The Isle of White
Picture the scene. A school trip of 10-11 year olds to the Isle of White. There were 3 people in my room, including myself. The two other boys were friends I known since I was less than knee high.

Anyway.

Our teacher, young, attractive, nice plump arse, long flowing hair....male (I joke) walks in to tell us the plan for the evening...just as I'd finished in the shower. So there I stand in the doorway to the showeroom, towel round my waist listening to the plan for the evening.

I'd kind of tucked my towel in on itself in the way you do so you don't need to hold it up and was standing there leaning on the door frame with my arms crossed thinking I looked "cool" (Hey, I was 11!)

Little did I realise that I'd failed to do the old tuckeroo properly and that my towel we infact being held up by the door frame on which I lent. As she was coming to a close with her little speech I went to move away from the door to go and get dressed.

As I did this my towel fell from my waist exposing me to the world...well...my two friends and my teacher. In a panic I grabbed at the falling towel eventually managing to cover myself up again. She left with a little giggle and as the door shut my two friends proceeded to rip the piss out of me as any self respecting 11 year old would have.

Never did manage to live that one down.

Length? I was 11 and have a small one now...I probably looked like a girl back then.
( Captain V, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 20:07, Reply)

Vichy
We went on a school trip to some sports/activity centre in the central-southern bit of France.

One of our number fell out of a top bunk bed in the middle of the night. He woke up the next morning complaining of a headache. In actual fact he had a fractured skull and had to go to hospital before being medevac'd back to England.

Oh, and there's a French fizzy orange drink called Psschitt. How we laughed.
(absurdistan, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:43, Reply)

French exchange.
When I was nought but 11, I went on a French exchange trip with my school. Now whilst the trip itself was excellent, they clearly hadn't put any thought into matching us up with people, it was literally luck of the draw. Hence why all my mates ended up with cool people, and ended up with this spotty little arse called Jean Baptiste. Imagine what Bill Gates must have looked like as a child and you're getting there. His hobbies included, long walks through the forest near to where he lived, watching the Three Musketeers, and that was it. All of my mates exchange partners had playstations, and Sega Saturns (This was 1995), and swimming pools, and motorbikes and such. What did mine have? A fucking master system and an erection over Porthos.

I alleviated my boredom with him by being as obnoxious as I possibly could. This entailed me throwing a rather large pine cone through the window of his school when we finally arrived there, after one of his many long walks through the forest (I bet he was trying to frogbum me...)

anyway the time to leave came, and so we did, after an otherwise awesome holiday.

But it doesn't end there, oh no.

A few months later, he comes to stay with me (in the way that tends to happen with Exchange trips...).

Now I hadn't thought this through properly at the time. Me going to France, all very well and good. No-one over there knew me, I could do what I liked. But him in England? Shit, he was probably going to have to meet all my mates at some point in time. Jesus, they were going to fucking tear him to pieces...

So anyway, the little tosslord turned up, and within 2 days, had killed my hamster, broke my SNES, fucked my bike up, and on top of which, my mother thought he was adorable, and gave me no end of shit for ignoring him the whole time. My Dad thought he was a gimp.

By this point in time I had had enough. Me and my best mate decided to take action. Seeing as he loved walks through the woods so much, we thought we'd take him on one, seeing as I live right on the edge of a fairly large wood. We walkd for about an hour, until we found the spot we were looking for: a wall which, on the side of the path we were on, stood about 4 feet high, but with a 15 foot or so drop on the other side. using elaborate hand signals and gestures we signalled to him that we were going to climb over the wall, and continue on the walk. He nodded in agreement. So we set about lowering him to the floor on the other side of the wall, which took a few minutes because he was essentially the real version of Kyle 2 from South Park (you know what I mean), and he paused every two seconds cause he thought he was going to graze his knee. But eventually we got him all the way down, and...


...just left him there. We fucked off back to my house and watched a few movies. It was approximately 5 hours later, when my mum returned from work (she's a teacher) and enquired "Where's Jean-Baptiste?", to which I replied "I dunno. we lost him in the woods somewhere."

This doesn't go down well with people who work in the teaching profession. What with them being sort of responsible for child welfare and all. And what with us living in one of the roughest areas in the whole of Greater Manchester.

So after a real earaching from my mother, we set out to find him. We thought the best place to look would be the place we left him, and wouldn't you know it, the snivelly little shite was still fucking stood there, looking up at us expectantly. We reached down, and helped him back up, and took him back to the house. And you know what? He never fucking complained once. That's what kind of wet little granny fart he was. Not even a "wanker".

