my bruised balls
I was part of my school's year 9 county championship winning rugby side.

As the school wasnt known for its sporting acheivements despite now being a specialist sports college they decided to have a special assembly. in this assembly some footage of highlights of the tournement recorded by parents was edited together and shown followed by a medal presentation infront of the whole school.

The footage was edited together amazingly in slow motion to show the team scoring tries and kicking conversions. It was then scored with a peice of classical music making the whole thing look like a glorious bbc sports montage. everyone was made to look good even the kids who hardly touched the ball... all that is apart from me apart from me.

My only appearence on the film was me getting kicked square in the balls and falling to the floor crying, in slow motion, everytime i hear the new world symphony to this day it still conjours up that image in my mind.

As if this wasnt bad enough the team were then called up one by one to collect our medals, as i walked up to shake the headmasters hand he lent over and whispered in my ear "Your flies are down son. If i was you i'd do them up before you turn round."

meaning the whole school saw the following i shake the head's hand, he whispers in my ear, i look down, fiddle with my crotch, accept my medal then turn round to see the whole school looking at me in shock.

Apparently the rumour going round was he'd asked if id bruised my balls and i was getting them out to show him.

not my proudest moment but no doubt what many people remember me for.
(darlo_russ, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 19:42, 4 replies)

lmao, poor fucker got fired
think we must have been in year 9.... anyway the p.e was a dick and we used to think he was a peadofile, you know the type that MAKE you take showers? (i still wake up in cold sweats some nights) so we thought it would be funny to stash a few disposable cameras and other 'suspect materials' in his office and in his bag one day. unfortunatly our tricks got a little outa hand as it was ofsted week. needless to say, they found the cameras and shit in his office as we were all being hearded into the showers by this little angry fast man... we came back to school the next day and were sat down in the main hall to be told...our teacher had been suspended. he never came back!!!! hahaha
(gingerbollocks 'happy and content' since, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 19:39, 7 replies)

Does anyone remember
those rubber aliens that used to be sold, in little plastic eggs filled with slime?

Well, when they were popular they were banned in my school. All students were told that they had to get rid of their aliens before the next day.

This started a great game of "hide the alien", where the object was to put your slime covered toy somewhere where a teacher would find it and have to pick it up to confiscate it. Several appeared behind radiators, in paint pots and so on.

The best results came from the group of kids who decided to throw their aliens onto the assembly hall ceiling, where they stuck. It was too high for the caretaker to knock them down with a broom, so there they stayed.

Assemblies for the next few weeks were made very interesting as aliens gradually peeled away from the ceiling...
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 19:17, Reply)

sorry for posting so soon after my last post, but...
it's a good 'un. one of the cover teachers who's name I've forgotten was sacked. she thought the words "indian" and "curry" were racist. she also didn't beleive in austria.
(venort apparently exists, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 19:15, Reply)

told it before, but it fits...
year 8. rainy day. PE lesson. 3 days til interform. didn't want to mess the pitches up. result: swedish longball. it should be an olympic sport. so anyway, my turn to bat. swing at the ball, miss, let go of still-spinning bat, get hit in the face by said bat. with 1/4 of my year watching. PE teachers were nice about it at least...
they laughed more than the students.
(venort apparently exists, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 19:05, 2 replies)

One of the buildings
from my old school had an entrance area with a long low bench which a group of used to sit on and eat our lunch at breaktimes. It had a set of double doors that lead to the rest of the building.

One day, a little Year 7 pelted into the entrance hall and towards the doors. In a miracle of timing, Mrs R, one of the younger, more frontally endowed teachers, was coming through the doors in the opposite direction at the same time. In another convenient coincidence, her barely contained rack was at the same height as the cherubic face of the Year 7.

I could swear you heard the impact.

Mrs R looked relatively nonchalant, no harm done, the head of the Year 7 was pretty easily absorbed between the two meat mountains on her chest. The Year 7 however, upon extracting himself from the warm and unfamiliar environment of her milk makers, went bright red, and in an adrenaline and hormone altered squeaky voice, repeatedly yelped his apologies before fleeing, probably to the nearest toilets.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 19:05, Reply)

In 6th form
We did some weird/pointless/painful things whilst trying to liven up our free lessons.
I could tell you the whole story but i'll just get straight to the point.
Don't staple your foreskin.
Just don't...
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:48, 3 replies)

Chemistry Lessons...
...were usually quite boring, but one time all the classes were gathered into one classroom to watch the "chemistry experiments". We walked into the room, the experiment area carefully roped off, and sat behind the thick pane of glass that had been set up to protect us. On the table behind the glass was a large bowl of water.

