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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, ... 1

This question is now closed.

At uni, me and 3 other students had to do a 'french exchange' with 4 of the students in France. We were supossed to stay with them for 3 weeks, and then they were to stay with us for 3 weeks!

anyway... we get there and are paired off with our French 'buddies' that we are to stay with for the next 3 weeks.

Mine... it has to be said was a very, very strange girl called Helen. we got in her car, where 3 of her friends were sat, and i was ignored the entire journey as they all spoke in French.. which i didnt understand a bloody word!

Helen drops off all her friends then drives up to her parents house and gets out the car and walks in her house. im left in the car and can only assume we have arrived at our desination and that i am to get out of the car!

I enter her house and stand in the hall way. the house is empty and i cant see helen. I call her name, and she pops her head around her bedroom door and tells me shes going to bed, and slams the door shut.

i stand there not knowing wat to do. eventually her mum arrives home, who thank god, is actually nice! I tell her Helen has gone to bed. she said that was very rude of her and appologuised on her behalf.

realising i was chewing gum and didnt want to appear rude either, i looked up the word for 'rubbish bin' in my french-english dictionary, and said along the lines of "la poubelle sil vous plet" (prob spelt this wrong). (meaning do you have a bin please?)..

I got many strange looks, and didnt understand what i was saying wrong. eventually i took out my chewing gum and pointed at it, saying the same phrase. Que the mother laughing her ass off.

Apparently i was saying the chewing gum was beautiful! (got the right word for bin, but i said it wrong)...

So que a very interesting start to 3 weeks in france!

including... finding out the next day my friend was made to sleep on a hard wooden kitchen floor and was fed cold vegetables out of a tin... he had it worse than me!!

being taken to a horse saddle museum.. for fun!! i never laughed so much in my life! really bizarre horse saddles with weird spikey bits on them!

getting it together with Helen's brother out of shire boredom... (whole other story!)

minding my own business trying NOT to stand in all the dog poo on the french streets, and suddenly being whacked on the back of my legs by a blind man with his stick... my friends almost died laughing!

trying to call home to england to our teacher, but had the french headmistress monitoring our call. so couldnt say anything bad.

much more happened.. but you get the jist!

all four of us sang 'rule britania' on the way home on the ferry.. ive never been more proud to be english!
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 15:19, Reply)
WOW. That was THE BEST post I've ever read. It was GRIPPING.



Anyways, on ANOTHER school trip, I did something mental. WE WAS ALL WELL MAD!
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 14:45, Reply)
What is it about France that brings out the very worst in children?
Year 11 and we're all off on a 4 day residential trip to France to go look at WW2. So much went unbelievably wrong on this trip that it ended up being the last foreign trip our school ever took.

Frankly I don't think any of the staff quite knew what they were letting themselves in for. Firstly, the French are a bit more lax when it comes to serving alcohol to children. They're also quite good when it comes to fireworks. There was also a full scale riot in Arromanche when we were allowed to roam free.

However, the real triumph was the unmitigated carnage that was inflicted on the hotel we were staying in.

The guys in the room next door had already acquired something of a reputation by Day 2. A large amount of porn, booze and fireworks had already been confiscated from these guys (secretly I think our teachers were pretty damn grateful to get all that stuff for free) and so they were already blacklisted.

Anyway, it also turns out that as well as having a tendency to purchase contraband items, they also weren't too good at looking after their accommodation. After a long hard day of running around the beaches and shouting various Nazi slogans from the D-Day gun emplacements, we were all back at the hotel by about 10pm. There were 4 of us in our room, and as we walked down the corridor, we couldn't help but notice that hall carpet was a bit squelchier than you'd expect. In fact, it was absolutely soaking. Luckily though, our room was fine, so we thought no more about it, got into our bunks and popped on the telly. If there's one thing you can guarantee about French telly, it's that there'll be some sort of shagging, regardless of channel, time of day or context. And tonight was no exception.

Anyway, we're all sat there watching this nurse bop merrily up and down on a patient's nob, with the sound turned right down so we don't get caught. It's then we suddenly hear rather a lot of shouting and crying next door. Yes, it turns out that next door had somehow managed to flood their room and were now being yelled at by our French teacher, a man not known for his calm temperature. At all. This man can shout.

