Baster
I was thirteen, and Miss Feather can only have been in her early twenties. She was clearing up a terrible mess in the food technology room while our food teacher, the frosty-faced Mrs. Parker, had kept me behind in the same room after school for creating the mess in the first place. I was made to sit in silence, so I passed the time by watching Miss Feather as she squirted inside the cooker and wiped the knobs above. She was a trainee teacher with long, jet black hair and an exotic complexion. As she reached inside the cooker to wipe at the back, she looked across the room at me. I thought she must be angry with me following my omelette-flinging spree. Mrs. Parker simply sat at her desk, reading through coursework.

After a few minutes, and a few more glances towards me, Miss Feather stood up and quietly slinked towards the store room, a mobile phone in her hand. She closed the door behind her, then a minute later she emerged and returned to her cleaning.

Shortly afterwards, the school receptionist ran into the room. "Mrs. Parker!" she cried. "A nurse from the hospital just phoned. Your husband has been in a terrible accident and they think he only has a couple of hours left to live!"
"No!" screamed Mrs. Parker. "I have to go and see him! He's the only one who knows our eBay password and I'm bidding for a new colander!" She then looked at me unsurely.
"Don't worry about him," Miss Feather assured her. "I'll keep an eye on him until the hour is up!"
Mrs. Parker thanked her assistant and ran from the room with tears in her eyes.

Once the sound of Mrs. Parker's hurried footsteps had faded, Miss Feather stood over my desk. "Now I have you all to myself," she purred. "You really have made a big mess in here, young man. It has caused me a lot of trouble, and I want some compensation!" She then grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me across the room. She positioned me in front of the window, my palms on the sill, and pulled down my school trousers. "Now I'm going to show you how to baste a turkey!"

The next hour was sheer heaven. However, as I looked out of the window, tears of joy in my eyes from the challenging girth of the acrylic rolling pin that Miss Feather had put to interesting use, I could see Mrs. Parker driving her turqoise Fiat Panda around the schoolyard at high speed, leaning out of the window and cursing in Latin at the pigeons that had gathered to feast on whatever scraps were left inside the many of the day's discarded Space Raiders packets. Back then, in 1992, I found that to be rather weird.
(stusut79, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 12:23, Reply)

Just remembered one
Further to my earlier post about Dr Giles the 48k (Clive Sinclair lookey likey)inflammable Science teacher at my old school, I have recalled just about THE most bizarre story ever.
48k had asked me to "pick up some sheeps lungs at your butchers, I rang them and told them to expect you on your way in to school in the morning". As we had been learning all about respiration that term, I did this without question.
When we got into the lesson 48k proceeded to pass a rubber tube down the oesophagus of the sheep lungs and blow down it to inflate them. It was a bit gory, blood clots and the like, and a couple of girls in the class were obviously swaying even from my vantage point at the back of the class. 48k then took the tube out and told us about the diaphragm "which is located just HERE" (jabs with finger).

The butcher hadn't taken the voice box off the lungs had he? so when 48k prods........

BAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH


3 girls go down like dominoes, I laugh until I burst a blood vessel in my left eye and 48k? Well, 48k leans down and says "Shhh Muriel, your mother wil hear us!"

The man is a legend in Hull, but then it dont take much down our way!
(airliebird Has now found Twiglets in Sydney!!!!!!! yay!, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 12:21, Reply)

Teachers
I had great teachers at college, but they did some funny things. My English Language teacher once berated the class for being unwilling to spend £15 on a trip to a conference, complaining that they spent too much on beer and cigarettes. That very lunchtime she was seen buying her fags at the garage and then heading into the pub.

My History tutor was lively to say the least. Somebody in the class had a Winnie the Pooh pencilcase, so he drew Winnie the Pooh on the board and then wrote, "TWAT" underneath. There was a small side office in our room and we once entered the class to hear him absolutely screaming at somebody in there about how he hated students lying. A girl eventually left in tears. We found this so amusing that he would regularly pretend to phone absent students (he had everyone's details on his PDA) from the office and shout at them.

One of my tutors at university was essentially just like the 12th century monks he studied. He was rumoured to own a Scottish island. He also had a huge number of stock phrases which he always used, such as "in the driving seat; on the map; as it were" etc ad nauseum.
(DoctorJ last upset some twat who doesn't like swearing on, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 12:20, Reply)

Textgate.
I have another. No apologies.

