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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)
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This question is now closed.

They never let me go on the French trip...
That's about the length of it :(
(, Fri 15 Dec 2006, 9:32, Reply)
Not my school but...
...they stopped us ever going on an overseas history trip.
While begging out history teacher to take us to france/germany/anywhere but york we discovered that he wasnt going to take us because on the last trip he went on the boys reenacted the battle of the somme behind the hotel using deodorant and lighters. Managed to get themselves thrown in prison over night.
bstds stopped us ever getting out but how i wish i had been there.
(, Fri 15 Dec 2006, 1:32, Reply)
School trip to the Rhine Valley..
.. I convinced everybody that the apple juice in the hotel was cheap cider.. a surprising amount of people failed to walk in a straight line.
(, Fri 15 Dec 2006, 0:17, Reply)
God I'm stupid sometimes....
My old Secondary school, which for the purposes of this story we shall refer to as Vs, used to run 'The Lake District trip' for all new Year 7s. You'd never get away with it now... health and safety bollocks probably. Anyway...

The trip started with us getting dropped off at a point that felt like half a billion miles from the Youth Hostel, and walking the rest of the way with teacher + a few sixth formers in tow to guide us. After god knows how many hours walking we came to a rather large bog... as we stand there, weighing up the possibility of jumping/walking round/calling moutain rescue one of the sixth form guys runs past us and jumps over it. Turns to the rest of us and says 'great, no problem!'. So, forgetting that he, at about 6' tall would find the leap far easier than me, now 5'8'" short, I went for it - pack on the back and all.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, I didn't make the jump and landed thighskneesarmsfacehands on the far edge.. cue much hysterical laughter from my class 'mates' at my undoubtedly hilarious misfortune. Unfortunately, I had managed to administer two dead legs, two deads arms and a slighty fuzzy brain in the process, so just floated in what turned out to be a seriously deep, desperately soggy mud hole. My feet didn't touch the bottom. I was dragged out, in a rather unceremonious fashion, dusted down and in typical 'old boys school' style told to suck it up and keep walking - limping and with slightly blurred vision. The bog was actually quite warm, so it wasn't until about four hours later, three and a quarter hours after we were supposed to have arrived, when we were totally lost (cheers 'Sir', where's the helicopter?) in the middle of the Lake District that I realised that I was still soaked to the skin and actually getting quite near to death. Still we got there at about midnight (seriously) having been dropped off at about 3pm to begin our week of fun. Rubbish.

Still, the 'holiday' was brightened somewhat by lining my room mate's bed with sanitary bags and coke botles after he'd had to take a piss in a bottle on the coach with our fit geography teacher looking on, Crilly getting knocked off a boat by the beam at least three times (moron) and, on a slightly geeky note, seeing fighter jets fly underneath us on a walk along the top of a valley. Very noisy. Very fast. Very not far enough away from me.

Oh yeah, and the field trip took place in November.

Sorry about the length... had totally forgotten about that til today and got carried away.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 23:28, Reply)
Went to france on an exchange trip a while back. First day we got to the school i was asked if i would give several guys blow jobs and the next day i was offered 10 euros to go into a dark music practice room. I declined- but very politely of course, in french too which i think impressed them.

Where the hell do the french get the idea all english girls are sluts??


Nevermind. I'll get my lip gloss and go back to peter and jordan's party
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 22:10, Reply)
soaked in sheep spurt
I think it was about in year 10 we went on this, GSE geography was a nightmare, and the only thing worthwile about it was that we got to go on a day trip to some dozy farmers feild to observe sheep paterns... or something, it was too mind-nubming to remember though.

It started off well, couple of my mates had their dirty mags out ready for the coach trip so we engaged in a spot of 'reading the articles'.

When we arrived we were to take up a partener and set off to do whatever it was we were supposed to be doing, which ended up not being anything the teachers could say. It seemed the logical idea that we should annoy some of the sheep wandering around there, and to our suprise, we eventually found a couple of shagging sheeps; after we'd finished laughing, we said to our mate, "how long is it?", so we get him to crouch down and explain it, unfortunately, we thought it would be funny to push the poor sod into teh banging sheep, cut to him falling face first into the sheep/ram whatever's schlong. The second he stands up we notice that there is a liquid running down his face, that sort of appeared to be sheep come, lo and behold... it was.

He's never forgiven us and we've never stopped laughing..

apologies for length, I was born with it.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 20:26, Reply)
left to die in the woods
The nurses at my summer camp were worried that my diabetes would cause me to spontaneously die on the annual camping & hiking trip, so they assigned me to the easy group. The group was full of kids with chronic health conditions and staffed by Stu The Nature Guy, the counselor most likely to help us survive.

