An all-purpose camp innnendo, silmilar to "...as the actress said to the bishop..." and only slightly slightly funnier:
eg: Person A: "It won't fit!"
Person B: "That's not what you said last night!"
Person A: "I'm not sure I like it"
Person B: "Ooooh, That's not what you said last night, Ducky!"
Person A: "I have decided to eschew homosexuality as I do not enjoy same gender sexual relations, despite any previous comments I may have made yesterday evening"
Person B: "Oh. Ummmm."
The yanking of, and sometimes swinging from, a fellow student's tie until the knot is irreversibly wee. This is known as a "small tie", and only becomes a "the bells, the bells" if you say so, in Quasimodo's voice. The only reported defence is a remedial measure rather than preventative, and involves a safety pie in the back of the tie that can be used as a lever to uncomplicate the knot.
Our school pool became a repository for footballs, tennis balls, blazers and the odd first year sometime in the seventies. By the time my generation got to it, Prefects were required to gaurd it at lunch times, presumably from thirsty first years. During this time, the school was subjected to an assembly on how due to "inconsideration stemming back some years" the population of the school pool now extended to several breeds of fish, some of which could not be legally removed. Making the building of the new staff room quite difficult.

Cockfingers says...To reiterate the facts: you couldn't build a staff room in a swimming pool because it was so full of tennis balls that protected species of fish had moved in? Is that a fair summary of your story? If so, fuck right off and away, I'm not having it.

There's something beautifully simple and yet utterly compelling about this tale of lies, family and betrayal - Phil

My friend Claire used to tell everyone how she could do anything at school because the caretaker was her uncle. We all believed her until one evening when he caught her climbing over the fence into the school garden and he told her to fuck off.
When I was 14 our school caretaker offered to take me and a few of my friends on holiday to his caravan in Wales.

To show us what a fun time we would have, he produced photos of previous under-age female pupils sunbathing in bikinis, or having water fights in tight white t-shirts.

My mum never did let me go. Selfish cow.
Rarely do you get the chance to scream SHIT in assemblym, without being reprimanded -
"The Earth is yours O God, You nouriSH IT with rain"
One day, I was walking down a corridor near a bathroom, and through the door seeped the telltale reek of a big shit. The smell had one peculiar property; it smelt of vinegar. And that's when I thought of the funniest thing I ever thought. I was going to burst through the bathroom door, and scream 'WHO HAS JUST DONE A GREAT BIG VINEGARY SHIT?'.
Putting my plan into action, I burst dramatically through the door, saw a couple of big Year 12s washing their hands, apologised and left.
Excellent work, Pierre. Have you had the comedic high point of your life unjustly robbed from you? Tell us how funny you really are, even though nobody knows it!
In the infant playground there was a gap between the hall and the staffroom, with a big black door. The door never opened but when you rattled the handle, something rattled back and we'd all run off screaming.
Oh noes! Ghosts!
But later, when we were in year 6, we were sent to tidy the PE cupboard at lunchtime and we realised that THAT was the other side of the 'haunted' door! When the door handle rattled, we dutifully rattled it back to the sound of hordes of small children screaming.
This story made me feel warm.
The Law of the Playground challenges you, the reader to decide... TRUE FOREVER? OR LIKE WHATEVER?
The jap's eye game required a group of girls and a group of boys. A girl would dare a boy to insert something into his jap's eye. If he successfully did this, the girl had to remove it with her mouth (preferably not directly with the teeth). If the boy failed in the insertion process, his punishment was not getting a girl's mouth on his nob.
The best I managed was a blade of grass. My mate Robin got a twig in there. Hard as she tried though, (and she tried VERY hard) the girl involved just couldn't pull it out. Robin ended up in tears, and had to go to the school nurse, and then hospital. With a twig sticking out of the end of his nob.
I laughed for around three or four days.
So what do YOU think? An everyday tale of underaged urethra-play? Or retrospective wish-fulfillment from the boy who spent too much time reading? TRUE FOREVER? OR LIKE, WHATEVER?
After much moaning and yelping, Dan Hobson and Angela Ward emerged from a bush looking red and uncomfortable in year six.
We rushed around them and shouted: "Did you sex?"
Angela gleefully squeaked "Yes, he put it up me", while Dan showed one of his fingers to his mates and got some of them to smell it.

Now, although we were ten years old and the closest we had got to sex was finding half a muddied page of Razzle in a tree stump, most of us still realised that Daniel should have been offering up his cock for smelling.

After accusations that they never really did it, Angela grew flustered and upon shouting "Yes we did, you can still see it", she hitched up her skirt and showed us the string of a tampax that Dan had inserted into her, apparently believing THIS was sex.

This resulted in an emergency tampon safety lesson, after a pupil told a PE teacher she needed a tampax so she could go all the way with her boyfriend after the school Christmas disco.

