Maybe he was a sexual revolutionary; maybe he was an early developer; maybe he was simply bereft of attention following his parents' acrimonious divorce: but whatever the reason, Bob Eccles (name slightly altered) decided that, in the second year, he was gay. However, such homosexual cliches as listening to Shirley Bassey or anal rape were too mundane for him: his sexuality manifested itself in a tendency to eat sweets that he'd found on the floor. As he became gayer, we'd throw sweets into muddy puddles and watch in amazement as the ginger-haired poof gobbled them up. The zenith of his bummery came when he ate a polo that'd been thrown into the urinal.
By the summer term he declared that he wasn't gay anymore. Indeed, he's married now, whereas I haven't had a sniff in years. Kids may be cruel, but time is crueller still.