We listen in for a good few minutes as everything gets a bit more frantic, and then the conversation hits this beautiful crescendo:

Mr. G: Right! Outside! Now! Line up against that wall!

Visions of a firing squad popped into my mind, temporarily displacing nursey from my thoughts.

Mr. G: Who did this? WHO did this?

There's a murmered, nervous silence.

Miscreat 1: (very quietly)We're really sorry...
MR. G: Sorry? You're sorry? You're not sorry! I CAN TELL YOU'RE NOT SORRY BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT CRYING!

I'd beg to differ. I could definitely hear sobbing.

Mr. G: I'm going to count to 3 and you'd better tell me who's responsible before I finish counting. ONE!
Miscreant 1: I didn't do it!
Mr. G: TWO!
Miscreant 2: It wasn't me!

I shit you not. There was a scream as if someone was being burnt alive or being forced to watch Vanessa Feltz host a chat show, followed by the sounds of teenage boys running for the fire exit.

We heard the whole floor erupt into laughter, which probably didn't help the poor sods much next door but was pretty damn funny for the rest of us. I have never, ever heard anyone shit themselves quite so magnificently.

We were all asked to leave the hotel the next morning, and that was the last time our school ever left the confines of sunny Gloucestershire.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 14:18, Reply)
it was sooo funny
we were all on the coach and somebody did a shit* and somebody did a piss* and somebody did a wank* and somebody got drunk* and somebody stole something* and somebody annoyed somebody* and somebody got arrested* and somebody did a moonie*

*not really
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 13:52, Reply)
Sort of a school trip
Because the school was a long journey from where I lived and they provided a school bus for all the girls who lived further away….

So, all girls convent school, very sheltered and well behaved lot we were…most of the time….

I used to sit next to a girl called Tess until she accused me of calling her a bastard because her parents hadn’t been married when she was born….actually I was calling her an evil bitch because she used to pinch me….That almost got me expelled….

Then I started sitting next to Tara particularly as she used to tell me all about her imaginary boyfriends that she met at the local ice cream parlour (we all lived near the coast and used to try to misbehave with the visitors…) even then I knew it was all in her head because she was only 4’7” and very, very round, oh, and only 12 at the time….

But one day I had the misfortune to end up sitting next to Clare and Mary – because of a shortage of seats we had to squeeze up…I’m sitting next to the window….Now there had been plenty of rumours about these two and how ‘close’ they were…Come on, this was an all girls school…there were always rumours….particularly about the PE teacher, but that’s no surprise…and a whole other QoTW…..

Anyway, Clare and Mary start to get giggly, as 12 and 13 year old girls do….and they decide to begin to tickle me….I’m very ticklish….But being molested by a pair of frisky schoolgirls may be many men’s fantasy….it wasn’t and isn’t mine….unless I’m extremely drunk
So I’m screaming and trying to get these two to remove their hands which are EVERYWHERE…they are no longer just tickling....this was very ...intimate...and then some of the other girls start to notice…some of the older girls from the Sixth form…..and no one intervenes and stops them….they all stand around laughing whilst I’m being…attacked…..

When we finally make it to my stop they let me go and we were all breathing very hard and rather flushed...I feel embarrassed about it even today....

And I still don’t much like being tickled….unless it’s by a man with strong hands….
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 13:04, Reply)
I studied French for 5 years…
at the Alderman Peel High School in Wells, Norfolk. As a learning aid before we took out GCSE’s the French teacher arranged a trip to Boulogne. It started out as a well organised trip but by the time we left we had to travel all the way by public transport.

When we arrived we immediately noticed the smell, not nice! Then it became apparent that not only did everyone speak English, all the shops and market stalls displayed their prices in, and accepted pounds. Fantastic! And to top it off, we were legally (well almost) allowed to drink beer. Therefore, we managed to give the teacher the slip and spend three days in the local bowling alley getting pissed and speaking ‘French’.

One day in the market we found a stall selling Chinese firecrackers. We all bought as many as we could and hid them in our luggage.

On the ferry coming back to the UK the teacher called us all together and announced that he knew about the firecrackers and we must get rid of them before returning to the UK. So we did, we piled them all on the deck at the back of the ferry and set them alight. After about 2 minutes the bangs stopped and the smoke cleared to reveal a burning hole in the deck.