With suitable showmanship, the chemistry teacher told us all about the reaction of Potassium to water, and the dangers involved. Eventually, he produced a pair of long tongs and dropped a small piece of potassium in the water.

Nothing happened.

It sizzled briefly, and then sank to the bottom.

The teacher looked rather annoyed at Nature making him look less impressive. He retreated into the store cupboard, and the next thing we knew he had a chunk of potassium about the size of a golf ball, and plunked it in the water.

The lump exploded in a flash of light, making an incredibly loud crack. When our eyes had cleared, we realised the crack had been the inch thick glass in front of us cracking in half with the explosion. Pieces of the bowl were embedded in the frame, in the table, in the ceiling...

Best chemistry lesson EVER.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:47, Reply)

Even managed to get into the sydney morning herald
At my school, everyone always spent hours talking about what jokes they were going to pull on the last day, but no-one ever seemed to play any- all the ones that had been done had been done years ago by friends of people that someone had once spoken to someone who they knew.

During one of these conversations the idea came up that simply had to be done. While we still had a year before we left, we decided that this would be an advantage as we would both get to see it, and it would be blamed on the students that actually were leaving. The highly dastardly plan was to do a bit of artwork on the front lawn (which you got told off for walking on). Being a highly sensible, mature all boys school the subject was never in any question.

One maths lesson later and the exact dimensions along with the surface area of grass that would need to be killed had been calculated; one trip to sainsburies and enough weedkiller to kill 50 times this much grass was procured. The mission was all set and ready to go.

We returned that night and whilst a few of us mixed the weedkiller with water, someone else scaled the security fencing, climbed up the side of the tech block and turned the PIR on the security light to face the wall. By this time the rest of us were ready, some took up watch positions whilst the actual artwork was created. Nails and string were used to mark out the outline, the weedkiller that had previously been mixed with water was applied, mission accomplished.

Over the course of the next week or so, the library was periodically invaded by a dozen or so teenagers running in, laughing at a slightly yellowing patch on the lawn then running out. After a while it became obvious what was so comical.

The caretakers first plan to return the lawn to its former glory was to simply get some blokes from the council to mow a rectangle around it to the mud, then replant it and let it all grow back. He had not accounted for the amount of weedkiller used, up grew the grass around it, leaving a bare dirt cdc where there once had been a yellowed grass cdc. Plan B was brought into action- dig up the grass and re-turn aforementioned rectangle. Lets just say that pathclear (which advertises as keeping driveways clear for 6 months) applied at 50 times the recommended concentration doesn't give up that easily.

After a few months of making it more and more obvious, he finally succeeded, this was managed by digging up and replacing not only the turf but the mud underneath.

We thought that it was all over, but little did we know of the microsoft plane flying silently overhead.

A couple of years later a story suddenly appeared in the local paper. Being a teenager, I was of course invincible; I decided that I might as well give them an interview.

The police did eventually phone me up and arrange a convenient time to arrest me, after a few hours that consisted mainly of the police laughing and joking, I was officially reprimanded- told what I had done was very naughty and not to do it again.

Overall I think it was worth the reprimand, and I'm still proud that it got into one of the most distant newspapers possible: the Sydney Morning Herald

I know some of you might think I'm bullshitting, but take look at the email address I signed up with. I got this account years before all this happened.
(madsporkmurderer, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:35, 3 replies)

My geography teacher
was attempting to talk about british gas
except what he actually said was 'british gash'

oh how we laughed
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:35, Reply)

Briefcase
If you are between 18/20 and live in Kettering/Corby you have probably heard of Briefcase. He was the general school weirdo, got all sorts of abuse (it was even better when his little brother joined and we called him wallet).

He gets on the bus on his first day of school carrying not the obligatory rucksack like everyone else was carrying, but a Briefcase. Hence the name.

