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This is a question School Trips

Get left behind? Go somewhere utterly amazing? Get bollocked by a lardy coach driver? Find out the school nurse was secretly bonking the Geography teacher? All these and more on just one five day trip to the Dorset coast. Whahey!

Tell us how your school trip spiralled out of control.

(, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 10:37)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

The joys of of the bus trip...
A trip to Paris, everyone has survived the week with only the expected minor missing children incidents and so on, everyoen hops on the bus ready for the journey home. As the bus had just set off, the driver hadn't thought to make sure the toilet was working (and who actually uses them?)

Cue *that* kid - the annoying one who dosen't stop whining, or trying to get your attention for something irrelevant and always with his head stuck in a book - dissappearing off to the wee loo with his book ten minutes into the journey

Gradually possibly the morst horrific smell started filtering out, building up in potency over a good ten minutes into one of the worst smells ever encountered, think about how one of those wee stink bombs would smell if it was broken inside a rotting carcass of some sort, then double it.

We had to check on the guy at this point, to make sure he was still alive and hadn't passed out midway through a page of his book through the potency of the smell confined in a tiny wee box, as he had been in there a fair time by then.

It was very lucky nobody actually threw up on the bus at that point, a few were *very* close to it though such was the force of the smell

(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 20:53, Reply)
Top tip for teachers
Don't let teenagers drink alcohol at fancy Parisian dinner theatres. They will only bring more shame onto their country than the Iraq War and evangelical Christians combined.

I was one of them.

I apologize to the entire population of France.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 19:47, Reply)
School trips
I took a group of kids around Portchester castle and broke my ribs climbing down into the dry moat. I had to walk around for another 2 hours in a cold sweat and tring not to pass out.

On a more recent trip, some of the little shits took the piss out of one of the guards at the tower of London causing a Beefeater to attempt to throw the whole lot of us out. Only 8 had to leave in the end. Beefeating cunt.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 18:56, Reply)
theatre shenanigans
we went to see Macbeth with a coach load of school chums.

Our English teacher (who was an extra in the adaption of middlemarch that came out back then, fact fans) told us not to leave the square next to the theatre. So we promptly left said square and walked 100 yards or so toward the beckoning city centre.

Some Sheffield pre-chav era chavs walk past and call me something along the lines of "a fat bastard". Well, i was at the time, so he was technically right. Didn't stop me replying with the best come back ever. Namely "sez you".

The scummers carry on walking and we decide to head back to the square for safety's sake, not liking our brush with the big city. 30 secs later the proto chavs come charging back toward us yelling and screaming at my witty retort. One of our adventurous group runs off toward the square before they draw level.

They begin badgering us, wanting to know who turned the tables on them with the insults and so forth. Taking the opportunity not to get my head kicked in, i blame the lad who has done one.

"it was him, why do you think he has run off?"

This cunning plan worked as they caught up with my school mate and proceed to beat him like he was a ginger stepchild. we find him later with blood streaming from his nose and two black eyes.

Turned out alright in the end, then
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 18:55, Reply)
PC gone mad!
We went on a trip to Hamsterly Forest. Anna was perched on a quite a large rock when she fainted. Mr Davis, who was standing behind her didn't catch her incase he grabbed "the wrong part".

She split her head open.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 18:40, Reply)
One night in Wales..
We were staying in a converted church. It had been split in to a few rooms, and a large dormitory for the kids..

We decided to see what the teachers got up to. Let's just say there was an awful lot of drink involved, and a couple of the teachers were in compromising positions.

However, the best school trip I went on was to Downe House in Kent. Most of the trip was boring, but when it came to Lunch time, the teachers left us in the school minibus and went down the pub. So, we went to the one down the road, and had a great time.