We later discovered that the school was billed £6000 in damages.


(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 12:43, Reply)
Beauvais Skate Doom
I went on a couple of French exchanges to Beauvais, in France. I guess this time I would have been around 14.

There was a girl I fancied at the time going, and her French exchange partner fancied me, so we hung around together a bit. One day we went ice skating. The 2 girls both knew how to skate, but I had never been before.

After a while of floundering around at the side of the rink, they both came over, and grabbed a hand each. Then they proceeded to pull me around the rink at high speed, which they both thought was hilarious. However, one of them let go, causing me to spin and immediately lose my balance.

As I fell, I reflexively flailed my arms and grabbed out, taking Charlotte (the English one) down with me.

She banged the back of her head hard against the ice. I laughed and tried to pull her up, but she seemed dazed and disoriented, so we went back to the benches at the side to wait for her to recover properly.

After a while it became obvious that rather than getting better, she was getting vaguer and vaguer. We started to worry, and the French girl called her mother, who was a doctor. After a while she arrived, and took one quick look at Charlotte, and then immediately erupted into a whirlwind of activity.

She had to be rushed to hospital immediately, she said. As the only person who could speak both French and English, I went along as translator. The front seat of the car was flattened back as flat as it would go, and I sat in the back while the doctor screeched through Beauvais at rally-driver pace.

She kept shouting to me (in French obviously) "Keep her talking! Don't let her go to sleep!" and so, with increasing anxiety, I tried to keep her talking "what's your name, where are you" sort of stuff. She got quieter and quieter, muttering "it's because of the weather, it's because of the weather" over and over again.

After a while, she went quiet for a bit, then opened her eyes and took off her ring, which had a flower on it, and gave it to me, saying "look after the flower" - then her eyes closed and she went limp.

No matter how frantically I babbled at her, I could not get her to regain consciousness. She was well and truly out. I was beginning to realise that I had killed her at this point.

We got to the hospital, and a stretcher was rushed out, and we wheeled her in. We had to spend a few minutes waiting for the X-Ray room before anything could be done.

There was incidental muzak piped through a tannoy. Suddenly Charlotte's eyes flicked open. She stared straight into my eyes and asked

"Is that the angels singing?"

then she slumped back again. "Oh holy fucking shit" I thought- "even she thinks she's dead."

Then they wheeled her into the X-ray room, and I spent the next 15 minutes pacing arouind the waiting room, trying to process the fact that I had just accidentally killed my friend.

Eventually the doctor came back in. She looked very concerned, but still a bit relieved. I asked her whether Charlotte was alive. "Yes, she'll live" she told me. "But she has broken her neck."

I went to see her after a day or 2. She had a cast from her chin to her waist. She didn't look well or happy, but I was just incredibly relieved she was alive. Eventually they sent her back to England, and then she was out of the cast and into a brace, and then eventually she was perfectly OK, but of course I could never really have a proper conversation with her again. She didn't blame me - to be honest I think I was the only one who really blamed myself, but still, blame myself I did.

Anyway, at least she survived.

When I got back to England my mum had been ice skating, and had torn ligaments in her leg, crippling her for ages.

So there you go - the moral of the story is never go ice-skating, for it is satan's passtime.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 12:21, Reply)
skanky french exchange
serious repression of these memories. i got stuck with annaig. a friendless, unfriendly geek. in 2 weeks of being there, i'd been taken out once (to a motor show?!) whilst everyone else got to do all sorts of cool things. i watched "back to the future 2" (in english) about 137 times in a fortnight.

they wouldn't believe i didn't like meat. every night we'd have a reasonably delicious soup, which would be ruined for me by the hissing in the frying pan of a charred blue rectangle of meat that was, possibly, a piece of le chien.

and the dad was an utter pervert who groped my ass in the hall.

but it was almost as bad when she came to stay with me for this reason: she told me in very graphic french when she arrived that she couldn't go swimming or anything because she had her - and it lasted for ELEVEN DAYS. that would be reason to feel a bit sorry for the skanky cow, if it wasn't for the fact that she didn't shower or bath once. in two whole weeks.

my mother kept showing her how the power shower in her bathroom worked as a hint, but she didn't take it. by the end of the fortnight her ears stuck out through her greasy hair and she smelled like a lump of bloody meat rotting in a sewer. ugh!

words cannot express the hell of the month annaig and i spent together. seriously, it's no wonder i was then able to put up with a boyfriend who sh1t the bed!!!!!!!!!
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 11:27, Reply)
On this one trip
There was a girl called Emily. I forget her surname now, but I do remember we used to call her Brucie for some reason or other.