If I'd have done that to me when I was that age, I'd have kicked the living shit out of me the second I returned back to help myself up the wall, and I'd expect any one of you to do the same...
( PMGT -Bacon., Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:41, Reply)

Chavvington World of Adventures
Same school as previous story:

Having been let out for the once-yearly end of term visit to Chavvington World of Adventures. The group split into distinct sections:
• Staff headed for the nearest bar.
• Most of the kids headed for the biggest, busiest rides, where they caused havoc by jumping queues, getting into fights with random members of the public (including one 15 year old boy who managed to knock out a man in his 40s infront of his own kids), pressing emergency stop button, p*ssing in water-based rides, stealling from gift shops and comically attempting to ruin the in-ride photos by showing arses, fingers and anything else they could use to cause offense.

It was clear it was time to leave when after only 3 hours in the park, security staff had coralled 35 out of 50 boys into a holding area and requested that the staff remove the school party and never set foot in any attraction operated by their parent company.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:40, Reply)

Easter fun
At the age of 12 I was invited to visit France over Easter as part of an exchange trip with our partnered school just outside of Paris. At this point in my education I was learning French, and this was seen by my parents as an ideal opportunity for me to build on my growing interest and knowledge of the language, so the parental units stumped up the cash and off I went.

We travelled by coach, ferry etc. and after many hours of horrific cramped, sweaty nauseating travel broken only by inane gingangooliesque road songs we arrived thoroughly bored with the whole ordeal. I was met by my sponsor family and all I wanted was a good wash and a lot of sleep.

I was taken to some broken down hovel of a housing complex in the suburbs of Paris, led into the surprisingly tasteful interior and advised to get my stuff out of my suitcase. I opened my case, thinking "I can't wait to get freshened-up, have a shower and get some sleep", but as I pulled out my pyjamas I saw that they were covered in some form of brown goo. Confused I continued to pull things from my case, finding more and more of the brown sticky substance spread through the entire contents, seemingly randomly spaced in my underwear, nightwear, trousers, shirts, etc.

I have no idea what the French kid was thinking as he watched me pull the contents of my case out, covered in sticky brown filth but his face was amazing. I was becoming increasingly distressed until I realised what had happened.

My mother (bless her) had put a variety of chocolate Easter eggs in my luggage so that I would have a nice surprise waiting for me when I arrived in France....muppet.
( Gren ..........Beyond Lurking since 2002, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:34, Reply)

Paris
when i was in year 7 we went to paris with school for 5 days.
when we arrived in paris our coach parked up and we all started laughing

the coach driver had only gone and parked infront of a sex shop about
the size of debenhams in the trafford centre.

got to say i felt sorry for the people walking out of this shop
because they had a bunch of 12 year olds pointing at them and
shouting "awwwwwww!"

.
(i eat crayons, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:29, Reply)

bus parties and austrian bra poetry
one field trip, i think we were staying in wales, the pervy bus drivers took something of a shine to my mate, and so bought us both booze and weed and we all got nicely
hammerred on the bus once the pub eventually kicked us out, something slightly odd about walking down a stationary bus to use the loo when you're so trollied the bus seems like its actually moving. also *redecorated* the toilet the following morning when the bus driver decided, noticing my hangover, to helpfully go round all those lovely welsh corners at 60 miles an hour..... well, vomiting is its own revenge

another trip, this time a geography one to the austrian alps, a fun filled week of playing on glaciers and surviving on sausages, rather dubious ball shaped things which were apparantly dumplings (the chefs gave us funny looks when we put the pudding balls on the same plate as the first course balls, but i dont see how we were supposed to tell) and various other foodstuffs drenched in vinegar. A week of serious hazzards involving scree slopes and crevasses and slippery icepacks, in which the only injury was inevitably someone falling up the stairs trying to carry too many beers.....
anyway one night they put on some entertainment for us, which involved a man reciting austrian poetry whilst throwing bras around, followed by some even more dubious music
(skankgirl, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:28, Reply)

Inner-City Kids
I used to work in a certain unnamed school (in East London) where some years ago, pupils were asked to leave Aylesford Priory after a large mob had decended on the gift shop and robbed it blind.