We begin our hike, and my out-of-shape ass falls into step with a kid called Daniel. Daniel has a heart condition, and he can't let his heart beat too fast for fear of rupture, or something. Sounds implausible, but I believe him - he's a real sweetheart, with no reason to lie. As our hiking path grows steeper and steeper, Daniel and I fall further behind, accompanied only by Stu the Nature Guy, who is clearly pissed off to be bringing up the rear.

Stu tells us to go faster Daniel says he can't. Stu doesn't believe Daniel. I almost punch Stu. Stu grunts and takes off up the path, leaving us to die.

We continue ahead, but meet the rest of our group on the way back down. They're pretty destroyed as well. Back at the campsite, we learn that we followed the hardest trail in the park - so much for protecting us sickly children. That beats another group, who stumbled back to camp after dark, having lost the trail and bushwhacked back to the highway.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 19:42, Reply)
Not the gearstick
Before GCSE's, a trip to France. We're being driven right through the centre of Paris in a coach, which being higher off the road than most other vehicles allowed us a 'different' view than most other road users.

Next thing, a girl screams and points at a car in the next lane over. Everyone turns to see some (literally) sweaty Frenchman leering up at my 13/14 year old classmate and giving his plonker a right old thrashing. Yes, he was driving through the centre of Paris, flys undone, with his oversized love-truncheon poking up like a evil red throbbing mushroom.

I seem to remember it took her a few days to get over that one.

Yawn... He wasn't sorry for it
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 18:50, Reply)
P6 trip...
Upon attending secondary school I found out that the week long residential school trip in Primary school was not all it seemed;

Everyone else's schools went to Paris, or Spain, or Germany...

... we went to Scarborough. For a week. It rained even moreso than it does in my native Glasgow. My highlight was early on the fourth morning climbing down from the top bunk, only for the ladder to collapse. I dangled upside down tangled in the ladder, the bed frame, my matress and the feet of the lad on the bottom bunk. It was made all better by the headmistress coming in to find out all the commotion, throwing the door open, only for it to hit me full force in the face. I still bear the scars on my shins and my nose still isn't the right shape.

Never went on another residential trip...
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 18:43, Reply)
One last one
I went to France with a couple of guys who i hate now. We had to stay in some weird french persons house where the latest piece of technology was a windows 95 computer.

Anyways, all was going shite untill my "friend" asked if we wanted to get in the bath with him.

He denies it now, which makes me hate the huge headed cunt even more. This is the same person whos parents called his brother "Rafe". Poor sod.

Edit: AND the scanky french tossers fed us CHOCOLATE AND CHEESE FUCKING SANDWICHES
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 18:23, Reply)
I still remember this clearly...
Coming back from a week-long school trip to Wales. Teachers driving us back in two minibuses, travelling in convoy down the motorway, with the lead minibus towing our luggage trailer.

Sitting in the second bus and staring out of the window, I suddenly had the very surreal sight of a lone wheel bouncing past us down the motorway.

"Ha ha!" I thought "Some poor sod's lost a wheel". I turned to nudge the boy next to me so that he might share in my mirth, and that's when I noticed the huge fountain of sparks spraying the windscreen, being kicked up by the axle of the luggage trailer scraping along the motorway at 70mph.

Apparently the five-minute-long stream of swearwords that the teacher driving the leading bus shouted was quite something to hear. Especially when you're twelve.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 18:17, Reply)
Who loves ya baby!
1972. Goegraphy field trip from Norbury Manor School, South London to Seaford in order to admire the Sussex Downs.

We sent one kid home in an ambulance with a possible punctured lung after the cock of a teacher decided to get the group to climb down a near vertical chalk slope.

Once the ambulance left we sauntered down into Seaford and found several kiosk's on what passed for a sea-front. It was wet, windy and winter so they were all locked up. For a while. Once we got the padlocks off we stripped them bare.

Every (dishonest!) kid was carrying as much as he could hold. The prize catch was a plastic Kojak hat with 'Who Loves Ya Baby!' printed on teh front. If you had one of those you had arrived!

We anticipated making big profits until the coach arrived back at the school and we saw the police cars and officers waiting for us. Shit! They had no trouble finding kids to grass us up and so I earnt my second* ,school trip related, caution! As well as another ban from sports activities and school trips.

*see my earlier story regarding a French day-trip.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 17:27, Reply)
No pants in here thank you!
One time me and the uni lads I played Rugby went on a trip to Devon to play some amateur team down there.

Now being the youngest one I had to go or else face their wrath, so three years ago we went and started boozing in hotel around lunchtime as we got there.