He had an obsession with Slipknot (and all the side projects) and Wrestling. Even to form his own wrestling persona known as 'H-Bomb'.

Then the drumstick incident happened aged about 16. For some, god-only-knows, reason, Briefcase decided to lube up and push a drumstick up his arse in front of about 10 people on a stoned saturday at someones house. This got him the name drumstick. A few months later he gets his first job at Subway and naturally as he was the youngest and newest, they gave him the shitty Friday and Saturday night shift. Cue for the next two years a group of 10 drunks (we were/are bastards) coming in every weekend and getting the whole shop to sing...
(to the tune of 'He's got the Whole World')

'HE SHOVED A DRUMSTICK, UP HIS ARSE!
HE SHOVED A DRUMSTICK, UP HIS ARSE!
HE SHOVED A DRUMSTICK, UP HIS ARSE!
DRUM! STICK! UP HIS ARSE!'
(paddysawyers music whore, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:35, 5 replies)

As a "scholar" at my old public school (I know..)
..I have the right to this day to tether my goat to the neighbouring cathedral, or graze my sheep on the grass outside.

One day I will tether a giant, horned goat in full view in front of the cathedral.
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:33, Reply)

Two memories stick out from my school days
Stealing all the cutlery from the kitchens, so the whole school had to eat with their fingers at lunchtime.

Finding out that Andy Peters (real surname Olazaru)went to my school and was taught by my old biology teacher, who told me he was a precocious little prick.
(Errorist, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:25, Reply)

Kite Jr
At her primary school, someone wrote "Sex" in the condensation on a bathroom mirror. Despite being cleaned it is still visible when it steams up. This is a source of (apparent) constant shock (at such profanity) and awe (whodunnit?).
(kitescreech still here, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:12, Reply)

school
Last day of sixth form. Letting out a budgie in a (very) high ceilinged modern school library
(I'm talking 40ft high). Lap of honour around the school (it was built in a circle you see). People climbing on top of clockers for powerstance pictures. People doing mass power stance pictures. Food fights.

Shame i wasn't there as it was my birthday and I was getting pissed. Heard it was a good crack though.
(paddysawyers music whore, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:07, Reply)

Mr Thompson the latin teacher..
(I considered changing his name as I doubt he approves of the internet - a measure of how much respect the man commands years after setting eyes on him)

This incredible man was from the old guard of boys' school teachers. One of the last for sure.

Imagine Captain Mainwarring from Dad's Army crossed with Uncle Monty from Withnail, except wearing battered tweed (he never owned more than two suits - one formal, one informal - that he'd always wear). He was a short, rather large man with Hitler hair/tash, ruddy cheeks, and was famous for his fierce bark when he took his pipe out of his mouth to speak to you.

He smoked in class. He'd frequently set the bin on fire through tapping out the ashes. I'm pretty sure he enjoyed doing this. If any student challenged him about his smoking, he'd glare in outrage and shout at about 40 watts (he was an ex-opera singer) "nonsense boy, the smell is exquisite. If you don't think so, you must be an imbecile".

I'm sure there are plenty of 12-14 year olds he absolutely terrified and possibly scarred for life. Being unable to find the verb in a latin sentence would send his ruddy cheeks purple as he stood up from his stool to hurl invective at the poor, cowering student. A typical example would be, "you are a bloody fool and a disgrace. Why, why.. WHY can you not acheive something so simple? You are an idiot!" He freely let it be known that he found the abolition of corporal punishment extremely frustrating, and indeed he kept a number of canes on top of his desk well into the 90s. There was a fist sized hole in the industrial-strength blackboard behind him. There are numerous stories of kids being so humiliated by him they pissed themselves. I witnessed this happening myself a few times.

It's worth noting, however, that when on the receiving end of one of his firey blasts, if you had the nerve to answer back his countenance would change and he'd become amused. He definitely respected rebellion. He once kept a friend behind after class after said friend called him a cunt. Rather than give my friend a dressing down, he simply said, "Hughes, I have never been called a cunt before. That is all. You may go."

Old pupils have unanimously fond memories of Mr Thompson. Despite the bluster, if you were put in his charge he really would go out of his way to look after you. Out of the classroom you might find him sitting to eat lunch at your table - he'd shun the other teachers to spend time with his students, and when not teaching he was a very pleasant, courteous man, always ready to listen and offer advice with no hint of being patronising. He'd defend students from the injustice of other teachers and kept his finger on the pulse of what was happenening throughout the school.