A few years on, Angela told me she had four of her dad's dildoes in her backpack, and that he often asked her to 'keep them warm' for him...
She also got pregnant 'in her back' in year nine, and later had a threesome in some mud with Ashley Bell and Janice Walsh, which resulted in Ashley getting dysentery.
Poem found on the wall of a "hut classroom" outside the school.
Baa baa baa, the sheep is in the field.
Baa baa baa, he's keeping his eyes peeled.
Baa baa baa, he's feeling kind of funny.
Baa baa baa, he's looking for his mummy.
The poem then becomes more broken in style, perhaps reflecting the panic of the young sheep. It continues;
He spots his mum in the corner,
He runs to hug his mummy,
But it's not her!
It's a great big rock!
The poem then climaxes with;
Oh no!
No-one can argue that this is the best poem ever.
A putdown for a pupil who has some brand new article of clothing or possession and has brought it into class to show off. Engage them in conversation and tell them that you really like the coat/bag/whatever and in fact you used to have one yourself a while back, before finishing with "but then my dad got a job". At this point, you may commence the pointing and laughing.
During a joyless trip to Wales for Geography, the only fun we'd managed to get up to was a fairly innoccuous incident revolving around a coat being thrown in the Severn.
While the more popular children drank White Lightning, three of us were left to our own devices. A conversational lull was eventually filled with hushed and graphic descriptions of which teachers we would like to proper buff. We became less hushed, and more graphic, until - a good five minutes into our now preposterous claims about what we would like to do to Miss Reed - her voice came through the wall, crystal clear, telling us to shut up. In no uncertain terms.
Our faces dropped further than our balls ever had.
Breakfast the next day was a frosty affair, with no parties exchanging little more than an embarrased glance, until we rescued the situation by squashing a cumberland sausage in a Gideon's Bible and put it back on the book shelf.
If your school had that one-in-a-million child, the boy who could fart on demand, then you could play Think of a Number.
Boy who can fart on demand approaches the mark, and says
"Think of a Number!"
You would think of a number, and tell him what it was. For example, "four".
He would then fart loudly and reply "that was five". The fart added one to your number, you see. And when I tried to be clever by saying infinity (which isn't even a number), I simply got the fart and "that was infinity plus one". Touché. Touché turtle's head, sometimes. Touché cloth. Etc.
What a load of f**king crap this is- you bunch of white honkie crackers! I bet you're all fudge packing nancy boys!

I'm regretting showing you the site at all now, mum. Conor.
Tom (or 'Askew' as we like to call him (it means "not quite straight" apparently)) was the ugliest person I have ever seen. He had a huge nose that looks to have been grafted very poorly onto his face, terrible acne and perhaps the worst luck imaginable. Generally his mishaps were sex related (usually during 'onesomes'). These ranged from being conned into bringing a porn magazine into school so that we could grass him up for fun; being caught 'in good hands' by his Dad; getting jazz videos stuck in the machine and perhaps most sickeningly of all, shagging his bed.
"Why?" I can hear you cry. The truth is I don't know, don't know why he did it (it can't be very pleasureable surely) and don't know why he told someone (okay, me) about it, I was always going to tell someone (okay, everyone) about it wasn't I?
That'll teach him for calling me gay, the dirty bed shagger.
What told that there were "three holes to choose from" when having sex with a girl, I interpreted this to mean that women had three vaginas, and the important thing to learn was *which* vagina to penetrate. I had no idea what would happen if you got the wrong one, but I imagined it was like something out of Indiana Jones.
Inform a friend, on the way to swim lessons, that you have a fascinating story for him and could you please just see his hand? Procure a pen and draw three tiny stick figures on top of his hand. Tell him: "There were three men having a walk. One was blind, one was dumb, and one was deaf. Here goes the blind one (draw the man's trajectory up the arm)--tell him when to stop." Break off the line when your friend says stop. "Here goes the dumb one. Tell him when to stop." Same thing again. "Here goes the deaf one. Tell him when to stop." Your friend will do so. He will become alarmed when, instead of stopping, you scribble all the way up his arm, lacerating it because you're digging so hard. The man is deaf you see. He cannot hear.

You don’t have to be on the way to swim lessons, but the man must be deaf.
Nickname for an irritating cunt. Also consider piles, for an aggravating arsehole. And perhaps, er, gonorrhoea for a... weeping dick?
A ritual to be performed when a fart is smelt. The first person to smell it must put their thumb to their forehead in silence. As more people notice either the fart or the people with their thumb to their forehead, they too must put their join in the gesture. The last person to do so must breathe in the entire fart. There is, however, every chance that more that one person will be oblivious to the gesture, so true professionals simply put their thumb to their forehead and carried on working, so as to look cool and disinterested, yet still not losing the game.
Kirstie had no thumbs and would self consciously hide her hands inside the sleeves of her jumper. What did we call her? Fonzie. Heeeyyyyy.
Nick-name of our large-bosomed headmistress. For best effect you would shout louder and louder "Thunder... Thunder... THUNDER... THUNDER TITS!!!", accompanied by stretching your jumper out as far as possible to resemble massive, albeit pointy, breasts.
A group of French exchange students came to my boarding school when I was sixteen. One of them, Isobelle, caught my eye immediately and I began wooing. I could not speak French and she could not speak English; the only words we knew in each others languages were numbers and colours and stuff. However, we both proved fluent in the international language of teenage love - snogging (with tongues).

So every night after prep we would hop over the school wall, find a cozy nook and snog and say 'bleu' and 'three'.

After a few days of this I went to my French teacher for some advice. I needed some quality lines, you see? Being the fool that I was, I wrote down his suggestion phonetically on my hand.

That night we hopped over the wall as usual. I kissed her, smiled and said "taille moi une pipe, salope".

She smacked me in the mouth, leapt over the wall and I never saw her again apart from when she was in an angry group of Frenchies who all hissed at me in their French way. Like cats.

My french teacher was a cunt. The phrase he taught me means something along the lines of "suck my cock, you whore".
Also abbreviated to the charming 'T.B.', this means a lovely girl. Not really sure how this came about, but it was all the rage in about 1987. Once heard used as a chat-up line: "My mate thinks you're a tidy boiler. Will you go out with him?" Unsuccesful.
Entertainment while waiting for fat kids to get dressed after games. Ties would be wrapped around the hand and cracked, sometimes very loudly, like whips. This was widely believed to be because the tip was travelling faster than the speed of sound.