See also:
What's the time?
Half past ten!
Hang your knickers on big ben!
A bit tricky when you're a 6 year old living in rural Wales, but it gave us something to aspire to.

Any filthy, discarded or 'used' coat or shirt, preferably found in the street. The Oxby Coat would be picked up and thrown at the victim, who had to wear it if it so much as touched them. Everyone else would then shout "Oxby!" until... well, until we stopped, I suppose.

A new student arrived at our school. She was called Asamara, she was from Somalia. Being the only black girl in school, there was endless speculation amongst all the boys as to what her beavoir would look like. One of our number, who claimed to have worldly sophistication, declared that it would be "All pink and orange inside, just like a coral garden." Asmara subsequently became known as "Coral Garden" and invites, (for some inexplicable reason in a southern American Negro accent), of "Come inside my sweet Coral Garden honey!" were constantly thrown at her. Asamara at first used to smile graciously at us - until some other girl told her what we were on about. She stopped smiling, then. I felt bad for years, because I was involved in her being dubbed Coral Garden. Years later I started seeing her on the train on the way to work. She was really friendly, and I thought I was on my way to the garden until she told me she was getting married soon.

One would shout this, extremely loudly at passing wasps. If they flew away, one would assume they had in fact gone home to fuck their mothers.

A term of abuse attached to any poor soul whose hormones were rapidly changing, causing the kind of rancid body odour that only teenage boys and tramps that sleep in humid climates can exude.

After listening to a fantasist regale us with tall tales, we would sing the theme tune to Storybook International. This was an ITV programme with animated opening titles of a suspiciously elegant bard. His beautiful singing would attract the attention of a fox, until he transformed without warning into a naked black man, scaring the shit out of his vulpine chum. Look, I'm not making this up.

Anyway, when he sings about his name in many countries, that's your opportunity to work in the insult. For example: if Roly claimed that his brother had a fight with Wolf from The Gladiators, you would sing:

I'm the Storyteller and my story must be told,
In Germany I'm Johannes, in England I am John,
In Cheltenham I'm Roly, and I'm a lying cunt.

If the liar was actually called John or, God forbid, Johannes, the last line could simply be repaced by a mongoloid impression, and a celebratory flid flippers dance.

That's coz Gaidsy sounds like an effeminate gang member on Grange Hill, Log. The one who'd be first to dress as the Spice Girls for charity week.

Not one but TWO space penises. Truly our cup runneth over. Thanks to Darren and Anonymous for these.

Yarm School, Teeside:


Bellemoor School, Southampton:

From now on, any submissions of inadvertant innuendo in classical literature to i will brush my muff or holmes ejaculated will require internet link-based proof. Anyone writing in to say I think there's a bit in A Christmas Carol where Tom Bosley says 'hubba bubba bumlegs' will not be considered. They will not be considered, you hear me?

You can't have done, because I did.