The trip back was a bitch though.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 18:34, Reply)
Back around 1994 I went on a school trip to Shrewsbury to see mines or whatever. On one of the days was a visit to some village where they dress up like the days of old and herd pigs around. On arrival I realised that I needed a nice big dump but, the first part of the day being guided, I had to wait. Come lunchtime we are sent off to do our own thing so I hurry to the shitter. Unfortunately the facilities were some what run down. They were in such a state that there was a dispenser on the wall of disposable plastic bog-seat covers so you didn’t have to get AIDS off the seat. Sadly I didn’t have the right change so I ended up deciding that I could wait until we made it back to the hostel. But the cramps took over in the later part of the day. They got to that stage where you just have to freeze or you know you’ll shit yourself.
The journey back on the coach was somewhat white knuckle feeling every bump in the road. At one point I went to lend my Gameboy to another kid and froze mid-handing due to a massive cramp. He just looked at me like I was nuts…
So we finally make it back to the hostel and I waddle inside and straight to the downstairs bog. Ahhhhhh! Sweet release! That dump still makes my all time top ten list!
Having finished and now a few stone lighter I retire to the dorm room and get changed for dinner. On heading downstairs it would seem that there is something wrong. People are walking through the lobby and winching. There are two girls on the phone who look like they might be sick. Then it hits me, the ripe smell of the cable I had laid 20 minutes earlier was thick in the air since the bog I used was off the lobby! Feigning ignorance I casually asked what the bad smell was. Their answer, and I’m still proud of this to this day, was:

“It smells like a rat died in there”

I think the handyman was sent to look for the dead animal and everything!

(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 17:47, Reply)
School trips eh?
Well, it was certainly a trip and she was certainly at school so…

When I was kicked out of Ursula’s house I decided to head back to the Sunny South of France, Nice in fact, the scene of so many fun adventures earlier that year. By this time it must have been well into October, so the summer season was well and truly over. Those of you that have had the chance to visit (or live in) a tourist town out of season will know what the atmosphere was like: the citizens had got the place back, tourists were tolerated but not pampered, many places were closed, those that weren’t were empty.

I headed for a house where I knew there would be a warm welcome of sorts. Melanie was 15 (you can’t see any sort of pattern appearing here can you?) and I’d got to know her during the summer as she used to hang out at the hostel where I had been living. As with the girl-of-my-dreams, Melanie smoked like a kipper, had a beautifully developed pair of norks and looked at least 18 in her tight jumpers and jeans. She had a wonderful figure, wild hair that frizzed at the least provocation and an interesting face with a prominent nose – as do I.

I had met her parents before and they were tres gentils but I hadn’t met her elder sister who was at the ‘fac’ (that’s uni to us or college if you’re a Merkin), but was looking forward to that pleasure. Turned out that Olivia was very like Melanie, but smaller, younger looking, and wore glasses; much less street-wise too.

Now, the funny thing was that when I had got to know Melanie, I spoke reasonable French for an Englishman, but since then, I had spent a couple of months in the company of Nass who was a Parisienne with Algerian parents, was funny, serious, generous, good company and a true ‘friend of the opposite sex’ like no other before or since. We were very much on the same wavelength and because she spoke no English at all, my French had REALLY come on leaps and bounds in her company (I even had a Parisian accent).

Long story short, I was stuck in Melanie’s flat with her cousine and they were talking about me in a derogatory way thinking I couldn’t understand. Melanie said something like:
“I wonder if he has any bollocks” in fairly fast slangish French, and I surprised her by replying in perfect French slang, “If you’re not sure, I could whip them out now for you, if you like”, which surprised them more than a little.

[Sorry, run out of time – really busy week, will post this now and carry on another week.] Eventually, I had to leave Nice, went to Innsbruck for Thanksgiving then tried to find work in the French Alpine ski resorts, failed and ended up travelling to Crete. Will pick the story up when the subject allows.

Love you lots,

(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 17:44, Reply)
Cub trip
Cub trip to Aldershot army days.

Lots of fun running about with tanks and guns and assault courses and things.

One display had a big collection of weapons to play with - pistol, rifles and machine guns. No ammo, obviously, but the squaddie in charge was enthusiasticly showing us eight-year old psychopaths how to cock a light machine gun and pull the trigger. Clackety clackety clack.
That was great.

Later on that day, me and five or so mates were clambering over an armoured car thing, which had a machine gun mounted on the top of the turret. Ah cool, thinks me, I know how to work these now. So I pulled back the charging handle and pulled the trigger.

Clackety clackety clackety. No ammo in it, of course, but by some complete conicidence of timing an old 1940s barrage balloon on the other side of the field chose that moment to catch fire.

I was CONVINCED I'd just shot it down.

The squaddie looking after us, the bastard, must have seen the look on my face and said something along the lines of 'ooooohh, you lot are in big trouble...if anyone finds out..'

Even though I had been the one pulling the trigger, all five of us were fulling shitting ourselves now.