Within a few hours we'd been kicked out and told to go drink elsewhere.

So we decided for some reason, as you do, go out wearing only our shoes, socks and underpants.

Cue us walking up road, 18 well built rugby lads, pissed up wearing nothing but shoes and grundies.

finally get to one pub - the name escapes me now (as does most of that weekend) and the landlord stops us from going any farther and says "whoa! you're not going another step in here dressed like that... put your pants on your heads!"

... which like the drunken fools, we did and carried on drinking til early hours.

Fuck knows where we kept our money to drink with but playing the following morning hungover as fuck, still, we won :-)
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 17:24, Reply)
Chessington, World of Piss
Must have been about eleven or twelve at the time, but I had yet to master the long coach journey and the perils that laid within. I spent the entire trip gulping down buckets of Coke only to discover that the coach had no toilet. I'm not going to sugar coat this story - I pissed myself. Yet, incredibly, no one noticed. Maybe I always stank of piss, who knows. There's no fear quite like being sat, soaked in piss, on a coach full of bastard school kids, all looking for someone to bully. I looked into the eye of the beholder, my friends, and lived to tell the tale.

Anyway, it's not a particularly entertaining story until you realise that I did the exact same thing a few months later on a coach trip to Wimbledon. This time, I masked the offending stain with a "spilt" bottle of Lilt: "Bollocks! Aw, look what I've done! Lilt... right on my crotch... tsk, what a ninny! LILT! EVERYWHERE!"

Scot. Free.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 17:17, Reply)
I went to France once. I saw a man having a shit in the street. It reminded me of the Jorvik Centre in York (where crude Viking culture is evoked with real manure smells).
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 16:51, Reply)
has anyone noticed
how many of these school trips revolve around france and how much people seem to have been left with a searing hatred for all things french??
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 16:47, Reply)
I am naughty
I did a poo and then no one from my whole country was ever allowed on a trip ever AGAINZZ!!
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 16:43, Reply)
Once hiking across Dartmoor on a DofE trip, everyone had to make a sizeable jump across a ditch, probably about 1 1/2 metres. Once 10 or 12 people have jumped across, the landing strip becomes a bit slippery, given this was spring time on a marshland.

Which knobber went last? Me. So I make the jump, find a total lack of grip, and slip feet first into the ditch. This particular ditch was brim full with what can only be described as 'shit'. It had the smell and consistency of fresh cow dump. Now at the tender age of 14 I was already about 5'11", and when I fell into this bugger I went all the way up to my chest, probably about nipple height, and I couldn't feel the bottom. Understandably a bit panicked at the prospect of dying in a shitty grave, I started grabbing at the grass on the bank to try and pull myself up. While my friends stood their absolutely pissing themselves.

Eventually, and I mean at least 2 minutes of me begging them to get me out because this vile stuff was seeping into my hiking boots, 2 of them grab my arms and try to hoik me out, but they're having some trouble. I can feel something on my foot, pressure on the top of it every time they pull. I don't think too much about this given the situation, and tell them to stop being such pansies and get me the hell out.

So they pull again, and eventually I'm free and on the bank. And I find out what the pressure on my foot was. A decomposing sheep carcass had gotten hooked around my foot, basically I think it's jaw got locked into my foot. It was at a wondeful stage of decomposition, where the wool was still discernable at places, but it didn't really resemble a sheep any more.

No-one much fancied walking next to me that day, and I spent the rest of the hike walking with decomposing sheep sloshing round in my boots.

Got my DofE Bronze though. :)

Length? It's my first time, length is the least of my worries!
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 16:34, Reply)
The Reason I Hate School...
At school I was a little shit, although I think this incident may explain a little bit of how I turned out this way...

I was in Year 5 at Junior School (So I'd be 10), and for some strange reason, we were taken on a field trip to Hull (I think it may have been something to do with slavery).

So, we're walking round the streets, with four staff members for company, and they're trying to impress us by telling us random facts about Hull. It was all going well, until when we were having our lunch (a top notch packed lunch ;-)), someone found it funny to slip some salt into a teachers tea. It went down like the proverbial mug of sick.

We all got a little bit of a shouting at, so we all kept plodding along regardless, until, with about 20 yards to go to the bus, I was too busy talking to one of my mates, and I failed to see the lamppost I was walking directly towards.

I hit it fully face on, breaking my nose, 6 teeth, my jaw, and lastly, my new glasses. I only relay this to you as a second hand tale, as I woke up in hospital the next morning, with no recollection of the previous day.

Apparently, it was the last time our school ever went to Hull. Can't say I blame them.
(, Thu 14 Dec 2006, 15:59, Reply)

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