It takes a certain breed of chav-spawn to steal from a charity, but shoplifting rosery beads and small pictures of Jesus?? God bless the little darlings...
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:26, Reply)

Went to Oakwood Park a good few years back
Went on the full size Pirate Ship with a few other schoolies. Sat on the very back, thinking I'm hard.

Half-way through the ride, I realise that the guard bar holding me in is a bit loose on me. Unfortunately, the ride had already started, and I was sliding about. When we hit the full vertical I had to wedge my legs in and balance upside down; I started slipping out at one point. I honestly thought I was going to die. After two minutes of white-knuckled terror, the ride finishes and I get out, vowing to never set foot on a ride in that place again.

About 3 years ago (a good 6 years after my Pirate Ship escapade) a girl went on a water-shoot ride and died due to being loose in her harness and literally falling out during the slide. Oakwood have had to perk their safety up just a bit after that.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:18, Reply)

Boppard
School trip to Germany's beautiful Rhineland. About 20 of us in total; must have been about 14 or 15 at the time.

We didn't know beforehand, but apparently the Rhineland was fairly notorious for shops that sell weaponry; knives, ninja stars, nun-chucks etc. Some of the rowdier elements of our party decided to stock up.

I will never forget the look of abject horror on the face of the owner of our guesthouse as he inspected the damage inflicted on his furniture, doors and walls by these English children swine.
(absurdistan, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:11, Reply)

Plenty of them
My favourite one being my outward bound trip, age 13, to some place near Buxton. Found my first porn stash. Wanked myself silly I did.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 7 Dec 2006, 19:01, Reply)

Not a great, long or funny story but..
At Primary school we went to an airfield on a school trip, but it was the most deserted place you could imagine. The highlight of the trip was climbing into a small plane on the side of the strip, which had a sticky floor, no wheels and no seats.

Couldn't wait to get home.
(MrBeansHoliday, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:40, Reply)

To China! With a load of 12 year old boys...
So yes, we all went to China on a cultural exchange and to learn the lingo (yes/no/how much is that?/how much is that in dollars?)
Suffice to say, over a fortnight everybody had terrible food poisoning, apart from me and me steel stomach, I only shit all the way up the walls once and no vomiting. How proud my parents must be.
There was the time where we were walking along the Great Wall and found a part that we couldn't get to as it had been blocked off by a huge concrete slab. This doesn't stop 6 12 year olds and one father from climbing around this minor obstruction, across a 2" ledge 30' from the slightly scary looking rocks below. And again when we found out that it wasn't really that interesting the other side.
There was the time that James' seatbelt failed on the rickety whirly fairground machine of death and I had to hold him in place.
There were the countless times where we couldn't translate the menu, but were very hungry indeed so didn't really care.
This culminated in our return 2 weeks later, at which point James' dad got down on his knees and almost proposed to the tarmac at Heathrow.
So there we are, going through the terminals, and my bag falls apart. I stop for a second to zip it back up, look up and everyone has vanished. Apparently when the teacher asked about me someone said "Oh, his dad came to pick him up, I remember it clearly." Bah!
Well, I make my way over to the police station, phone my dad who has to come over to pick me up. For 3 hours I was sitting in Customs/Police with a bag almost falling open containing dozens of bootleg DVDs, slightly dodgy Chinese currency, a friend's deer penis and god knows what I've blanked out from my mind.

Mind you, the food was actually quite good, even if we did later discover it was some sort of larvae.
(Toucan - http://www.titmonday.com, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:38, Reply)

FAVETE LINGUIS
This one has swum back into view…

Years ago, I took up GCSE Latin for a laugh (it was voluntary and after school - very out of character). After a few weeks it became pretty obvious that I wasn’t going to cut it (and I didn’t), but I found out about the field trip to the Bay of Naples right before the teacher asked if I would “do the decent thing” - I'm pretty sure she meant leave the course, but I’ve never been too sure...

Anyway, many hilarious voluntary lessons later (we didn’t half fuck about), the time for the trip came around. We were flying (oo-er) to Rome, where we stayed for one night and yours truly, having been to Rome before, was summarily appointed as guide and told to find somewhere to eat for the whole group. With all the culinary discretion and breadth of gastronomic experience of a 15 year old schoolboy, I found a pizza restaurant, but only after two hours’ needless trekking around the seedier bits of Rome down by the river. At no point had I stated any competence for the task I was given, but of course I copped the blame. Forget diplomatic intervention from the teachers.