Anyway, on one trip to Cornwall she turned up back at the hostel covered in cow manure, but yet smelling of baby oil. Obviously being rather cruel teenagers at the time, we took the piss.

We didn't take it very far, because she chose that point to urinate. I would have laughed, but she did it on my face.

(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 10:22, Reply)
I did exactly that at school once. Except that I was only five so I guess that's slightly more acceptable.

I had to suffer the indignity of the dinner lady actually sniffing it, and saying, "That's not apple juice..."
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 10:14, Reply)
Vipros just reminded me...
I don't like this girl, and I don't think anyone here knows her...

When we were 10 years old, Jessica Lehmann peed herself in English. And then told the teacher it was apple juice.

That is all.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 9:38, Reply)
This is off-topic....
...but it just occurred to me and I don't like the guy so hopefully someone here knows him...

In a maths lesson, probably about the age of 14, Duncan Bryant pissed himself. Think I'm the only person who ever knew.

Never had anything particularly exciting happen on a school trip, but the uni field trips were a good laugh. Got totally stoned on one, and mistook a bin, sign post and sign for an Emu.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 9:27, Reply)
Sixth Form Rugby Team
My sixth form college had a somewhat formidable rugby team who'd reputation for partying exceeded their considerable success on the field.

Highlights? Well post match the team coach was being driven through the town centre past the local grotty nightclub when fifteen pissed up rugby players bared arses in salute.

And that was the ladies team...
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 8:58, Reply)
I've been watching this QOTW like a hawk to make sure no one posts MY school trip story. So far, so good...
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 7:22, Reply)
mexican spinning hats.

the most grotesque ride in the history of drayton manor. fucking hell.

about 15/16 years old, with my mates, completly on a rampage, sitting in these mexican hat things, the restraints come down, i realise im going to break my comma key, and i realise that ive just started the same section of sentence again, i realise you can bite fucking massive chunks out of the headrests and spit them at your mates.

then realise the headmaster is in your "hat" and gets one to the face.

nearly a tabloid headline there

(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 23:28, Reply)
First trip to London..
..I was 8. Some wanker stole my purse, which had £1.50 in it (which included the first fat, shiny pound coin I'd ever seen).

Spent most of the time booing snottily and inconsolably outside the British Museum, to the despair of my teacher and the boredom of my classmates, while the class psychotic wandered around methodically strangling pigeons.

Christ alone knows why I opted to move there 17 years later...
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 22:34, Reply)
We (A load of 11-15 year old east London kids) got up to no trouble at all. Our head of year did get the sack though. As we were leaving the coach to go into said world of adventure he gave us the immortal words 'Right kids, if theres any problems come and find a teacher, we'll be on a ride called the kings head from 12pm'

And of course there he was, drunk as a skunk with 13 year old girls on his knee. He grew up to write the cockney rhyming slang version of the bible.

The legend that was Mr Coles
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 22:04, Reply)
Ah, I've been waiting for this QOTW
This was in December of Year 10, although there was years 11 and 12 on the trip as well. Weekend trip to Cologne to visit the Christmas markets.

On the ferry from Dover to Calais, there were gale force winds. The ferry was rocking from side to side, people were getting ill and everything.

Getting into Cologne the coach driver appeared to be lost. There was much misbehaviour once we had arrived- I was not involved, but I couldn't fail to hear about it. Noises like girls' screams heard late at night even though they were meant to be two floors above. Cigarettes. Booze. Rumours of illegal stuff. One of the lads in the room next door had bought a German porn mag (nothing that hardcore though IIRC).