For GCSE latin classes he mellowed for the older students (we were now 15-16) and would spend every other lesson going through the Telegraph crossword (the cryptic one) with us or reading poetry in his deep, sonorous voice. I don't think he took the concept of GCSEs too seriously.

One thing I wish I'd done was visit him at home, especially since I actually enjoyed and was good at latin. He ran an open house from his dwelling just outside the school gate, a downright dirty building with smashed-up windows and mountains of clutter visible from outside. The story was that he'd been married once but that had ended, along with his opera career, and so he'd poured his heart (and a percentage of his salary, up until girls started being admitted) into the school at the expense of personal niceties. I often wonder exactly what happened to make him who he was.

Every now and again his old pupils sometimes get a letter inviting them to a pint or two, whenever he hears of something noteworthy in their life. It's to my shame that when recovering from a breakdown a few years ago I never replied to his extremely courteous, well-written letter of condolence and offer to get tipsy on him. Perhaps there's still time.

No, he wasn't a paedophile. Perhaps some of the above suggests that he was a bit wrong that way, but just.. no.

I'm told there's a facebook group in tribute to him, if people out there are further curious about this genuine legend of a man.
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 18:00, 3 replies)

ginger
There was a girl.

She was not only socially awkward and slightly remedial but suffered the additional indignity of having been born with naturally frizzed ginger hair, and to have had the type of parents who thought it acceptable to let this hair grow into a giant ginger-perm-afro-monster - and then send their daughter to school like this every day.

It was monstrous, and she was, of course, bullied remorselessly.

This is not about her, this is about me.

I was lumbered to be her PE partner one day and found myself hanging upside down on top of the climbing frame in the gym whilst she happened to be climbing up.

The last thing I remember is glancing down briefly only to be distracted by the sight of two additional yet sweaty giant ginger-perm-afro-monsters nestled inside both her armpits.

Witnesses say that I let out a giant shriek and fell vertically from the frame, missing the mat, and braining myself on the floor.
( rofl harris, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:59, 5 replies)

The old grey cells aren't getting any younger
but the most memorable times were in chemistry lessons. The lady teacher - whose name I have long forgotten - cut a lump of sodium off the stock lump in its safe jar of oil then dropped it on the bench. It promptly caught fire. Another of her lessons found us making belljars full of chlorine. Yep, you guessed it, evacuation time. Strangely I failed chemistry . . .

In our last year, three of us - the school photographic club - spent the summer term's PE lessons photographing the rest of the class doing PE. I still have a few of the very few real photographs we took. Film was expensive, you see, so most of the time we didn't bother using it.
(The Jannie, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:54, Reply)

I got kicked out of primary school...
...for fingering a girl from my class behind the bike sheds.

The headteacher said it was a real shame, cos I was the best maths teacher he'd ever had at the school.
(RabidRodent I'm the person your mother warned you about, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:52, 1 reply)

crazy kid in the roof!
we had the token mentalist ginger throwback in our school.. you know the one. the kid who inexplicably starts howling with laughter in assembly and has to be removed. the kid who throws chairs about... barks.. you know the dude.

well one day he got up into the suspended ceiling in the music block. of course, being a wiry little fucker, he was MUCH more suited to scurrying about in the rafters like the ratboy he was than the corpulent teaching staff, so they decided to let him get it out of his system.

a downright fuckin HILARIOUS lesson followed of the teacher doing his utmost to ignore the scuttling, giggling, and occasional foot through tile that would come from the ceiling.

the same music block had an amazingly dumb feature of a long corridor between two rooms full of shelving and instruments... with a lockable door at each end.
one is locked, the teacher goes in to get something..
teacher's name, ironically, was mr Basher.. he had THE single worst combover in the history of the universe... literally, he had a HUGE bonce, and this beast of a hairpiece went from just above one ear, over to just above the other, and would usually last until about midway through the first lesson before flopping off to the side looking for all the world like a misplaced emo fringe.
so this guy basically spent a lesson locked in this cupboard in the dark, pleading with the students to let him out, in tears, and actually went as far as to pass the money in his wallet out under the door as a bribe.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:48, 1 reply)

well I don't care about photography
rock rock, rock n roll Art School.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:45, Reply)

