| Report for Doc | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 4 |
| Rejected stories | 5 |
| Deleted stories (hidden) | 3 |
| Summary | Could Try Harder |
This version of arrrrrrrr is followed up with an identically-drawled "bar-barrrrrr". We did this because we thought a "bar-barrrrrr" was a poo. Curiously, so did all the teachers, who wasted no time in royally bollocking us if they heard someone saying it. This of course led to a cyclic form where someone would do something bad, someone else would say "arrrrrrrr bar-barrrrrr" to them, then everyone else would turn to that person and say "arrrrrrrr bar-barrrrrr", and then to each other, and so on and so forth. Mass hysteria, particularly in the heavily-regimented and dinner-lady-policed lunch queues, would often result.
A particularly apt set of initials for a member of staff who was a particularly large arsehole.
I concur - and the fact that he acted like your best mate once you were in the sixth form didn't make up for the fact that he'd acted like a cunt in all the previous five. But I digress -- Phil
I concur - and the fact that he acted like your best mate once you were in the sixth form didn't make up for the fact that he'd acted like a cunt in all the previous five. But I digress -- Phil
A bonus branch of mathematics not generally taught in most A Level courses. To be taught this topic, simply write "HAIRY BALLS THEOREM" on the blackboard before the teacher enters, and as they wearily start to rub it out, insist firmly that Hairy Balls Theorem is all you wish to learn.
Mr Preese was a prat of a biology teacher who was prone to saying stupid things, and then getting very angry and flustered and pretending he'd meant exactly what he'd said and it was your fault if it didn't make any sense. Classic Preesisms - collected even by other members of staff! - include:
"Watch this video quickly please!"
"For large mammals, helicopters are best"
"When fishing at night, always sit with your back to the sun"
"Come in to the lab and work on your own in pairs of two or three"
"Walking round the school" ("perfectly legitimate" offence given by Mr Preese as a reason for detentions he tried to issue to me and three other people)
"Watch this video quickly please!"
"For large mammals, helicopters are best"
"When fishing at night, always sit with your back to the sun"
"Come in to the lab and work on your own in pairs of two or three"
"Walking round the school" ("perfectly legitimate" offence given by Mr Preese as a reason for detentions he tried to issue to me and three other people)
At my old infant school there was a regular weekly trip to atonal, arhythmic, discordant purgatory - known only as BAND PRACTICE.
The instruments would be laid out in the hall in a square: triangles on one side, tambourines on another, drums on another, marraccas at the corners, those f*cking wooden blocks with a slot cut in them that you had to hit with a stick to make a "BONK" sound, and one of those big wooden banana-shaped things that was ribbed for extra comfort that you made a godawful grating sound by running a stick over. Yes, you know the sort of thing.
The first major shortcoming of band practice, as far as teaching us all to be effete and musical went, was that all the instruments were percussion-based and as such severely limited in the range of notes they could produce. The second major shortcoming was that it involved about 20 seven-year-olds being given things to hit together to make a lot of noise, and honestly expecting them to be cooperative and do it according to a carefully laid-out "manuscript" (in reality a big board with coloured symbols stuck on it to represent each instrument that nobody paid any attention to whatsoever). Accompanying us was one of those plump bespectacled derelicts that only seem to be found in infant schools, attempting to keep us in time by crashing along with us playing hymns on a rickety old piano. Oh yes - we were expected to sing as well.
Everyone - but EVERYONE - went for the drums. Those were cool. There were also only three, so bitter disappointment and tears used to ensue each week. The antithesis of the drums and the absolute opposite of cool was the m*therf*cking TRIANGLE. There used to be a prepubescent band brawl each week to avoid them - we boys used to make the girls use them so we could have the much more manly drums or tamborines (in reality because those made the most noise).
The ultimate act of humiliation was if you were so obviously loud and out of time that they took your instrument away, and you just had to clap along instead. The teacher used to get really quite uppity and fly off into an artistic snit if we got out of time, and so by the end of any one class up to half the students might have just been clapping along to the "music".
Thinking about it, this might have been a devious and cynical ploy to turn us into pint-sized evangelists. Didn't work though.
The instruments would be laid out in the hall in a square: triangles on one side, tambourines on another, drums on another, marraccas at the corners, those f*cking wooden blocks with a slot cut in them that you had to hit with a stick to make a "BONK" sound, and one of those big wooden banana-shaped things that was ribbed for extra comfort that you made a godawful grating sound by running a stick over. Yes, you know the sort of thing.