We were picked up the next day by a very crazy Neapolitan coach driver, who proceeded to take us at suicidal speed along the Amalfi coast road, claiming his rear-wheel steering would keep us quite safe (we tried to ignore the fact he crossed himself at each of the blind, unfenced, 100 feet high, 90 degree bends - bless). He was a top driver though, albeit in the mould of Big William in the original Italian Job, and amused us all hugely with his very close attempts to cop off with our (until then) very prim head of year.

It being a Latin trip, we visited Pompeii and Herculaneum, and during our guide’s salutary reminder of the thousands who had perished at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, my mate Eddy promptly popped himself into a buried amphora (big jar) and invited photographs to be taken of only his head showing above ground, complete with mock-death expression. Stunning moment. He went on to bury himself to the neck in sand on the beach later - issues?

Who could forget James, who for every ailment or injury was able to produce a suitable remedy or treatment from his bottomless sack, quite apart from the medicines in his back-pack? Every cut, bruise, mild case of food poisoning and allergy was met with his soft tones uttering forth the hallowed phrase “Hang on, I might have something in my bag for that...” and he always did, complete with cozy, familiar branding like Boots or Lemsip. One girl even lost her contact lens fluid - you guessed it...

The highlight though had to be the time we fought off the local oiks. We were staying in the Hotel Sette Bello or Hotel of the Seven Beauties, named after the owner’s daughters despite his immortal assurance, in front of us and the teachers, that these girls were “all fucking ugly bitches”. This fine establishment was set inside a very steep hairpin bend, with the road at ground level to the front and at fifth floor level to the rear. One night, after messing about on the beach where the local lads had been eyeing up the pure English girls in our group, we got back to our rear-facing rooms to discover these boys parking their scooters on the road behind and literally abseiling down to try and get into the girls’ rooms. One shriek from the lasses was all it took – we were now in a position to prove our worth by keeping the little stallions at bay. Cue much projectile broom stick usage and keeping watch on the back balconies until at least 1am.

Length? Being courageously gallant does not get you laid, so who knows...
(Good old boy just like yer grandma!, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:31, Reply)

Got another
I didnt go on the trip but was at our school.

People on a trip to Barcelona are allowed to roam the streets at night so long as they are back by ten. Naturally most people hit the bars while the year nerdy kid went back to the hotel with the teachers. There were shots a plenty with one incident being a thoroughly homophobic lad kissing a dutch tourist. The Dutchman fled screaming "You Craaaaazy, You craaaaazy!"

Then one unfortunate soul started to throw up until they were rushed to hospital for a stomach pump.
Many a bollocking on the trips return.
(vibrating tuna, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:30, Reply)

Krakow - 12pm
People playing knock and run all night on peoples doors in the hotel. Someone knocks on the door. The years token Russian kid screams at the door in his thick accent "Who's being a wanker?". He wrenched the door open to find an angry head of sixth form in naught but his shorts.

Uuuuuuun luuuuucky
(vibrating tuna, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:26, Reply)

my greatest school trip?
Was an "educational" visit to some of the "Great Cities" of Eastern Europe.
For those who do not know, letting a group of 6th formers run riot around Budapest, Krakow & Prague is not a good idea. Eastern Europe has a morals score of nil.

I will never forget my friend walking up to a prostitute, poking her and asking "how much for that?" He quickly ran for his life under the fear that an angry pimp would jump out at him. The same chap also stood outside the "Sex Machine Museum" trying to gain access and being mesmerised by the twirling of feathers as they stroked a statue lady's clit.

We also discovered a man whos job it was to wear a bill board and walk around Prague. He didnt look happy with his job but we thought getting our photo taken with him would cheer him up.

myspace-364.vo.llnwd.net/01529/46/30/1529210364_l.jpg


Happy Days.
(vibrating tuna, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:20, Reply)

horrendous. simply horrendous.
as i posted in "inappropriate crushes", i was totally and utterly smitten with my historyteacher. bells ringing, birds tweeting, me blushing every time he came anywhere near me. and the entire school knew about it and ripped the piss mercilessly. usually in the middle of lessons.

so when i was about 14, we went on an overnight history trip to wales. we went to a medieval banquet, all dressed up (apart from one gimp whose parents wouldn't spring for the costume hire, so he was in school uniform. ouch) and then stayed in a castle youth hostel. the next day we were to study a castle all day.