Short and not-so-sweet
One of my earliest memories of school was at the Year 2 Christmas party. One of the kids in my class decided he was having so much fun that going to the toilet wasn't a viable option (the reason he actually gave at the time to the teacher). So he took down his trousers, took down his pants, and right there and then, did an enormous shit through the hole in the back of his chair. I vividly remember watching the kids either side of him frantically shuffling their chairs away from the ever-encroaching puddle of urine that had begun to trickle towards them. Then he started crying and had to be taken home.
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:44, 3 replies)

Aye, Klingons Cap'n!
Again when I was about 10, there was a kid in my class who I shall call Andrew King, for that was indeed his name.

Who had this habit of shitting in his pants. Psychological rather than physical, apparently he used to do it for attention. But anyway...

One week, PE class. When he went into the shower some other kid picked up his soiled underpants and started running round with them shouting "shitty pants, shitty pants!" as 11-year-olds have a tendency to do in such situations.

He then chucked them up in the air and drop-kicked them. They hit the ceiling and stuck fast.

Now, I don't know if anyone here remembers the song "Star Trekkin'" by The Firm... but at this point every single person started singing in unison "there's klingons on the ceiling" to the tune of this.

At this point the kid waddled out of the shower with a towel wrapped around him (I say "waddled" as he was a fat git on top of the incontinence) and someone pointed and said "It's Andrew Kling!"

The name kind of stuck... for the next 3-4 weeks until he was "removed" and sent to a special school for disturbed kids.
(RabidRodent I'm the person your mother warned you about, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:37, Reply)

Mojo
I had a Maths teacher called Mr. Lunt. Mr. Lunt mind. Lunt. Guess what his nickname was? Yup you’ve guessed it.

‘Mojo’.

We called a man whose name was Mr. Lunt, ‘Mojo’.

What a wasted opportunity.

Incidentally he was called ‘Mojo’ because in our school we had a massive litter problem with people buying shit loads of ‘mojo’ penny sweets and dropping the wrappers wherever they were.

Mr. Lunt would see them as he was walking around and pick them up whilst making a small keening ‘mojooooo’ noise in the back of his throat before angrily chucking them into the bin.

That’s reminded me of poor Mr. ‘Charlie’ Chalk whom we tormented for years by singing the ‘Charlie Chalk’ theme tune quietly under our breath in about 5 seconds.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:32, 5 replies)

By the Hammer of Thor!
We had a substitute RE (Religious Education) teacher many a year ago whose name I can't remember, namely because it was unpronouncable on three quarters of the face of the Earth. All I can recite is that he had a face like a chihuahua, which promptly got the class to address him as 'Mr. Chihuahuaface'. As a sign of how tolerant he was, he'd go on to introduce himself as Mr Chihuahuaface to the other classes. He was, and I imagine still is, a bit of a ledge.

He'd been left to cover for our current RE teacher, who was several months up the duff. Her name was Miss Badcock, but that's a sniggering session for another day.

'Right class, the task you've been left with is to do a presentation on the Christian creation story...'
'Fantastic,' we thought. 'More tedious bollocks'
'However, as there are so many religions out there, it's highly possible that such dogma should not be taken for granted, and so go out and look at other creation stories and let us know what you think. Just to get you started, I'll do the first presentation next week'.

The next lesson, Chihuahuaface turns up in full Viking regalia, slams an inflatable hammer against the table and screams:

Behold mortals, I am Thor, conquerer of worlds! and proceeeds to give us the most incredible 30 minutes of our student lives.

God bless you Mr Chihuahuaface.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:31, 2 replies)

Spread Eagle

There was a lovely little pub just down the road from my school, The Spread Eagle. Nice draft beers from strange exotic places like Somerset and Lancashire, stained glass windows, homely, the sort of place you'd feel perfectly comfortable getting absolutely shit faced in.

My posse (a term I actually used, because I was, like, just too cool for school), would trawl up to The Spread Eagle just about every dinnertime.

Usually we'd take two steps into the place before the big burley motherfucker behind the bar told us - in no uncertain terms - that our custom was not wanted.

This kept happening again and again.

