Our junior school was surrounded by fields, one of which became the winter home for locally famous fairground operators. As a result, we shared our classrooms with several young gyppos. Having led the exciting, criminal, sexually active lives of the fairground deviants they were, they provided us with sex education at a tender age. One of them convinced us all that girls produced spunk, just like boys, and that the smell on his fingers would proove it. This sounded proposterous, but his fingers did indeed smell spunky. It didn't occur to me that this was probably because his older brother had got to his younger sister first.

Between the ages 11 and 13, I laboured under the delusion that cum was purple, and had the consistency of frogspawn. It was started by a child who claimed to have seen his brother’s spunk.
Being eager to impress, the next day I told my friends that I myself had come. Moreover, I claimed to have produced a pint of plum coloured spooge. I was hailed as a hero, until puberty let everyone know that I was either a liar or a freak...
It was at this point that I should have pointed out that the lie came originally from a boy who watched his brother wank.

The ideal Games option, allowing the loud macho lads to demonstrate their iron-pumping skills in the gym while we pale anaemics hid behind the upper stairwell above the squash courts. If caught and forced to enter the weights room, standard procedure was to occupy the exercise bike, strategically positioned behind an archway so that its user could minimise legwork and sneers from the lads while watching Annie Lennox on MTV on the opposite wall.

A local urban myth peddled by an irresponsible adult about a local old man who used to go mad when someone shouted "squashed liver" through his letterbox. The old man was then capable of speeds up to 70 mph when chasing kids who had shouted squashed liver, who he would then kill. He is still alive today, but due to being over 90 cannot get above 40 mph.

A farting Catch 22.
1. A high pitched squeaky fart is the product of an arse which is substantially blocked up with cum. Real men do deep, rumbling farts, so free from spunk are the caverns of their anus.
2. A "squeaker" is the sign of a tight, virginal arsehole, unprodded by Big Ron. Meaty biffers were direct evidence that your arse had seen action, and was ragged around the edges.

A defence to the lurgy. Girl's squitsies were by crossing your two forefingers, and boys do squitsies by putting their thumb between their forefingers. This stopped you getting the lurgy, leaving it trapped for the rest of the day in the new victim's fingertip.

Terrifying local who travelled various upper schools in the area, teaching what was labelled for convenience "Judo", but actually amounted to "Urban Survival Studies". He was an ex-army lunatic who would claim at least once per session that he could show us how to kill someone with one hand, but, obviously, wouldn't. This was a wise decision, as we would have put his technique into practice straight away.nnStan's finest moments included:nn1) Showing us how to break out of a neck hold, and then informing us he was going to wrap a fire hose around our necks and throttle us until we broke out or passed out. He did, too - luckily, he was actually quite a good teacher and we all made it. We had red necks, though.nn2) Lining us all against a wall, and demonstrating how easy it was to hurt someone without much effort by smacking his open palm into our noses, one by one. I was near the end, and got to watch a whole load of kids clutching their faces and moaning as he drew nearer.nn3) Grabbing a window-opening pole and running at a group of us, screaming and swinging it in a wide arc. most of us dodged, a couple got hit on the shins pretty hard. We learned.nn4) In a shock move, demonstrating effective teaching techniques by asking us whether stalactites went up or down. We didn't know, so he said he'd tell us, and we'd never forget. The lesson: "If you've got a beautiful woman in front of you and she's wearing tights, what are you going to do? YOu're going to pull them down. So remember, stalacTITES come down." We never forgot, and you won't, either.nn5) Useful demonstration of what to do "if a coon comes at you with a broken bottle".nnAs I said, he got work in a whole bunch of Northampton schools, unless he used to just walk in with his back of judo outfits and shanghai his students. We didn't really care, it was better than rugby and there was always the outside chance he might relent and tell the secret of one-handed killing. A couple of years after school I saw Stan in the town carnival, dressed as a clown and riding a penny farthing. Big mover on the charity scene, apparently. So.

After a particularly orgiastic 6th year disco, when half the prefects were caught sack-deep in pupils from another school's 6th year, the assembled culprits were given a mass bollocking by the headmaster.
The climax of his harangue was the instruction "...and if the urge ever comes over you again, get a box, stand on it and shag one Mr. Bain's cows". (Mr. Bain ran the nearby farm.)
After that, every time someone got the horn, they would murmur "I could just stand on a box..."

My parents, being frugal sorts, decided that it would save money if they bought clothes that I could "grow into". So, in my first year at secondary school, with the 4' 11" and six stone frame common to most 11 year olds, I was the proud owner of a Rugby Shirt with a 44 inch chest. The arms, when rolled up to allow my hands to function, gave me the appearance of a man with elephantitis of the wrists.
On the plus side, if the accompanying shorts were lowered to the where the shirt ended, I was able to make myself appear to be a long bodied spazmohedron. (Or Stanley Matthews, if the teacher asked what the fuck I was doing.)

The coolest of the "gun" weapons to be found in a school, beating glue guns by a fucking mile.

It is possible to launch yourself through the air, with a staple gun in each hand, firing John Woo-style into planks of wood across the room.

For closer-range attacks, simply staple a Dairylea triangle to the wall in reception. Some bursting may occur, but ours stayed there long enough to go rotten. Perhaps they thought it was science.

Neil Durston and Dafydd Griffith?s version of the 1977 George Lucas epic.
Fluke DogBuggerer and Jedi master-a-bator Obese Wanki-nob, ably assisted by their robot VD-69, seek rescue Princess Labia-Orgasm from the Death Star and the clutches of evil Shaft Vader and his heinous bum troopers. Fluke enlists the help of Sham Homo and Pubaca the Wanky and their space ship the Millennium Fuck Bucket to get to the Death Star.
The saga approached its climax upon the arrival of our heroes in the Deathstar when they gained entry hidden in six giant penises. I am not certain what happened after that.