i never have been able to help myself (unless it's to more wine or chocolate) and i brought this on my own head, i think. when the divine mr d asked for some volunteers to go on the chugging minibus instead of the coach with him, i elbowed my friends and we were in there! result!! how happy was i, casting covert and swooning looks at his beautiful face in the rearview mirror.

until approximately 15 mins after we set off, when the entire bus of about 20 students started singing "rswipe and mr d. sitting in a tree..." and so on. all the way to wales, or so it felt. he was bright red, grinning like a loon, and mounting every kerb with embarrassment. i was in a puddle under the seat, walkman on full whack to drown out the horror.

you'd think it couldn't get any more adolescently scarring, but that was just the appetiser in the restaurant of pain. after the banquet, the minibus kids got back to the hostel first due to mr d being a bit of a speed demon. eager to get to the antiquated bathroom before the rest got back, but desperate to get out of the stupid medieval dress, i wriggled into my nightie. doom.

by mistake i had packed a very inappropriate for my age slithery peach satin number that my grandad had bought me (please don't ask!), which clung unashamedly to my then very flat chest and skinny thighs. the latter still being fetchingly clad in black holdups and heels as it was a stone floor and i didn't want to go bare foot.

i ran down the stairs, cleaned teeth etc. then, leaving the bathroom and grubbing around in my bag for something, i quite literally sashayed smack. bang. into mr d. he was pacing around waiting for the coach to return and was understandably annoyed at having a seductively dressed scarlet faced teen bang into him non-existent cleavage first and fall over, legs akimbo. he looked at me, and his amazing blue eyes almost popped out of his head with horror.

"you... you... what are you DOING?? oh, get back to bed!" he moaned. i fled. it was only later that i realised he thought i'd probably been trying to seduce him...

trying? pah! if i'd ever really tried, he'd have - well, as he turned out to have been gay all along, probably my only chance would have been to turn round and bend over!!

apologies for length, but you've saved me a fortune on therapy xx
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:08, Reply)

Two for One
Story One:

I was 13 at the time, and I was entering the 'rebellious' stage. Except I wasn't so much 'rebellious' as I was 'fucking bored out of my skull and needed things to do'.

We had a school trip to Skegness. Nothing too fancy, just had to interview people, count pedestrians and do a survey about how tall buildings were. It was... boring, to say the least. In my tiny little mind, I started to think "ooh, what can I do to make this trip more exciting?"

So I was... 'slow/special', for the rest of the day.

Judge me all you like, but I found it funny (at the time) to interview random pedestrians about their day whilst speaking with a varied amount of hesitation. "So why.. why are you.. gngehh... what is your purpose to.. to.. today. Heh heh. Gneh!"

Needless to say, the amount of worried looks that translated into "I really want to go, but can't offend this poor chap" I got were priceless.

Story Two:

I was in primary school, so I would have been 9 or 10. During this time, I went to school in Cyprus. Brilliant! School trips ended up being just us going to the beach, or to the pool, or to the brilliant town centre, where we'd always ended up going for Pizza Hut or McDonalds. But not this one time. For some reasn, the schoolboard decided it'd be fun to take seventy 9-year old kids to... the sewage factory.

Lovely.

"And this is the tank where we filter out the all the pubic hair that come through the sewers!"

*a group of kids staring blankly, not knowing what pubic hair is*

I decided to liven things up, as I knew it would be a boring day, to take a clothespeg and put it on my nose. Oh, 9-year old Friz! You are utterly hilarious! Except the crabby teacher I had at the time didn't think this. So, as I was being an 'annoyance', I had to stand by her throughout the entire trip.

This is one of the reasons I hate sewers. That and the horrid stench.
( __, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:05, Reply)

...
School trip to Central London.1997. Happy days.
In those days, I am oft told (and moreoften wailed at) I was a little terror. Nay, a big one, methinks. I was both the scourge and the worst nightmare of the tender,trembling teachers, who spent the whole time cursing the day they let me on the trip. Rueing the hour I was allowed to board the coarch. Bewailing the (you get the picture)
Which may or may not, of course be something to with why it took a whole hour on the coach trip back before the the teachers "£ealised" that I was missing and decided to turn back.
And where was I? Locked in the Tower of London. I kid you not.