We just couldn't figure it out. I mean, we looked old enough. One of our troop even had a pencil thin tash, which he lovingly groomed on a weekly basis and probably stimulated with fine essential oils. And I was sporting the finest George Michael stubble. God, I was cooler than Miami Vice, I was.

Eventually it dawned on us what the fuck the problem was. Well, moreover the barman advised us.

Going in one dinnertime, we got pretty close to the bar this time.

And:

"Lads, lads, lads," says the barman. "If you're gonna come in here and expect to get away with looking eighteen, you could at least have the brains to hide your fucking school blazers in your bags..."
( SpankyHanky, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:28, 6 replies)

Oh dear that poor kid
There were for many years rumours that the female science teacher at our middle school had been spied fingering the rather butch lesbian gym teacher.

Alas the daughter of the science teacher was in our class and denied the persistant rumours.

This was all good and well until one day she broke down in tears and told the class her dad had moved in and the gym teacher had moved in!

Naturally being little cunts we all laughed about that for years after
(bluehamster, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:28, Reply)

Trainee terrorist...
Let's place the year at around 1988-89. I'd have been around 10 or 11.

Let's place the location at my school, for that's where it was. In the science room.

Let's also assume that the science teacher (lovely bloke actually, who I've kept in touch with since I've left) forgot to lock the store cupboard. And one junior foaming-at-the-mouth rodent walked into aforementioned store room.

And helped himself to a large container of nitric acid. Concentrated.

And a container of glycerine.

And mixed the two. 150ml concentrated nitric acid, 150ml glycerine.

Place on top of a bunsen burner - and run like hell!

Result - one large plate glass window blown outwards and a big black mark on the ceiling.

Now, here's the interesting thing. The science teacher claimed that someone "must have thrown a brick through the window". Ignoring the fact that the glass was lying outside the building. Of course the real reason was that he'd have been strung up if it had been found out that he'd forgotten to lock the store room.

So we both agreed that he wouldn't reveal the culprit as long as I didn't reveal that he'd left the door unlocked. To this day it's been our little secret.
(RabidRodent I'm the person your mother warned you about, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:27, Reply)

I was a teenage hacker!
Imagine the scene, mid 90s with a science teacher who looked like 'claude greengrass' from 'Heartbeat' with the beard (which I believe later shaved off because of the resemblance).

This guy thought he was the business, science and all that stuff. So much so that he was the first teacher to have a PC on his desk so he could record his science stuff on it (even though it was never on)

Greengrass leaves the room for whatever reason and I get convinced by my colleges that I should do something to teachers computer to wipe the smug grin off his 'I have a computer on my desk' face.

He was also called spaceman for some reason (probably because he always wore his white science coat).

This particular computer was running windows 95/98, so was easy to 'break' the batch process of the 'autoexec.bat' and drop the user to DOS.

Using my expert knowledge of computers I decided to leave a message for the next time the smug git turns his computer on.

So I altered his 'autoexec.bat' to show when booted up next:

"Spaceman you are a bald headed git"

"Press any key to continue"

The class finished before I could reap the fruits of my labour, but a friend from the class afterwards told me that he went mental saying he was going to get the police involved!

Needless to say it was the perfect crime :D
(ldwater otherwise known as a 'jive turkey', Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:20, 4 replies)

Mr Davies the biology teacher..
..the man was a marvel. I had him once a week for GCSE biology (a subject I went on to get my worst grade for) and 90% of the time all the student had to do was sit quietly daydreaming while this incredible man strutted around the room, flailing a stick to gesticulate randomly, and going through the entire syllabus at manic, breathless pace. He had a mane of thick red hair, sort of trained back so it looked like a madman's afro; his eyes were wild, staring in all directions at once; he bounced around like a vaudeville compere; and if you had the power to concentrate you'd (theoretically) get the entire syllabus learned in an hour and a half.

I suppose he thought that a reductive "teaching from the syllabus" would distract attention from his unfortunate habit of drinking half a bottle of Irish whisky by midday. He kept it under his desk.

The man was always completely soused. I do wonder what became of him, even though he taught me precious little in the way of biology.
(raymond "three griddle pans" luxury yacht lovin' the christmas action, Thu 29 Jan 2009, 17:14, 1 reply)