When I was at secondary school, it was complusory to do Religous Studies however much the class turned into rather frank discussions about sex, drugs and all other "naughty" things. In fact, I cannot recall a single lesson when it didn't feature something "taboo" for the rest of the teachers. In essence, this teacher (name I've forgotten, conveniently) was pretty cool. She was young, cute but had a temper that scared the shit out of me. If you got on the wrong side of her, hell you knew about it. One day she caught me writing a note to my then boyfriend and read it out in class. Thankfully I was only 14 so nothing too rude.

Anyhow, we had no idea she was a lesbian (not that it mattered of course). It was only a couple months after she joined that when we appeared for our RE class and looking forward to it after double maths (all we did was eat food and talk shit) we were confronted by the headmistress, who quietly told us (which I realised was her way of being very ashamed) that said teacher was suspended for six months.

We wondered whether it was her "urban" teaching and the fact we did fuck all during the lessons, but a couple of the students I had class with managed to find out (I've never worked out how) that she had been arrested for harrassment. Many a rumour floated round about her belting another teacher who came to school with a hefty bruise one day but it transpired that at the same time we found out she liked girls, she had been verbally abusing a woman who was the other party in her girlfriends affair. In the end it came out she had gone over to the house and tipped paint over her car, posted cat shit through her letterbox and printed "escort" cards with this woman's number on.

She came back after six months with a criminal record but continued to teach until my brother left school. After we found out the above, we were all pretty scared of her, but thought it was pretty cool.
(medic_girl85, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 11:53, Reply)

The 5th Tellytubby
Not weird teacher, weird moment involving a teacher. Did you see what I did there…?

I would like to take this opportunity to inform the masses of one teacher I had, my primary 4 teacher. She gave me a detention in that year. The first term no less. I harboured my hatred for that women till the age of 20/21. I knew where she lived. I popped over to her house one frightfully cold evening, positioned myself on the bonnet of her large White car, and took what can only be described as the most energetic shite I have ever had the pleasure of pushing out my body. It was a very difficult negotiation.

After calmly cleaning myself up, and placing the tissue over George (so proud, I named my shit), my now crying with laughter entourage and I went for a few beers, ensuring George would freeze to the car, then went back and rang the door bell. Long enough to piss off the old Cnut, get her out of bed and down the stairs.

I don’t particularly enjoy seeing grown women cry, howl, and fall to there knee’s from a distance. I might add though, I did laugh so hard, a small bit of wee popped out.
(Mr Chuffy, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 11:42, Reply)

The man with the string in his pants.
When I was at college before the world of medicine, I studied Psychology with a rather eccentric teacher who looked like he needed to apply some of those well taught skills to himself.

He was a very decent chap. Always smelt of whiskey and wore clothes that clearly hadn't been washed this side of the Millenium. We forgave him for the stench.

What we didn't forgive him for was one lesson when he was clearly inebriated, he decided to stand on a table to rejoice in the works of Freud. This scared us as we thought he was a kiddy fiddler (Freud, that is) and knowing the chap had some children of his own, the numbers for the NSPCA came out quietly. When he started talking about trying studies on his own children and bringing them in for us to study and condition to be better behaved, we started to think about backing out slowly and running for our lives (we were only 16-17 ourselves).

It got worse.

In need of some clothes, some food and a session with an AA counsellor for his drink problem, he'd obviously forgotten to wear his "belt" that day. To clarify, this belt wasn't the normal, sturdy item we think of fondly to avoid an embarrassing show of our undercarriage. Oh no. His "belt" was very simply made out of household string. The kind that cats chase, you know? Yeah. String. Tied at the top of his groin and much to our fear, easy enough to "snap".

So, whilst proclaiming to whoever it was that he felt needed to hear, his did a little Scottish jig (might be worth mentioning that he was a Scot too) and holy shit - There goes his manky trousers. If that wasn't bad enough, and believe me it was, but the poor guy obviously didn't have any "pants". So whilst he was talking to us about the sexual conditioning of Freud, ironically he just shown us his todger.

It was talking about many a times down the pub, in particular the girl who fainted - we never worked out whether it was through disgust or lust.
(medic_girl85, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 11:22, Reply)

Oooh, just remembered....
Alan, my A level history teacher, would march into class in big black boots and a long black coat, getting worryingly excited about the history of 20th century Germany.
One day he apologised, claiming: "I'll be a lot less excitable once I get this brain tumor removed". You could have heard a gnat fart.

