The range of cheap saturday market coats as worn by poor children. Inspired the song 'Nanny Annie Fishy Fanny Condom Fifty-Four'.

We were told a bizzare story from the Bible about Jesus arriving at a city and the children being so happy that the took off all their clothes and threw them at him (so maybe Michael Jackson's messianic posturing fits more snugly with his private life than you might think). People taking their clothes off is more than any group of six-year-olds should be expected to deal with, but Mrs Dodman chose to illustrate this dirty, dirty story with fuzzy-felt style figures with removeable clothes stuck up on a big notice board. Her sensitive treatment of an important moment in the life of our Lord was wrecked by a hall full of children laughing and pointing. The thing is, I can't remember any other Bible stories being dealt with in this way, so it must have been a one-off. Where do you get these things from? Is there an under the counter service at the SPCK bookshop?

Preston's uncle, a keen ichthologist, used to grab Preston, and pin him to the ground, screaming, "NAME 50 FISH! NAME 50 FISH!"
Presumably, Preston was not released until he had named 50 fish. Preston's story should be taken with a grain of salt, however, because he was in special education, and would not have been taught about naming fish.

During the first year of my secondary school we developed a habit of insulting each other by calling them another person's name. So for instance, you would refer to your mate Andrew as Bob, Chris, Dave etc. causing him offence. The habit fell out of use over the summer holidays and was forgotten.

...until one fateful day three years later, when we were asked to help carry some benches from one classroom to another. As we turned one of these benches upside down, we discovered an inscription written in big bold letters:

MARK IS GEORGE

Nappy Rash Collins was the poor recluse of the whole school. He had the habit of shitting himself all the time and constantly stunk up the class room untill kids shouted Peters pood again then is support teacher would go and change him.

Many a time he would run around the play ground crying with is pants down and nappy showing while kids laughed at him calling him all the names under the sun... Oh what good times.

Late friday nights as everyone is fully aware, was when channel 5 broadcast their fantastic filth and many of my more unfortunate friends did not have signal in their rooms... and so it was that I was deemed 'The Reviewer' and was made to stand around painting the images i had seen on friday night into the minds of my pubescent colleagues. However, I did enjoy the occasional jape and once slipped in that a girl had taken a mans penis into her nostrils.

So what did one of my thick-minded friends ask his first girlfriend to attempt with him well over 2 years later?????

Lasted a week!

At a time when 2unlimited shit classic "No Limits" was riding high in the charts, this became a brief insult for the bigger nosed members of the school. In particular, Nathan.
Nose Nose, Nose-Nose
Nose Nose, Nose-Nose
Nose Nose, Your Nose
KNOWS NO LIMITS
(suggested optional extra :
it knows no limits - it reaches the sky,
it flies round the room - and pokes out my eye - Log)

Not that we were racist, or anything, but we had the idea of the Nation of Domination, wherein black people would be put into tubes and forced to drown on their own excrement. Very slowly. We never told that to anyone, and no-one knew what the Nation of Domination was, except a select few. Then came the day that our black friend wanted to join.

If a music teacher is using the National Anthem to illustrate some point or another, it is your duty to the Queen to stand up every time it's played. It's doubly important to do this if the treasonous order is given not to.
If the national anthems of other countries are played, be a part of the global village by standing for those, too. If you are told not to stand to these, say "ar, sir, don't be racist".

Crap looking half red, half blue, credit card style bits of plastic that you received around the time of your sixteenth birthday.

At first these gained much kudos as a mark that you had reached maturity.

That was until 'Pikey Steve' got his, and it was decided that it had been sent by the government as a hint that at least SOMEONE in his family should go and get a fucking job.

My cousin played the innkeeper in his school nativity, and was disappointed to receive relatively few lines. So he improvised. On being asked whether there was any room at the inn, he declared it to be virtually empty, and went on to extol the virtues of his accommodation, including room tariffs.

In Autumn, the hedgerows are full of fat, red rosehips, which can be split open to reveal small, hairy seeds. These seeds can then be shoved down someone's shirt where they will itch like buggery, and cause bright scarlet rashes.
Precociously recounting this fact in a second-year biology class earned me the moniker "Nature Boy" from the indulgent teacher.
This was to be a short-lived glory however, as at the start of the every new school year, I'd be pinned to the ground and covered with rosehip seeds by a snarling mob chanting "NAY-CHUR BUH-MER" at me. When the rosehips ran out, they moved on to conkers.
Autumn is not my favourite season.

A group of about six girls, who claimed to be an "environmental" group and received permission to use the library for our "meetings". We even had a logo, which we drew on our official membership cards and notebooks (crafted from stapled foolscap). In actual fact the name of the club was simply a cover for its real purpose, which was to sit around and write secret-code gossipy messages about Andrea. The club lasted for a week, until the rest of the class found out about the Nature Girls and its crappy name and laughed it out of existence.