'mister, please don't tell on us'.

The squaddie goes very serious and says
'ok lads. But you must never tell a soul about this.'

We solemnly nodded, and none of us EVER mentioned it. Not even to each other. On the trip home the other kids were talking about how cool it was when that balloon caught fire.

We never said a word.

I was about 14 before I realised that the bastard was teasing us and there was no way on earth I could have shot that bloody thing down.

I don't like guns now.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 17:23, Reply)
I believe I have already answered this question with my most memorable school trip:
here you go

small as you like, no?
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 16:35, Reply)
Didn't we have a luvverly time the day we went to...
...Jodrell Bank space telescope? Well, no, not really. We were about eight or nine, and Mavourneen started whining about halfway up the motorway that she needed a shit. So our teacher Mrs Woods forced all of us to move into the front half of the coach (which meant perching on any available knee of the slightly older delegation from another - much rougher - school that we didn't even fucking know, inevitably leading to all kinds of "now we know your boy/girlfriend" taunts) while she used all of our coats (!) to make a feeble impromptu 'curtain' across the rear half.

She then 'borrowed' a tube of Pringles off fattie Briggs (even this lardfelcher was NOT going to be asking for it back) , gave us one each to keep us 'occupied', and, still munching on a sizeable handful herself, embarked upon the distinctly audible (and presumably highly balletic) process of coaxing Mavourneen into a breathtakingly dextrous bout of bum-sniper-tastic precision pooing at 55mph in the slow lane. Apparently she was doing alright until it started to curl.

Afterwards, Mrs Woods threw the vile scud from the moving coach window, and told us in no uncertain terms that any further mention of the incident would result in a week of after-school sums. By the time we got to Jodrell (rubbish) half an hour later, entire classes from two different schools had racked up detentions lasting until sometime in mid-2026.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 15:58, Reply)
The same trip, two years later...
1. ... I went to the Somme with my school in '00. In 2002 the trip ran again, and this time I'm reliably informed the staff got completely wasted in front of the kids on the trip (who nearly got kicked out of the hotel because the girls were walking around in their pyjamas so the French guys thought it was some sort of barely-legal extravaganza). The same chemistry teacher who set fire to herself some years previously (Teachers and Fire! QOTWs) was heard to point at a table and yell "THAT TABLE LOOKS LIKE A DINOSAUR!".

2. On the ski trip in '03 to Montreal (posh school), one of the sluttier girls in my year was dating a guy in the year below her. While it was widely rumoured that this girl's mum was a prossie, while we were all on the trip she had become "friendly" with her daughter's boyfriend's dad.

Cue the girl finding out about this when her boyfriend's dad rings his son to tell him he's in Thailand with his girlfriend's mum... and then using his UK phone to call Thailand from Canada and scream at her mum in Thai for several minutes of ear-splitting agony.

They are no longer together as the parents became a couple and they sort of became brother and sister.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 15:44, Reply)
school trips
at sixth form we went on the annual skiing trip, mainly made up of spotty oiks. First night and someone decides to have a party in their room, lots and lots of cheap booze purchased from nearby shops. I had my first, but unfortunatley not my last, episode of getting humungously pished. Apparently everyone decided to go to the disco downstairs- me and a couple of others only lasted 5 mins as too pissed to stand up let alone dance. Next morning woke up with massive hangover lying on the floor of our room. All the beds had been thrown out of a window by some of the less pissed spotty twunts.They had also broken down our door for which we had to fork out the dosh to replace it.The teachers then blamed us for everything else that went wrong during the rest of the week. As soon as we arrived back in UK the first thing i do is slap the chief twunt and threaten to kick his head in if a comes within 10 feet of me again, felt a lot better after that.
Ignore the length feel the width- long and thin too far in, short and thick does the trick.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 15:37, Reply)
Skiing Trip
To keep it short and sweet. Some guy on our trip did what must've been a humongous turd of massive proportions. It jammed the toilet. We went skiing for the day. We came back water everywhere floor had sagged. Cue large argument with hotel manager about crap toilets and money
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 15:03, Reply)
I went to Wet 'N' Wild swimming baths with primary school
Forgot to take any knickers. Went with a bathing suit under my uniform for the way there.