Best bit though (I've already mentioned this in a past QOTW) was when Sean (one of the boys in my dorm) was next door drinking vodka. This had been heavily spiked with laxative as a prank. Diarrhoea, flatulence and severe piss-taking ensued, and the piss-taking lasted for ages even after we got back to school.

People were in front of the headmaster when we got back. One year 12 student was "asked to leave", there may well have been others.

The trip was never repeated. They wouldn't dare.

GCSE German coursework for my class was to write an account of a trip to Germany (real or imaginary). I chose to write about this trip. Being top of the class, my work got sent to the moderators. Wonder what they thought.

Geography field trip that year was surprisingly well-behaved, apart from me smuggling along a couple of bottles of piss-weak lager pinched from home.

Apologies for length. I didn't get any chance to use it, either.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 21:57, Reply)
The Bradford trip today
(ok, it might be college now but it counts)
had so much promise about it. It got off to a good start when, in response to someone saying 'Britney Spears', one of the lads suddenly shouted at the top of his voice 'HAVE YOU SEEN HER SEX VIDEO? IT'S MINT!'

The museum was alright as well, I wasted most of my day watching Monty Python and the Fast Show.

It was on the way home that it all went awry. Setting off at 3.30 to avoid the traffic sounds all well and good, but when we hit the A1 there were strings of accidents that meant we weren't moving for ages. The back of the bus slowly descended into carnage, signs saying 'HONK IF UR HORNY' went up, one girl had a panic attack, 'CAN WE STOP FOR A TAB?' became the most repeated (and thus most hated) phrase...
And then just as we're passing another accident scene, some twat in a smallish white van decides to repeatedly ram into our bus. Deliberately. In perfect view of the police. We were already two hours behind and then we had to pull over because there was 'some damage' and 'the driver doesn't know if he can drive the bus'.
We got going again after 20 minutes or so.
We were meant to arrive back into college around half five. We pulled up outside Newcastle central station around half seven.

Also, might I remind you all, as if you need reminding, that when in Bradford, 'what's that coming over the hill, is it a bomber, is it a bomber?' isn't even remotely funny. You are racist, loud, gobshite Automatic fans and I will kill you all. Thank you.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 21:35, Reply)
gunken just reminded me...
We had balcony fun on a skiing trip in Austria. We threw soggy, rolled up bog paper at cars and windows and in gardens and stuff.

I remember there being toothpaste involved, but unfortunately I do not remember how it was used...

EDIT: There was chocolate too.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 21:33, Reply)
School Trip
We went to Moscow on the sleeper train. Some of the girls got this wet-behind-the-ears called lad called Rupert to walk up and down the corridor with in his pants with a hard-on. I remember my sister's fried Joanne who missed the spectacle, enquiring 'Was there a hard-on smell'. Ah the golden days of youth.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 20:46, Reply)
I went on a school trip
in which our hotel rooms all had outdoor balconies. One lad sat on the balcony rail and took a shit off it

the end
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 20:34, Reply)
Silly songs
When I was 10 we went on the obligatory cross-channel trip to Calais. I can't remember Calais at all but I do remember the bollocking that ensued from the ferry.

You see, some rude 'older boys' had recently taught me a simple little ditty about....the IRA. All I can remember is the last line - "With a gun in your hand and a bomb in your car it's up the IRA".
So of course I taught it to my schoolmates who, like me, were charmed by its catchy tune and simple yet elegant phraseology. And we sang it a lot.

Less charmed was a group of men nearby, one of whom had a relative who (we were later told) had been killed by the IRA.
One of them told our teacher and I got the mother of all bollockings a few days later when I got home. It was one of the few times I've seen my mum crying tears of shame.
I didn't know at the time what the IRA was, or why such a song wasn't a good idea. Looking back I think the song might have been somewhat ironic but clearly the audience wasn't sophisticated enough to grasp such nuances, or ready for my own brand of avant garde near-knuckle political satire.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 19:39, Reply)
Took a School Trip to...
The Liverpool School for The Blind as part of research for A Level Product design. I'll keep it short and sweet..