The swastika is a potent symbol, massive swastikas made up from chairs in the classroom more so. So we assembled one. It worked, but the culprits hadn't thought about quite how pissed off the Jews might be by this - certainly no-one had considered that they might complain to the head of year. The school, entirely understandably given that about 30% of its pupils were Jewish, took a deeply dim view of neo-Nazism, which taught us an important lesson. Extreme right-wing politics, fascism, and genocide are bad, okay kids?

A cruel show performed by girls, built on the relentless requests by boys for a flash of their knickers. The skirt would be lifted and folded in a carefully calculated fan-formation to the following song;
One, two, three, four,
come on boys and see some more!
Five, six, seven, eight,
Sorry boys you're just too late.
At this point the skirt would be released back to it's full length, just before any part of the knickers had been revealed, leaving the boys to punch their own palms in cartoonish frustration.

I can see why you submitted this anonymously you fucking FUCKING twat.

we had a geography sub teacher when we was in year 8, he always wored a knitted green jumper, and could make any paper animal you could think of! he had a dopey moustach and a comb over, so neddy became his nickname and every time he asked us to do something we replied "okily dokily neddy", he could never understand why we kept asking him if his leftorium shop was doing ok!

A universally popular game at my elementary school.

1. A girl shouts "neener-neener-neener" at a boy and then runs away.
2. The boy chases the girl until he catches up with her.
3. The girl beats the boy up.

If a boy does not give chase, that means he wants to cut straight to the beating. It is considered polite to oblige his unspoken wish.

Surprisingly, boys usually played this game enthusiastically and frequently. It lasted for the entire two years I attended the school, with no reaction but bemusement from the teachers at the sight of five-year-old boys happily being kicked repeatedly by girls until they fell over.

One so dull that their joining a group has a similar effect to a funny, popular person leaving. One such personality went on to become the Lib Dem candidate somewhere in West Lothian in the 1997 General Election.

Nervous was a game. A boy would touch a girl's knee and move his hand up her leg until she shouted 'nervous'. Sometimes the girl would never shout nervous at all. I asked Lara if she wanted to play nervous. She said she did but not with me because I repulsed her.

It is traditional to stamp on a pair of new shoes on sight if they are worn by weaker children. In the case of Ian Lunn, the Headmaster was fair game too.

It was this sort of behaviour that saw Ian in lunchtime detention for three entire years.

It was common practice at my first secondary school for the upper 6th to ask first years "Hello, are you new?". You would invariably think they were extending the hand of friendship and answer "Yes." At this point the 6th former would say "Hello New" and he and all his friends would collapse with laughter. After a few times, when you had wised up you might try replying "No." This was met with the logically baffling "Hello No" and even more laughter, and probably a thump.

I must have attended the only nice person's school in the country. The worst bullying ever that I can remember was that there was a fat girl who didn't get much sun and was rather pale. She also had very pale hair. She was like a self-imposed albino. We used to call her 'Moomim' because she kind of looked like one of those cute hippo-like creatures on TV at the time.
Had she attended one of your schools, she'd have been called 'Albino Cunt Bitch', repeatedly abused to the verge of mass rape, then exposed to some kind of (dog) poo-related activity that you're all so fond of.
Readers! Have you had surgery that has replaced your real memories with birdsong and rainbows? If so, please use this entry to tell us your heartwarming tales of calling fat kids Mr Healthy Appetite, and calling the effeminate kid Captain Diversity. We'd love to hear how idyllic life was for you. - Log

Double French is never a highlight of the week, unless a member of the previous class has left a pair of highly skidmarked girl’s underpants on the floor.
The true culprit was never discovered but kids need a victim, and that victim was Sylvia. As punishment she was shut in a classroom as we banged on the windows singing “Nicholas” (knicker-less, geddit?) and threw our (clean) gym knickers at the window.

To develop an erection whilst bouncing on a trampoline. The poor bastard never lived it down.

Nick was a goofy, scruffy kid who transferred in to our school in the second year. He was forever kicking a tennis ball around the plaground, and his shoes were a regular casualty.
Eventually, his mom got fed up of buying him new ones and told him to glue the soles back together on the old ones and give them a good polish.
Polishing was easy; but no glue was to be had at Nick's place and, not being arsed to head up to the local shopping center, Nick found a nail and nailed his sole back on. The fact that it was a 1-inch nail - thoughtfully whacked right through the middle of the sole so he would only need one - didn't become an issue until the next morning, when he discovered that walking on it caused the nail to repeatedly pierce his foot. Quite deeply, too, much to our amusement.
It was still fairly amusing two weeks later when it went septic.