If anybody remembers primary school, they will remember how humiliating it is for that to happen.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 14:57, Reply)
just remembered this
a college ski trip i didn't go on, mainly because it was a surrey college full of lots of obnoxious 'daddy's buying me a *insert pointless but expensive object*' types. also, i can't ski.

one girl i'd been to school with since i was a wee bairn, but really wasn't on great terms with, went on this trip. so did the college "hunk", who myself, my friends, and every 'out' person I knew firmly believed was in the closet.

now, this girl's mother was something else. her daughter, let's call her mary-anne (which isn't her name but close) was a bright enough lass, but nothing special. average intelligence, pretty in an obvious way (i.e. she had large breasts), couldn't hold a conversation about anything other than herself or her hair, bit of a secret slapper... her mother, however, thought she was god's gift, worthy of a scholarship to oxbridge, better than every child or pupil that had ever surrounded her, an angel of virtue, etc, etc. This woman, and her daughter, are just waiting for appropriate QOTW for me to tell all. But this will do for now... let's just call them both 'unbearable'.

so imagine the joy, of my college friends, my old school friends, and especially all our parents, who had put up with up to 15 years of the pushy mother's boasts of 'my child is so much better than all of yours', of the daughter's shullbitting to superiors to get her way, when...

...upon the first night of the trip she is found in flagrante delicto with the 'hunk' by ALL of the teachers, having been shopped by every other student on the trip. They were sent home accompanied by a tutor, by which point the whole college knew what had happened, appropriate posters created and plastered up everywhere (which not even the head never bothered to take down - he'd met the mother and thought it hilarious) for their arrival, and a shame never lived down, especially when said hunk came out of the closet on his first day back.

i can only imagine the mother's face when she found out her precious, virtuous, ahem 'beautiful' daughter was a slag, and everyone knew it. and she'd 'turned' a bloke gay.

makes me happy just to think of it.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 14:55, Reply)
so, year 9 (13/4 years old), history trip for six days to the first world war battle-fields and grave yards of france and belgium. probably the best trip i've ever been on.

the tour guide for the week was a miserable scottish bastard, by the name of Murray McVay. within seconds he was known by all 60 kids on the trip as Murray McGay. good times.

most of the rooms were three-berth, but there was a handful of rooms for four, one of which myself and my pallies sean, sammo and kyle had managed to accquire. we had a very entertaining week, with the majority of our humour coming from nightly activities.

there was another room of four beside us, and they had the wonderful idea of playing goaly-squash against the adjoining wall at half three in the morning. kyle, being the aggressive guy he was at the time proceeded to shout the following at them through a gap between the wall and the cieling: "listen, you little fucking cunts! i'm fucking tired, and i want to go to fucking sleep! if you don't all fucking shut up, i'm gonna come in there and fucking punch all of you in the fucking head! fucking right?!"


on another evening, the lads from the room at the end of the corridor got hold of a metal bar, which they proceeded to use as a puncturer for the foam cieling of the hallway. they got banned from any other trips, quick-sharp.

additionally, we had a slanging match with some german students at two in the morning from our bedroom window. it was started by kyle and sam shouting "alright cunts? can you fucking shut it, yeah?" to which they shouted something in german, and we all shouted something back. good times.

we got told off for listening to jonny cash at 1 in the morning. bangers got confiscated. sam wandered round the room in the nude after having a shower, claiming he couldn't find his towel, which he'd actually left in the shower room.

oh, and the head of history, a raging alcoholic, got hammered every night, and leered at girls on a regular basis. he was a legend.

hehe... murray mcgay.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 14:47, Reply)
In junior school we were taken on two trips, one involving the south west and fossils, sheep skin factory and scrumpy!!!!

Yup were taken to a place that made cider, aged 11-12. We were allowed to taste the different ciders and told to spit it into a bucket after tasting.... 30+ slightly tipsy kids.
Who were then taken to a place that made sheep skin items.... not wool.... sheep skin... the stench still lives with me to this day and I cannot look at a piece of sheep skin without remembering all those sheep carcasses and chunks of flesh hanging out to dry.
Still it was one of the best ever school trips I went on.

The other trip was to the isle of white, have some fantastic memories from that place as well. I was charged with looking after the resident psycho kid as I was the only one he wouldnt attack with a compass when in one of his moods. Ahh what fun, watching him cut open the dumb kids stomach with his manky toenail and then fashioning a crude but non the less effective burglar alarm from his hearing aid and some coathangers. This provided us with an early warning system of the paedo teachers approaching.

