I notice Mansh dumped the last horrid one on you; here's another. It's from the Tutenkhamun Rissole boy whose entry I was recently banging on about.

We had dozens of paedo teachers at our all-boys' school. The most celebrated was Mr Carbines, a maths teacher whose soft tread behind your chair in class you learned to dread, as it usually heralded a warm, sly hand insinuating itself down inside your shirt, around a nipple and tweaking HARD. Naturally, Mr Carbines also supervised sport after school. One afternoon he came rushing into the shower room, where slim little snowy-haired John Doig was soaping himself. Grabbed the boy, picked him up in his arms, ran out onto the football field cackling like a maniac, and proceeded to roll wet, naked John around on the ground, covering him in dirt and grass. All this in full view of about a hundred boys and a handful of his fellow teachers. A sharp increase in the frequency of hostile acts perpetrated on John Doig can be traced to this event.