ahh memories
In an english class one day the class clown (and quite a good friend of mine) was sat directly behind me and for some reason decided to cut off some of my hair. Now I'm sure all the girls who have ever been in Year 8 will agree that hair is important when you're 13.

Anyhoo apparently I turned around and walloped him one smack between the eyes, and knocked him backwards across the desk behind him.

Funnily enough I don't remember any of this, but a fairly large number of my class put it as a favourite memory in their yearbooks at the end of year 13, so if they still think it's funny now, it must have been fucking hilarious then. What makes this better is that I was a right toss-pot at that age, doing my homework, not swearing and generally being a total lick-arse. I think that was the turning point.

And then there was the first time I ever got drunk at the tender age of 15 - went out to a club having drunk copious quantities of vodka beforehand, and the school whore was there (tough as the week-old pizza on my desk, and about as rank as well), who threw her drink at me. The red mist descended and I launched myself at her knocking her to the floor and attempting to rip off her face.

Got a lot of comments along the lines of "you fight like a man," but I was never into the scratching and hair-pulling style.

I then lived the next two years in fear of her remembering when sober and coming to kick the shit out of me. She left for the scummy local comprehensive (I went to a grammar school) and got knocked up about a year later.

Good times...
(Love For Sale, Wed 15 Mar 2006, 14:41, Reply)