I didn't do it... but I WAS THERE
Our school was built in the 1930s, and as such the architects saw absolutely no problem with having the opening to the loft space in the boys toilets. No well-behaved home counties student would even consider bunking off lessons, running amok above the classrooms below, would they? Of course not.

The only disadvantage was that the loft ran above the language labs, where silence, and the odd muttered "Ach du liebe Gott!" and "Pompt-de-pompt-de-lu-lu" were all that could be heard from the huddled masses, trying not to stare too hard at Madame Talbot's norks. You'd have thought those who had discovered this gold-plated skiving opportunity would not do anything to draw attention to themselves, perhaps using it as some sort of secret den, where cigarettes and pornography could be exchanged as a Rite of Passage.

It started with a distant thudding. Thudding that got nearer and more disconcerting as we tried not to stare too hard at Madame Talbot's norks. The thudding, mixed now with shouts and cries of "Wanker!" got closer and closer, and soon they were overhead. Madame Talbot stopped trying to get us to ecoutez-et-repetez and looked up with a worried look on her face. Confused, we stared at Madame Talbot's norks.

BOMF! A leg appeared through the plasterboard ceiling. Then another. There was a cry of "Oh fuck!", which drew a certain amount of displeasure amongst us, as this was clearly a French lesson where Anglais was strictly interdit, and the startled figure of Sid Brandon plummeted from the ceiling, landing on his back on Madame Talbot's desk.

Sid lay there a minute, stunned; as Madame Talbot crossed and uncrossed her arms, causing twenty schoolboys to let out sighs of relief.

"Sorry miss."

Plasterboard, cobwebs and years of dust fell from the great yawning cavity, while his partners in crime - who clearly should have been in a Portakabin somewhere learning the complexities of CSE Money Management and crayon usage - stared down at him and called him a cunt. Which was fair enough, really.

"Right, I'll be off then," he said as if he had every right to be there, jumping to his feet, and fleeing the scene.

The game was up. A hit squad led by Mr Ponting the caretaker and the collected might of the PE department raided the forbidden loft space, and the offenders were convicted at an assembly show-trial the following morning in front of the tutting local vicar; their booze, porn and smokes on a table as the most damning of evidence. But those Jumanji drums kept on beating... "Hey! There's a loft opening here. And it's unlocked..."

Full 12-inch remix version of this Tale of Mirth and Woe can be found HERE
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 8 Sep 2011, 13:13, Reply)