A convenient label, incorporated into clothing, that the wearer is a poof under medical attention.
While playing 'Where Eagles Dare' (a film where the goodies dress as Nazis), myself and a friend proudly ran around the estate in hastily improvised Jerry clobber. Wellingtons made ideal jackboots and paper eagles taped to our 'uniforms' gave extra authenticity.
However, drawing a massive black swastika on the front of my 'London Zoo' cap was deemed going too far and led to the inevitable parental lecture on why swastikas are very bad.
However, drawing a massive black swastika on the front of my 'London Zoo' cap was deemed going too far and led to the inevitable parental lecture on why swastikas are very bad.
A strange but comical craze that caught on for two people and two people alone at my junior school. They decided it was acceptable to run around the playground at break time while singing "Operation Sex" to the theme of "Catch The Pigeon." At regular intervals, they would jump and thrust into mid air at some bemused and scared girls. Although high profile beatings were administered weekly to the odd pair, Operation Sex continued for three years. Then, as suddenly as it started, Operation Sex ended. Was it was deemed a success on debriefing? I wonder.
Ask your victim to hold out their palm.
"There's your house," you say, pointing at the centre of their palm.
"There's the garden," you continue, pointing slightly to the left/right of centre
"Where do you want the fishpond?" you ask.
Your victim will then point somewhere else on their palm, and you, in response, will cough up a massive great greeny, and, with unnerving accuracy, place the "fishpond" at their chosen location.
"There's your house," you say, pointing at the centre of their palm.
"There's the garden," you continue, pointing slightly to the left/right of centre
"Where do you want the fishpond?" you ask.
Your victim will then point somewhere else on their palm, and you, in response, will cough up a massive great greeny, and, with unnerving accuracy, place the "fishpond" at their chosen location.
A manoeuvre in the school photography darkroom, where a guy would attempt to get a girl to grope his exposed cock without her ever finding out who he was. Pioneered by Adam Hartley circa 1989, on Lisa Wade. Hartley had earlier in his career perfected the illicit 'classroom wank' in double Biology, and the art of 'farting very loudly in assembly and getting away with it', by simply erupting into laughter and taking the rest of the hall with him into fits of giggles, including the teachers. Genius.
A large brown birthmark on Simon Pickard's wrist that grew frighteningly luxurious thick black hair.
To send him into a screaming eppy, you simply asked Simon the time. Then, when he looked at his black plastic Casio, you would tell him you meant the time on his 'hairy' watch.
I'm sure he hoped the game would die out in secondary school as we all matured, but instead, having started French lessons, the wording simply changed to 'No, what's the time au naturelle?'
To send him into a screaming eppy, you simply asked Simon the time. Then, when he looked at his black plastic Casio, you would tell him you meant the time on his 'hairy' watch.
I'm sure he hoped the game would die out in secondary school as we all matured, but instead, having started French lessons, the wording simply changed to 'No, what's the time au naturelle?'
Dubious entry, for a dubious practice. We would all go in the boys bathroom at primary school (girls may have practised this... though it seems unliikely). Whoever felt brave would sit on the floor with their back to the wall, hold their breath for 30 seconds, close their eyes, and cross their arms over their chest, while tucking their knees up to their chest. At this point 3 or 4 remaining boys would push his chest (with shoulders, arms) as hard as they could for a 10 seconds or so. Lack of blood (and oxygen) to the brain was the result. Unconsciousness of the individual ensued.
Variants involved using the stone wall in the playground, and an excess of 6 or more people pushing on ones chest. This nameless act was swiftly outlawed, in fear of widespread braindamage. It was none-the-less the best thing we 10 year olds ever did. Apologies if it has been posted under another name. Or if any of the kids from this Nottinghamshire primary school are permanently damaged...
Variants involved using the stone wall in the playground, and an excess of 6 or more people pushing on ones chest. This nameless act was swiftly outlawed, in fear of widespread braindamage. It was none-the-less the best thing we 10 year olds ever did. Apologies if it has been posted under another name. Or if any of the kids from this Nottinghamshire primary school are permanently damaged...
Readers! An intriguing conundrum for you now. Two wholly unrelated submissions landed with a 'whump' recently, both bearing the title 'Geordie Racer'. So, was Geordie Racer a short-lived kids drama, or a crap computer game? Or possibly even both? Answers on the back of a pack of Sovereigns to the usual address. Firstly, from Anna Williams:
At primary school in the late eighties, bored children were forced to watch a drama series about a geordie kid and his prized pigeon, 'Blue flash'. No-one I've spoken to can remember the plot, but it caused my entire class to shriek "Blue flash!" in a falsetto geordie accent every time they saw a bird zoom across the playground.
And an alternate theory from the imaginatively-monikered Mary Woozley:
A shitty computer game, which required you to choose one of three pigeons, and then come up with as many words as possible using the letters in said pigeon's name. However, the sheer rubbishness of the game meant that it would accept almost any combination of letters, provided the pigeon's name had them all. Naturally, everybody chose the pigeon Bonny, and typed in 'nob'.
At primary school in the late eighties, bored children were forced to watch a drama series about a geordie kid and his prized pigeon, 'Blue flash'. No-one I've spoken to can remember the plot, but it caused my entire class to shriek "Blue flash!" in a falsetto geordie accent every time they saw a bird zoom across the playground.
And an alternate theory from the imaginatively-monikered Mary Woozley:
A shitty computer game, which required you to choose one of three pigeons, and then come up with as many words as possible using the letters in said pigeon's name. However, the sheer rubbishness of the game meant that it would accept almost any combination of letters, provided the pigeon's name had them all. Naturally, everybody chose the pigeon Bonny, and typed in 'nob'.
I DID shag Sally Francis at college, and she wasn't bothered about sensitive types at all.
Trust me, I'm a RIGHT CUNT. She fucking loved it, as well.
Sally, if you're reading this, please DO get in touch and let us know what sort of guy you go for: sensitive, like Tony Green says; or RIGHT CUNT like our anonymous and, I suspect, poorly hung user suggests? DO you love it? And don't forget to send us some pictures, as well - Mansh
Trust me, I'm a RIGHT CUNT. She fucking loved it, as well.
Sally, if you're reading this, please DO get in touch and let us know what sort of guy you go for: sensitive, like Tony Green says; or RIGHT CUNT like our anonymous and, I suspect, poorly hung user suggests? DO you love it? And don't forget to send us some pictures, as well - Mansh
Upon return from 'America', every child would have stories of seeing Indiana Jones part 5, bought Nike Air Max 9 trainers, a copy of Super Mario Bros 7, and the new Hyper Nintendo. Challenging any of these children to bring these in led to the disclaimer 'I left it at my gran's house'.