In the toilets.
(ifonly, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 18:03, Reply)

A Busman's holiday
I got lost in Poole after consuming about eleven tonnes of KFC. I think Colonel Saunders spices affected my brain.
I remember wandering past a Peter Stuyvesant Stunt show with my friends turning around and finding myself alone and lost. All I knew was that I was meant to be back at the bus by 8pm and that the bus was in a car park somewhere. So, being the well prepared scout that I was, I decided that surely the best course of action was to break down in a flood of tears.
I eventually stumbled across a Bus depot, red eyed with a snot covered face. After some explanation to the bus drivers as to my predicament, they decided to drive me round the car parks in Poole, in a spare double decker bus until they found the scout bus waiting to take me home.

I was only about an hour late,even though it felt like a lifetime and everyone was more than impressed at my arrival.
It goes down as a hearty testament to the bus drivers of Poole that not one of them tried to bum rape me, It's not like I wasn't asking for it, 12 years old, hopelessly lost, in a scout uniform and high on KFC.
( spingers, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:56, Reply)

i thought of more!
Great trips part two:

Poking a stick through a hole in the toilet door with a guy in there. Very strange noises were heard.
On a trip in remote scotland, one girl confesses she's feeling a bit ill. Promptly after being told not to eat anything flavoured, she proceeds to eat a chicken tikka sandwich, a carton of ribena and some white chocolate buttons. I swear her vomit came out in the colours it went in.
Same girl, managed to get to cadonas amusement park in aberdeen. Loses her shoe on a ride and can't find it again.
Leaning over the seat of the bus to speak to the person behind him, a mate of mine then managed to put his head through one of the overhead lights as we went over a bump and smashed it.
Deciding it would be a really great idea to have a party in our room until 5am in canada, only to be travelling for 8hrs by bus after this.
Someone threw a plaform-soled shoe across the bus just as we were arriving at the ferry terminal to get home, and hits some poor guy in the balls. It was the kind of pain when he looked like he was going to throw up from the pain, im sure you men know what im on about.
About 10 of us jumping on the glass floor in the CN tower in toronto, many others were too scared to stand on it after for fear of it breaking.
On the same bus journey as the back and front windows being broken (see previous post), boy named Robert was sick within the first 30minutes of the journey. All over the floor. Two bad things. First, it was tuna sandwiches which were brought back up. Second, we still had another 5hours on the bus.

Right, i dont think there will be anymore.... maybe.....


*edit* another one - When in a wave pool in canada, the bikini top of a lass (who was not small in the bosom department) decided to come down. In front of all the 6 teachers on the trip. Much hilarity.
(doublefruit is wasting away the day that is, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:43, Reply)

Hide and seek with a teacher.
On a school trip to Paris I'd snook out of my room window and jumped down from the first floor to rendevous with a few ladies in a room on the other side of the complex. Almost as soon as I came through the window I heard a knock at the door that so happened to be one of the teachers. Quick as a flash I lifted up the bed and jumped under. Despite the fact that this bed touched the floor I was still sort of able to hide in the concave bit underneath.

After the teacher had left I emerged from my hidey-hole and a few more people arrived. Things picked up a bit until there was a knock on the door by the teacher again. I jumped out the window and the teacher gave chase! I ran back round to my window and tried to climb back through but alas, could not reach. I ended up sidling away from him for about 20 minutes, going up fire-escapes and manoevering round cars giving him the slip. Eventually I had to go back inside the hotel and recieved a right rollocking. As punishment he made me leave my trainers outside his door...
( mike woz ere 7442200 & 7696970 getter, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:41, Reply)

Isle of White
When I was there on a school trip i accidently spilled water over someone. The head teacher (a paedophile) saw this and said to me and my fat friend that the coach would now leave without us. I was scared shitless untill my friend said that he would make us a hut out of sticks. I realised he was mad and sprinted towards the departing coach screaming at the top of my voice "SHIT!! HES MAD! DONT LEAVE ME HERE YOU CUNTS!!!" And when i caught up I looked through the window and realised what a twat i was.

At least the Pedo is in jail- he always had too many little children hovering around his waist...
(abignumber, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:38, Reply)

Outdoor pursuits
When I was about 13ish, I was made to attend "Rhossili Outdoor Pursuits" for a week. Wasn't that bad actually; as there were quite a few things to do and alot of things to go wrong.
We were split into two groups; one would sleep inside, while the other would sleep outside in some tents in a walled off garden.
One guy outside decided he wanted a look down the road and tried climbing over the outside shower on the wall to freedom. This involved him lifting himself up a few rusted pipes, and he royally shattered them, flooding half the garden (tents included). That was fun for them. The teachers (who were drunk by now) stumbled out rounding up the kids and keeping them away from the mini-tsunami.
Also, me best mate at the time got caught stealing from the souvineer shop down the road, and the teachers took great pride in drop-kicking him back to the Centre. Silly twat of a kid. He never learnt; he's a right drug-head now.
Another kid; one of the bullies at the time too; got bitten by a rotweiller and feinted when he saw his own blood. The dog had only nipped his finger though; not exactly death's door.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:30, Reply)

unintentional animal activist
I only vaguely remember this but my dad takes great delight in relating this story to anyone that will listen.