The first major shortcoming of band practice, as far as teaching us all to be effete and musical went, was that all the instruments were percussion-based and as such severely limited in the range of notes they could produce. The second major shortcoming was that it involved about 20 seven-year-olds being given things to hit together to make a lot of noise, and honestly expecting them to be cooperative and do it according to a carefully laid-out "manuscript" (in reality a big board with coloured symbols stuck on it to represent each instrument that nobody paid any attention to whatsoever). Accompanying us was one of those plump bespectacled derelicts that only seem to be found in infant schools, attempting to keep us in time by crashing along with us playing hymns on a rickety old piano. Oh yes - we were expected to sing as well.
Everyone - but EVERYONE - went for the drums. Those were cool. There were also only three, so bitter disappointment and tears used to ensue each week. The antithesis of the drums and the absolute opposite of cool was the m*therf*cking TRIANGLE. There used to be a prepubescent band brawl each week to avoid them - we boys used to make the girls use them so we could have the much more manly drums or tamborines (in reality because those made the most noise).
The ultimate act of humiliation was if you were so obviously loud and out of time that they took your instrument away, and you just had to clap along instead. The teacher used to get really quite uppity and fly off into an artistic snit if we got out of time, and so by the end of any one class up to half the students might have just been clapping along to the "music".
Thinking about it, this might have been a devious and cynical ploy to turn us into pint-sized evangelists. Didn't work though.
Weekly hellish torture, presumably to serve us jolly well right for daring to be born.
Every friday afternoon in my infant school we would be shepherded into the school hall wearing only our underwear where we would be expected to do-se-do and, err, do many other ridiculous country dancing cliches in time to some atonal polka on the piano. We had to do everything in boy-girl pairs, which was also torture as we were at the age (six and seven) when we would have gladly chewed off our own feet - or at least gone and watched The Real Ghostbusters - than done *anything* with a girl.
If this was not bad enough, the class of about 24 had 13 boys in, and only 11 girls. So each week there were two "honorary girls". These were distinguished by having to wear a bloody blue cotton sash, like they made you wear for teams on sports day. Each week this was usually reserved as punishment for those who had talked to much in lessons, or had got their sums wrong, to humiliate us into being good little boys who worked hard and caused no trouble. And yes, we did have to let the other person lead. Bastards.
Every friday afternoon in my infant school we would be shepherded into the school hall wearing only our underwear where we would be expected to do-se-do and, err, do many other ridiculous country dancing cliches in time to some atonal polka on the piano. We had to do everything in boy-girl pairs, which was also torture as we were at the age (six and seven) when we would have gladly chewed off our own feet - or at least gone and watched The Real Ghostbusters - than done *anything* with a girl.
If this was not bad enough, the class of about 24 had 13 boys in, and only 11 girls. So each week there were two "honorary girls". These were distinguished by having to wear a bloody blue cotton sash, like they made you wear for teams on sports day. Each week this was usually reserved as punishment for those who had talked to much in lessons, or had got their sums wrong, to humiliate us into being good little boys who worked hard and caused no trouble. And yes, we did have to let the other person lead. Bastards.
There was someone in my year - let's call him "B" to spare his blushes - who was a member of that "small, shivery, asthmatic, comedy specs" brigade. As a bonus, he was also quite religious, which meant he was a prime target for "good-natured ribbing" in early adolescence as we first began to think about sex and other sins.
One day we were preparing for French and myself and a couple of others were asking "P" whether he masturbated. He apparently thought it was sinful, but he said this once and then went somewhat tight-lipped and very red-faced and wouldn't answer. Right up until one of class who had overheard us coming in and asking him boomed out "DON'T YOU WANK, 'B'?" just before the teacher walked in ("B" didn't like swearing either).
He exploded at this, and shouted back "No, I don't, and I wouldn't want to, even if I could!"
Cue immediate, total, absolute, perfect silence over the entire class. That lasted for precisely five seconds.
I'm sure you can imagine what happened next ;)
One day we were preparing for French and myself and a couple of others were asking "P" whether he masturbated. He apparently thought it was sinful, but he said this once and then went somewhat tight-lipped and very red-faced and wouldn't answer. Right up until one of class who had overheard us coming in and asking him boomed out "DON'T YOU WANK, 'B'?" just before the teacher walked in ("B" didn't like swearing either).
He exploded at this, and shouted back "No, I don't, and I wouldn't want to, even if I could!"
Cue immediate, total, absolute, perfect silence over the entire class. That lasted for precisely five seconds.
I'm sure you can imagine what happened next ;)
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.
At junior school we used to spoonerise each other's names (swapping the first letters of the first name and surname; obviously we didn't call it spoonerising back then, it wasn't a posh school or nuffink) and then taunt each other with the result, even if it wasn't that funny.
Pity, however, poor young Nick Lobb...
Pity, however, poor young Nick Lobb...