Bishop Wood scool trips rocked!
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 14:10, Reply)
kindergarten pron
The head of our kindergarten later turned to have been a convicted paedophile, but he took us on the most infamous 'school trip' of my young life before that was discovered. It was to Bangkok.

Being from rich families, we kiddies saw nothing shocking in jetting off to the Far East to learn about rice growing and strange animals. Imagine our surprise, then, when Mr Leach took us to downtown Bangkok to see the 'wildlife', as he put it.

I'll never forget the experience of seeing ping pong balls popping from the glistening clart of a stage dancer, or the donkey show in a back room. I was kept awake all night by a queue of US Marines banging some poor girl up against a headboard in the neighbouring room, and was propositioned myself by a girl who promised to suck my kidneys out through my prepubescent organ. Things came to a head - so to speak - when Mr Leach was discovered balls-deep in a hen. Apparently there's a law against that.

We all got sent home and were offered counselling. To this day, I can't eat eggs.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 13:59, Reply)
Dirty France
Now, I have a deeply embedded hatred for france** and all things french**.. this is partially (not wholly) why this is.

We went to france** when I was about 13 for a school holiday. I was mugged by a bunch of dirty frogs about 4 years older than me, punched in the head and me bag nicked. Queue a large gang of 30 school mates noticing what happened and started chasing the group of frogs, they ran like the wind and eventually dropped my backpack which contained...... a sarnie and an empty can of pop.

The holiday was made considerable better when we all realised that at the age of 13 we were well within our rights to buy booze in france, so we all purchased several mini-bottles of martini each for about a franc and a half and proceeded to get drunk every night.

I decided to smuggle some back with me to england and jammed a load of bottles into my toiletry bag (while I was drunk) and subsequently forgot I had put them there. When we were leaving, have a guess what item I left in my room? Yepp, toiletry bag, I remembered at the last minute (and also remembered the booze situation) so said to the teacher i was going to make a run back to the challet to fetch it.... no, teacher wanted to go for me, found bag, found booze in it then she kicked me in the face, stole my booze and left me in france to make my own way home*

*some of this sentance may not be true
** I don't consider france an actual country (more of a congregation of shit) so it does not deserve a capital letter at the beginning

French women say that the girth is all that matters..
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 13:43, Reply)
uni trip, april first
The geology department recived an urgent phonecall that at customs on the return from a joyous week of geology field tripping, one of our lecturers had been stopped and searched, and arrested for trying to smuggle drugs, and was requiring an extortionate ammount of bail money.
which they dutifully wired over
only to realise that it was april fools day
they didnt get the joke........
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 13:36, Reply)
Scott Scott just reminded me
We went on a trip to the Motor Show at the NEC around 1988 when we was learning to fix cars.

Traffic standing on M42

35 (count 'em) bare arses in the coach back window for photo opportunity.

Caution from police passing in the hard shoulder.

Length? Girth? Can't make it out from the picture
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 13:13, Reply)
we went on a school trip
to Australia!

Lots of them, in fact. I bet your school never even went on one.

Admittedly the school was in Australia.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 13:02, Reply)
Vous et barred!
On a school trip to France we had been advised by those in the know to buy French bangers as they were far, far better than the UK version.

So we did. We bought every banger we could find....and, being impatient, tried one in the toilets of the hovercraft on the way home. Steel walls? French banger? Door Sealed? I THINK MY EARS ARE STILL RINGING!! We tried flushing one as well. Awesome!

We were evetually interrupted by a responsible adult and legged it back to our seats before our teachers arrived.

When we got back to Dover we were eagerly anticipating a banger-fest when our coach was taken out of the line and parked up on what we were told was 'French Soil'. Eh? Still don't understand that one.

French customs officials boarded the coach and we were all but strip searched. We frantically dumped everything we had and the floor of the coach and tried to look innocent.

