet your bed".
Milk from the red crate definitely tasted worse as well.
Rather than play such mainstream games at lunch such as football, my friends and I used to save our cash for the lunchtime game of Milkshake Fights. Standing at either end of the playground, teams would lob strawberry and chocolate milkshake cartons at each other with the hope of getting someone else's shoes messy.
I once hit a hard kid by accident, but escaped a beating by saying that my brother was as hard as nails. I suspect that the fact this ploy worked says more about Ryan Peters pussydom than it does about my brother.
I once hit a hard kid by accident, but escaped a beating by saying that my brother was as hard as nails. I suspect that the fact this ploy worked says more about Ryan Peters pussydom than it does about my brother.
Mr Travers was a very old supply teacher who had hair the creamy-yellowish colour of a Milky Bar. It was therefore traditional to greet his entry into the classroom with a rousing chorus of the Milky Bar song. We enjoyed a love-hate relationship with him until the day Rachel Dawes put a drawing pin on his chair and he sat on it and morphed into the fire-breathing detention-giver of doom.
The only legitimate nickname for the class albino.
Apart from Superhonky of course. And the slightly less popular Senor Blinky.
Apart from Superhonky of course. And the slightly less popular Senor Blinky.
The cheeky little cheeses were a source of endless fun for tykes like myself. A 'hotpipe' area where coats would hang from heated piping was the prime opportunity to balance the red wax casing, and let it drip down people's coats.
We became known as - well, we called ourselves - The Stabbers because of the horrific Ripper-esque bloodstains from the red patches of molten wax. It may not have been as dramatic as I'm making it sound.
We became known as - well, we called ourselves - The Stabbers because of the horrific Ripper-esque bloodstains from the red patches of molten wax. It may not have been as dramatic as I'm making it sound.
Hands-on parody of the popular TV advert in which a mother would shout "mini kievs" and her family would drop everything and rush to the dining table. Quite simply, a classmate would poke his head round the door just as a lesson was about to start. He or she would shout "mini kievs", and the entire class would run cheerfully out of the lesson. Never to return.