It was always suggested that you could 'tie them in a knot' (presumably for 'day'wear) and 'tie them in a bow' (for more formal occasions).

During very dull english lessons when reading very gritty books or plays simply swap every letter beginning with s for shit, c for cunt, b for bastard etc. etc. Simple, but with some amusing results. For instance, "Journey's End" by R C Sherrif is a dark insight into the life and death of first world war trench warfare. As demonstrated with such lines as "don't shit on that bastard, it is Osbourne's cunt"

Ben Evetts suffered from a very bad speech impediment that prevented him from being able to pronounce his ‘t’s. Being slightly backward, his mother made, what she considered, the wise decision of teaching him to recite his telephone number in the event that he ever got lost.
There were only two problems with this:
- Firstly, it became a panic reflex, which he blurted out at the slightest provocation.
- Secondly, his home number was "East Tisted 282".
The end result was that he would be chased around the playground every break, screaming, “Eesk Kiskig Coo Ay Coo! Eesk Kiskig Coo Ay Coo!”
This only carried on for a few weeks, however, before his mum withdrew him from the school and they moved away.

Please learn from the mistake I made when I decided to deride a team-mate who had fumbled a very easy pass with Sgt. Hartman's most evocative quote:
"I bet you're the kind of guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the Goddamned common courtesy to give him a reach around."
Whilst I basked in the waves of appreciation from my team-mates, the referee (who also happened to be our head of year and best friend of my uncle), heard every word and looked thoroughly shocked. He metered out the most hideous, thoroughy despicable punishment known to man.
He told my mum. Word for word.

If you go down in the woods today,
you're sure of a big surprise.
If you go down in the woods today,
you'd better close your eyes.
'Cause Mum and Dad,
are 'avin a shag,
and Uncle Bob,
is suckin' his knob,
and Aunty Mary's 'avin it off with Graaaandad.
Uncle Bob was probably sucking his own nob, what with Aunty Mary being occupied with Granddad.

Mrs Soloman, a particularly fierce piano playing teacher from the 1980's, now dead. Soloman's pet hate was pupils having their back to her, so the whole class were seated facing towards her in a 'Praise Mecca' style in twos. If you turned her back on her whilst she was talking to you, woe betide. We adapted this to a playground game, which made good for random beatings. If a kid such as Daniel Holmer Tolliday showed you his back, you were well within your right to belt him in the back whilst taking on Soloman's manly growl and saying ' you darest showeth me your hind?'Why we adopted a Medieval vocabulary is another question.


My discovery was that the friction caused by climbing ropes in the school gym was rather pleasurable, giving you that extra incentive to climb all the way to the top, even though your arms are about to wither and drop off. Unfortunately it all ended in tragedy one day when I actually orgasmed and ejaculated all over my PE shorts. Changing back into school uniform was a delicate operation that day.

I have been fortunate enough to have had two Latin teachers at secondary school. Both were quite, quite mad, and via extrapolation I have concluded that being clinically insane is a prerequisite for teaching schoolboys the classics.

For my first year I had a fairly old but otherwise physically normal man possessing a fixation on dogs, the British TV show Animal Hospital and classical comedies. He looked startlingly like a non-murderous version of Doctor Shipman.

The other teacher is a wild cross between William Hague, Kelsey Grammer and Steve Ballmer with startling taste in clothes and shirts which compulsively expose his navel. Is easily sucked into prurient discussions, sometimes initiating them himself through use of personal cliches, the most common of which is "As the actress said to the bishop.", frequently appended to any vaguely unusual statement. We keep count of the number of times he says this per lesson. He was once witnessed reading a copy of the Daily Sport and, when wound up, says the word "arse" repeatedly without hesitation.

The name given to those high-topped American trucker caps with mesh at the back. Became all the rage for a while. Name derives from the fact that all Mongs wear these caps. All the time. (As indeed do cancer patients).

The classic "Damn seagulls" mong cap, replete with hilarious fake bird poo, would be worn for mong-acting sessions, moaning "Damn seagulls" in a retarded voice and swiping at imaginary seagulls.