We were then formally cautioned by the frogs before being told we were banned from France for life. Result!
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 12:56, Reply)
left behind
in the old days of the late 90's,we went on a school trip in year 10 to alton towers.

after a hot summers day queueing hours on end and only having been on 3 rides in the space of 6 hours, we all decided it would be "proper phatness" (we were chavs) to stay behind for an extra hour after we were supposed to meet our coach in the car park for our journey home to nottingham.

having just the brain power of chavs, we assumed that "the driver and teachers won't just leave us" and decided an extra hour would be worth the punishment. unfortunate for us our punishment was to be left behind, leaving us stranded.

naturaly the teachers and the tough chav kids were a bit miffd with us the next day as they waited for 50 minutes for us to arive.

this resulted in no school trips what-so-ever for our school year from then on & also having to spend money on a taxi all the way from staffordshire to notts.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 12:43, Reply)
Shit for him, good for us
Shitty school ski trip to Italy when we were in 6th form. Everyone else was year 9,10 and 11 including my sister, who I had to spend the week avoiding so she didn't find out how pissed I was.
Now we were legally allowed to drink so found a rather convenient bar that doubled up as a strip club. Teachers got wind of this and came down to round-up the under-agers who'd snuck in to drink Sex on the Beach and Woo Woo's. They all shit themselves and put their drinks on our table so they didn't get in trouble. We ended up getting very pissed, very free.
Stumble back to the hotel via the outdoor icerink we found, to hear that one kid had been caught with a massive block of hash in our room (why we'd let him stay in our room, I don't know). As we passed him, cuffed by the teachers, he told us he'd stashed it in our bathroom and we were to 'look after it'. Look after it we did, look after it in our lungs.
That kid also got deported, 6 hour coach journey by himself, only to get to the airport and the teacher had booked his return flight under his name, not the kids. So he had to drive back and spend the rest of the week in the hotel lobby.
Needless to say, in our pissed/stoned/stripper-exposed state, we made a sign for him saying "Next stop: Borstal" and hung it round his neck.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 12:17, Reply)
Condensed (yes, even more long-winded) from the entry at www.stevedix.de/blog/305

Our school once decided to take us all to Twycross Zoo, home of tea-recommending chimps and TV-watching gorillas. (no, really).

On this trip was someone who shall be known as "Charlie". Charlie was the school psychopath. Charlie was so mental that even the hard kids avoided him.

We arrived at Twycross and were herded round the cages, which seemed to be full of shit and little else. This bored Charlie, who disappeared. We were sent to find him, before he mauled a lion or something.

I discovered him just in time to see the horror unfold. Charlie had discovered a chimp that had been isolated from the others in a wire cage. The chimp blew raspberries at everyone. Charlie, on discovering this, blew raspberries back.

The chimp spat at him.

Charlie spat back.

The chimp then calmly stuck his hand underneath his arse, and filled his hand with his own shit. Charlie was too busy laughing to mimic that, which was an unfortunate mistake, as it left his mouth wide open.

None of the shit really missed him, which was incredible, considering it had passed through a wire-link cage.

When we got back to the coach, the teacher sniffed suspiciously. "What's that on Charlie?" she asked.


"It's chimp-shit, miss".

First post, apologies for enormous cock. er.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 12:13, Reply)
Clearly my taxes have been well spent on you foreign travelling bastards.
My school trip was to York - all of two hundred miles away!
We stayed in bunks in a smelly damp Youth Hostel.
I got a postcard of the Shambles.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 12:13, Reply)
Virgin Poster...
Well, popping my cherry with a no-doubt uninteresting post...

Most of the school trips I've been on were very dull, only memorable for various knicker showing shenanigans on the coaches, or that one time we all started singing the Fatboy Slim song that goes "They know what is what, but they don't know what is what, they just strut, WTF..." until they pulled over to suitably chastise us.

The only story of note is one that I managed to cause from home. I went to a verr posh south Buckinghamshire all girls private school (until I was 13, then moved to scummy grammar school with BOYS! It all went downhill from there), but being the obligatory poor girl, my 'rents were sadly lacking in the neccessary funds to send me on the Year 6 skiing trip to Austria. So when my friends called me from the airport to update me on their trip so far, I was feeling a little mean spirited. One of the girls was informing me of how they'd bought a load of three litre bottles of fanta to stash in their room (private school, eleven years old okay, wasn't going to be coke was it ;) arf ARF).

So being lonely and jealous, I informed them that the luggage compartments get depressurised during flight, and that if they put the fizzy orange substance in their suitcases the bottles would explode and they'd all get into trouble, which caused a certain amount of panic and fanta-guzzling.

Ha, ha. Apparently they had gut-rot for the first three days from drinking so much fizzy. HA!

Length... impressive... but sadly floppy.
(, Tue 12 Dec 2006, 11:48, Reply)

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