In girl scouts, we had a song that went "Make new friends but keep the old; one is silver and the other is gold." which we promptly adapted to "Kick new friends but pee on the old; one is slimy and the other is mould." Don't ask.

Skill actually means a spot on a dog's bum. So there.

As the true meaning of the word "bugger" bacame known, the phrase "bugger me" (also "fuck me") became somewhat dangerous. The responses vary.
Unsophisticated : Eur, no thanks.
Revolted : Eur, you fucking queer.
Precocious : I'll wait until after PE, when you've loosened up.
Camp Camaraderie : Ooh, ducky pops.

I was told I should be a photographer's assistant. I'm now a teacher, and took the test again, to see if my results would be changed by world experience, and a more profound insight into the workings of the program.
Nope. Photographer's assistant.

A game played on a quiet stretch of road, in which a child will lie down in the middle of the road, and await the reactions of drivers.
The judges hide behind a parked car or a low wall, and await results.
SCORING :
Posture : Creating the crazy-armed impression that your limbs are mangled will enhance your score greatly.
Sound Effects : Groaning, moaning, wailing, howling - all popular choices.
Speed of Oncoming Vehicle : obviously you get more points if there's squealing brakes, and the car stops with its front bumper over your forehead.
Reaction of Driver : Anger beats upset, unless they're really really upset, upset beats indifferent, indifferent beats joining-in laughter.
TWO THINGS, BARRY BERNDES :
1. Lie where you will be seen by the oncoming cars. Getting killed by the car is the equivalent of a 22 in Blackjack.
2. Don't wear your school uniform if it's easily identifiable, or there will be assemblies about it.
3. The Price Is Shite is a pun, and is therefore funny even if it has no relation to the game itself.

A game invented by Richard King in primary school, exclusively played on the climbing frame.
It was kind of like conventional 'it', but instead of tagging your victim you had to simulate bumming them.
Obviously I never took part, I just watched. Rumours that I played to county standard are unfounded.

Trying to laugh without making a noise is a misunderstood and difficult art, much like referees running backwards. It proved too much for five-year-old Richard Knightley, who, upon being told of the colour of Wendy Jones's pants, tried too hard to keep it in and emitted the kind of grunt rarely heard outside of a West Country swine pen.

The result was extraordinary. Layer upon layer of creamy green goodness, dispensed from a nostril into his cupped hands like so much Mr Whippy, before the poor sod was escorted from the class to see the nurse with all around him staring in wonderment and disbelief. Where it came from, we would never know. But the Gush had been born, and we knew we would never be the same again.

My primary school had a lesbian for a headteacher, who was seeing the deputy headteacher, also a lesbian. Another teacher, Paul 'Pogo' Patterson was gay, and used to frequent local gay club Ruby's. Whether this club existed or not, I have yet to figure out.

I shit you not.

A full eight hours of torture awaited poor Barry Hendy every day he arrived at school. Methods of torture included the simple swapping of his initials around to give a funnier name, claiming that after dark he was no longer Harry Bendy but CHEESE BOY (with no explanation offered), to the tireless Pushing Barry's Things on the Floor game.

It *is* pronounced "silly toe", which we exploited in the pre-aflid days by use of the nicknames "sensible finger" and "funny foot".