Does your school have nylon carpets? Do you have shoes? If the answer to both these questions is yes, then you have the basic ingredients for a static attack.

1) Shuffle around on the carpet for a while, keeping both feet on the floor at all times.
2) Approach victim. Preferably someone who hasn't been watching you shuffling around. Keep feet on floor as per stage 1.
3) Touch victim on earlobe or neck. Listen for sharp 'crack' and smell the sound of electricity and burning hair as your victim writhes on the ground in agony with smoke coming out of their ears.

In reality, stage 3 will be a disappointing "Ow!", but it does hurt. A bit.

More advanced static attacks can involve jumping off the ground and touching the victim in mid-air. Tests to determine whether this increases the amount of pain experienced by the victim have so far proved inconclusive.

The electrical capacitance of the average kid has yet to be accurately calculated, leading to the theory that if you shuffle around on your feet for an entire lunchtime, you will store up enough power to cause your victim to explode. Early experiments suggest that this theory could be fundamentally flawed, but further developments are eagerly awaited.

Ste Sammons didn't even bother to make his lies interesting; for instance, a truck once ran over his foot. It didn't break anything, though.
Fucking phew.

Remember when cash machines first came out? They had opaque perspex barriers that slid down to cover the screen and keyboard when not in use.
This was to prevent vanadlism, but as they were giving cards to everybody, it simply meant that vandals could make a right mess, then hide their handiwork until the next customer came along.
You would put your card into the slot, and the barrier would rise like a theatre curtain. To reveal a 'tableau' of greenies, marker pen and chip-shop Pies smeared all over the interior.
Today, that sort of thing would win the Turner. *Sits back, puffs on pipe, contented that he has had a dig at modern art, but vaguely annoyed he didn't get to mention split-in-half cows.*

Basic tool of the classroom. I lost two fingernails to achingly accurate flicks.

Stephen Brown was a very quiet lad whose voice broke over a period of years rather than weeks. So whenever he was asked a question in class, he would whisper very, very quietly in order to minimise the relentless piss-taking. The teacher would in turn get very frustrated and ask him to raise his voice.
"Turn your voice up, boy! What is your name?"
"Stephen ..." he would squeak in a shrill falsetto before slipping into a Brian Blessed-esque boom "... Brown."
Hence the birth of the Stephen Brown Game, the aim of which was to say "Stephen BROWN, keep your voice DOWN!" The first part would be rendered in as high a pitch as possible, before landing the "DOWN!" as many octaves below as one could muster. Usually played when Stephen was around to enjoy it.
Try this - it's enormous fun. - Conor

Stephen was small and very thin - and anaemically pale. The only sport he had ever shown an interest in was wanking which he did with dutiful regularity and an intense frown that suggested it was a chore. He explained that he had to do it often to try and straighten his penis - which resembled a sea-horse.

His father, in a twisted attempt to 'make a man of him' bought him a boxing kit for his eleventh birthday which consisted of gloves, a punchbag and a red shiny dressing gown with 'Muhammad Ali - The Greatest' emblazoned in gold on the back. He wore it out to play.

Word spread like wildfire and within the space of a few hours children were being bussed in from surrounding towns just to punch him.
He stayed indoors for a long time afterwards; sitting sullenly in the kitchen wearing one boxing glove, passing the hours by gently punching a dish of cat food into a flat paste with one hand and wanking with the other.

Upon being asked "Steptoe face please", the target had to make a face like Albert Steptoe from Steptoe and Son. The (quite polite) request could come at any time, even when you were in the middle of answering a teacher's question. If the required face was not made, the person making the request was entitled to beat the target up.

Steve Pine, a geography teacher, may have been gay. Paul Fletcher took it upon himself to test this theory by prodding him in the backside with a 12 inch ruler and shouting "WAHEYYY!!!"

The results were, sadly, inconclusive.

The surname Stevenson is shortened to Stevo, re-lengthened to Steve Ovett, Garfield's vet is called Liz, short for Lizard, the aliens were lizards in V, VD, D-Day, Day of the Dead. Therefore, Stevo, you're dead. So there.

The nickname of a thin lad called Neil. Also the warcry used before all his colouring pencils were snapped in two (usually inches from his face). Neil could be calmed from his ensuing rage if you pointed out that he now had twice as many pencils and that he could use a smaller pencil case.

A game where you entice a fly into your navel with jam, and attempt to stun it with your erect penis by tugging down on the member and harnessing the natural "snapping back" effect of the human penis.

Named after the bad letter in Diddy David Hamilton's game show "All Clued Up", this is the name given to a boy who has been circumcised. It may or may not be followed by an emulation of the electric timpani sound effect that the quiz show used. Important note : the insultee does not have to be circumcised for the insult to work. All they have to be is embarrassed. A more basic circumcision insult is BT. As in "I've been cut off".

A very stupid and irresponsible thing to leave lying around a primary school, especially one in which the eminently bulliable Patrick Sears is a pupil. A remnant from the Sports Day, and the humourous "throw sponges at a teacher" stall, the stocks were left ... in the playground. This frightening oversight led to much pain on the part of Patrick Sears. We didn't have sponges to hand, unfortunately, but we improvised admirably with pebbles. "They've got Patrick in the stocks!" was the excited cry, and I may be wrong, but the teachers were very slow to react.

Put a coin on the ground. When someone goes to pick it up, stamp on their hand. Valuable coins are more attractive bait, but if it's a copper, you can perform a jew-stomper combo. Then, at least, you are taking the moral high ground, protecting us all from a league of jews who are trying to take over the world by picking up one and two pence pieces.