I went on a school trip to London Zoo when I was five and after spending a few minutes in the kiddies petting zoo I stood by the gate and rather matter of factly declared that
"I'm letting them out now!" and flung open the gate. I have no idea what prompted this act but i've been told it was conducted with considerable panache and not one iota of doubt that it was an entirely appropriate thing to do.

I had only a few seconds to enjoy my triumph as I was immediately bowled over by a furry stampede of goats, rabbits chickens and guinea pigs hell bent on seizing their chance for freedom.

Being a small boy the novelty of watching these animals fleeing in all directions was soon replaced with and intense interest in a small pile of poo I had narowly missed falling into and I have to confess that with my newfound distraction I became utterly oblivious to the chaos I had unleashed.

I've been told that it took nearly 3 days to locate most of the animals and several guinea pigs were never recovered. My dad got a severe bollocking from the head warden as a result. (heh heh)

It pleases me to think that I may have been responsible for the creation of a feral sub-species of guinea pig which to this day prowls the dandelions of regents park.
(Darth Vegas Poke It With A Stick, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:30, Reply)

Does art college count? Anyway...
Off to Amsterdam we go for a week of art loving.....well during the day anyway. At night, as we were all art students, were spent out on the town smoking as much weed as humanly possible. Except for myself and a certain young lady on the course.

I only ever spoke to her once during the year but that first night definatley made up for it, we were at it all night long and as the room was meant for four people, but split onto two floors that meant the people in the room were listening in as well. But we were drunk and didn't care, we even tried to get one of the other girls involved.

Anyway after a marathon night of bedroom olympics, I made my way back to my room for a shower before breakfast. Obviously my male roommates were congratulating me on my prowess.

I went down to breakfast to find that EVERYONE had been listening!

Due to the close proximity of the hotel ventalation system to the bed, one of those big american style one's you can crawl through, as you can guess I was a little embarrassed but did my best to bask in the glory!

Ended up staying in that room all week, one of the guys on the course final video project was about me and my endevors. One of the lecturers had to pull me to one side to check it would be ok with me as it would be part of an exhibition open to the public.

There was one bad thing about that week though. I never got to sample the herb products of the area. And it took us a good few hours for us to teach the hotel bar staff how to pull a proper pint, not this half full of foam crap they tried to pass off as a pint :)

Talking of herb products, the main lecturer used to grow his own in the college greenhouse.
( TBR, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:20, Reply)

year 9 camp
Basically a 4 day school trip where we stayed in these shitty little mini-teepee tents, with activities such as rambling, rock climbing etc all under this stupid little 'team building' guise. there were 4 of us to a tent, and unfortunately, this annoying little sod called daniel insisted on staying with us. Now Daniel was just weird. he must've been because he couldn't say the word coins properly.

This trip however was to cement his weirdness in our brains permanently and become something of a legend.

The first night was the beginning. Being the typical schoolboys we were, we took the opportunity in the tent to basically bully him. He resolved this issue by shining his big flashlight torch in his eyes, proclaiming he had blinded himself and went outside the tent. He never came back that night, we found him the next morning sitting on his own in the woods nearby.

That day our group had the hiking activety, which i believe was 9 miles long or something like that. Daniel entrusted himself with the map and insisted on taking a short cut. cut to 4 hours later and 4 boys desperately lost, happening upon a phone booth to call back to the camp to plead to the teachers to come find us.

The next morning, we woke up to this smell which smelt alarmingly like piss. Seeing as Daniel was nowhere to be seen, we lifted up his sleeping bag to find; a giant piss puddle with insects drowning in it. We took it upon ourselves to clean his mess up and 'fumigate' the tent by spraying all our deodorant in it.

He came back and actually tried to tell us his cat had stowed away in his sleeping bag and it was his cat that had pissed and not him. A cat? yeah, whatever.