- Going round Sainsbury's roundabout in Chester an illegal (and dizzying) 7 times in the school minibus
- Wheel-spinning and then burning off a disgruntled chav in said mini bus at lights
- Throwing a large McD's strawberry milkshake over a pensioner from said mini-bus
- Accidentaly smacking a blind child in the face with a prototype we brought along, knocking out several of her teeth and giving her a bloody nose
- One of our number bitten to the point of drawing blood by a wandering blind kid, photographic evidence available upon request.

EDIT: Being an A Level Class, we were all 18.

Length, about a 5 hour round trip.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 19:30, Reply)
On the bus to Alton Towers
Derek Gillies wet himself.

We were 15 or 16 at the time.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 17:55, Reply)
French Trip
In order to give us a taste of culture the school I went to ran an annual French trip for sixth formers. Obviously this always became a debauched and drunken outing. The year this was stopped and myself and friend were subsequently banned from any further school trip is what I thought I'd write in about.

Setting off at 5am on a coach bizarrely none of the teachers minded that a number of people started drinking. By 9am having reached Dover, everyone was drinking. Upon getting to Calais, we went to the Hyper Market to stock up... with by now some fairly pissed 16-18 year olds. I genuinely can't remember what time we arrived at Le Torquet (I'm fairly sure that's what is was called)... but by that point, we'd all turned into a drunken ramble ready to give the Brits another glowing report abroad.

Some of the more sober girls actually managed to go and do a bit of shopping. Whilst the rest of us descended as a roaring mass on a bar crawl. Amazingly though even with football chants ripping through their town about shagging their women and drinking their beer, all was pretty good natured.

One of the more handsome lads had gone off with a local girl and in haste of looking for somewhere "quiet" had managed to fall over with beer glass in hand and practically severe his thumb meaning one of the teachers had to take him off to hospital.

Mean while the remaining teachers seemed fairly blasé about our antics. That was until it was time to leave. Someone had thought it a good idea to steel the cue ball off the pool table in the last bar. This ended up with a number of disgruntled locals surrounding the coach yelling and not letting us leave. Eventually the culprit sheepishly handed it over... but by now we were running late, so no stop off on the way back!

Well no scheduled stops. One of the girls started throwing her guts up half way back; this started others off too including myself.
Eventually the coach driver had to stop because half the bus were blowing chunks.

We were now on the brink of missing the ferry though. But it wasn't until we got to French customs that me and my friend landed ourselves in it.

Yes those friendly Gaelic officials were checking all coaches, so we thought that we had better confess that neither of us had passports on us. See it wasn't that we had lost them, no it was simply a case that we didn’t bring them at all. Both being boarders we'd left them with the House Master for safe keeping, however having not collected them the previous evening we quickly saw that waking up the House Master at 4:30am would likely get us told that we weren't going anywhere... so we'd chanced it.

Now, I was fairly lucky. I sat by the window, pretending to sleep and was ignored. But Sach being the one of only two people from an ethnic minority was of course singled out. After patting himself down helplessly, he was marched off of the coach. 2 hours later we were all allowed to go on to the next ferry. With one of the teachers screeching that I should be left with Sach and let our parents sort it out - which was nice. Eventually they had to phone the British Embassy to sort it out see Sach's mum was born in India, his Dad in Uganda and best of all he himself was born in Germany (his Dad being in the RAF)... but obviously he's got a British passport.

So needless to say that was the last French trip.

Jesus I do waffle on.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 17:28, Reply)
I can't remember exactly what the scenario was
I think it was a History trip or something. But basically it came to light that the Head of History (also Deputy Head) was banging the school nurse (who was a total slag, used to try and pull all the 6th form boys at formal dinners and stuff. You'd think they'd have fired her but nooo...). Anyway, it also turned out that the Headmaster was fucking his PA - while his WIFE worked in the reception next door to his office!! The PA was in cahoots with both deputy head AND school nurse in a little "I won't tell if you won't" triangle.....oh, we did laugh.

*EDIT* All this went on in a private Catholic school. Can't help but wonder if after all his Bible-bashing Mr Headmaster used a johnny.
(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 17:24, Reply)
Alton Towers...
About TEN years ago now... Our year went to Alton Towers after our GCSEs. I had some new Nike Air trainers that got ruined on the Buzz Saw... BUT I got off with Christine Lowe, and she was fit so, you know, all's well that ends well.

(, Wed 13 Dec 2006, 17:21, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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