On the last night, the whole group had a bbq by the little camp fire, which daniel left early to go back to the tent. We go back to the tent to find Daniel masturbating into MY sock. I made him throw it away and made sure he gave me the money to replace the socks he had tossed into.

The final example of his weirdness though, was when we were going back. Our group was put on the minibus (space-issue or spack-issue, you decide), and he pulled out this tape from his coat and asked the driver to play it.

What we actually heard as soon as he put this tape in made all of us cry with laughter. It started up with this tinny little keyboard demo and after a long introduction, a vocal part (clearly daniel) came in repeating the words "I got bike" over and over.

To this day my band still warm up with a quick rendition of Daniels classic.

God knows what else was on the tape, we never got that far.
(wayneofthedead Dale Winton was my dad, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:16, Reply)

Used to be a lead violinist for a local school Orchestra
which at the time was quite renowned in the Swansea region. We'd actually played gigs in a few places for the elderly etc, and for shows for the local mayor. Hey, at the time we were actually rather good.

We'd all been invited to play with the London Royal Military Brass Band, and the school jumped on it as a great oppertunity for us kiddie-vinks. We get given accomidation in an army barracks next to Gatwick airport for one night, and turn up after a 4 hour coach journey with bags in hand. We are shown our barracks, and given a room with about 30 bunk beds. There is another room next to this where the main teacher is staying. We all settle in, and go to a function room on the grounds, and have a laugh for a bit. Once done, we get back to our bunk room at about half past ten, then try to get to sleep. Except it all goes a bit mental.
Some of the larger kids decide that the pillow fight is the only way to go while some of the others decide that "fucking hell, I'm in an army base unsupervised, lets go walkies" and leggit. The walkabouters get rounded up by a local guard dog patrol and returned to us, and we beat the living fuck out of each other with the Queens Eiderdown.
We decide at about 5am that we are a bit tired now, and all settle down to rest. The floor of the barracks however is covered in about 2 inches worth of feathers, and our teacher has finally heard the commotion. He walks in all authorative; which lasts for about 3 seconds. He's wearing a full sailor's set of PJs and looks a right twat. We literally laugh him out of the room.

6am and one hour's worth of sleep later and we're all up and picking up bags full of feathers. All completely fucked and bruised, and made to get ready for the meeting with the band at 10am. None of us could stand properly, let alone play an instrument. We stay with them for about an hour, then the teacher decides to drag us back to Swansea.

Funny story; on the way back we made an elderly couple swerve off the motorway by showing them porn through the window of our coach :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:13, Reply)

Fate either likes me or it doesn't... not sure which.
Disclaimer: This story does not contain Stalker Boy.

When I was 15, I went on a school trip to Quebec to ski and/or speak French. The most of the week was fabulous, perfect conditions for falling down mountains and throwing snow at each other and bizarre adolescent fumblings (girl in my year and boy aged 13... ew).

However, on the last day of skiing I took a wrong turn when I got to the bottom of the mountain and lost the rest of my group when I got to the lifts to go up again. Fucksocks. What do I do? Get in the gondola with some randoms who only spoke French (and I only had half a GCSE at the time - mind you Quebecois is a law unto itself). But I digress. I knew we were going down the other side of the mountain to meet everyone for lunch. "Go and catch them up like nothing's happened," thinks I, and darted off down the slope I presumed was the right one.

Oh no. Half way down it all starts to look a bit too familiar... yes, it's the slope I've just been down. So I carry on back to the bottom and pace about a bit, panicking that I'm going to be stuck on a mountain forever.

Then comes a vision... out of nowhere comes the history teacher I ashamedly spent most of my teens drooling over in a slightly too obvious way. It was like something out of a cheesy romcom and I could almost hear the Hallelujah Chorus. He was not best pleased that they sent him to look for me, given that he probably thought he was going to get molested... so we go back up in the chair lift and ski down the other side in more or less total silence. And I got thoroughly bollocked when I got to the bottom by the teacher in charge of the trip.

And on another trip to the WW1 battlefields a few months previously, we got an earlier ferry back to England than we'd expected and as only the really posh kids had mobile phones at that point I spent several quid in payphones trying to get hold of my parents (who unbeknownst to me had gone to see Chicken Run), in a restaurant next door to school... again with History Teacher. I was a happy kid that year, even if he did hate me.
( Maladicta, Thu 7 Dec 2006, 17:05, Reply)