Calmed down a lot after that. One of the best teachers I've ever had.
(That Boy Joe, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 11:12, Reply)

Lord I've had too many
(Edited from a much longer and boring post.)

Two of my college professors believe I'm a troublemaker because I ask questions, encourage class discussion, and actually tell somebody that their work is bad if it is bad instead of holding their hand and being polite. (One of them was failing me because she assumed I was trying to be different and have an attitude, when in fact, she was just a bad teacher and taught about black history, rather than writing.)

All of my high school English classes - no grammar, just book rape. I can't even look at Hamlet without cringing.

Eleventh grade history - Fat arsed white rabiddyke who would wail about how "AMERICA BELONGS TO YOU! IT BELONGS TO BLACK AMERICA! YOU HELPED CREATE THIS COUNTRY!" It just scared my black classmates into hiding under their desks, muttering about how much of a crazy bitch she was. She pissed off most of the white kids in class and I swung from left to center after putting up with her shit. (I'm still amazed how many kids left her class with an appreciation for white pride, which came out of hatred for her horseshit.) She also never admitted her mistakes, she was still trying to live the womyns' movement from the 80s, wore the biggest fucking shoulder pads I've ever seen, and it only added to our amusement when we found out she was a dyke and it wasn't just in our school child brains.

Eleventh grade psychology - My teacher had an ASPCA poster in his classroom of a cow with all of the skin ripped off, posters of aborted fetuses, insisted coffee wasn't addictive just becaue he drank it, and in one memorable class, he told us that masturbation was healthy and he encouraged us to masturbate. If he didn't leer at me everytime I made eye contact with him, if he didn't look like a paedophile, and if he wasn't the creepiest fucking *teacher* I've had, I'd see nothing wrong with that. God, he was gross.

I'm now a freshman in college, I couldn't pass eighth grade science if you gave me the textbook and all the answers, and I'm actually scared for my future because of how fucking unprepared public school leaves you.
(DeadCats, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 7:54, Reply)

English "Teacher"
Around the time I was in year 10, a new English teacher arrived (the old one had probably had a nervous breakdown; that happened a lot at our school). Whilst I was never taught by him, many of my friends were. He was a very large, jocular-looking man who insisted that his classes call him by his first name, Dennis, rather than "sir".

He was also a rather bad teacher. There was a reason for it, as we found out the day the police came to the school, and, as quietly as possible, arrested him.

It turned out that his name was not, in fact, Dennis, and he was not, in fact, a teacher. He was, I believe, charged and convicted with fraud. My old form tutor (a top bloke) says that he was actually impersonating a real teacher named Dennis, which is how he got in in the first place. Of course, he managed to throw a decent spanner in the works of about a quarter of the years' English GCSE's (he was there for about a year before he got busted). I don't think anyone was entirely sure what his motives were for impersonating a teacher specifically. My friend and I always assumed the worst when we made jokes about him.
(Frank Snow, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 0:52, Reply)

Free Kuwait
Our (second division public) school had a load of kids from the Middle East, some of whom had even passed the entrance exam. So there was a 'Free Kuwait' campaign. The biggest leftie in our year decided this was all posturing of the imperialist military-industrial complex &c. &c. so put up a load of anti-war posters in response.

These were duly spoofed by follow-up 'Nuke Baghdad Now' posters. At this point I decided the 'Free Kuwait' badges also ought to be spoofed, so used my family's Amstrad PCW to knock up a bunch of 'Nuke Baghdad Now' badges on sticky labels, which I left on a few noticeboards for people to take and wear.

Fair play to Mr Davenport, Head of History, who valiantly sported his for a whole week.

Oh yes, there was Mr Robert 'Organ' Morgan, who I thought got his nickname because he was Deputy Director of Music and hence the official school organist. Actually it was because he was nobbing the first violinist and her boyfriend.
(ChaRleyTroniC is invincible with his chips and cheese, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 0:48, Reply)

If music be the food of love...
A note to my old music teacher; screaming 'FUCK!' and 'SHIT!' in the middle of a concert performance just isn't cricket.
(Burb Lulls, Wed 16 Nov 2005, 0:30, Reply)

So many schools, so little time...
I have had many weird teachers, but nothing in camparison to the monkeys that you guys have endured! There are two though, that i feel should be mentioned.

Mr Mole - An IT teacher who was worryingly, very mole-like. He was HUGE and ginger and had a voice that obiously hadnt broken. He had really tiny facial features though and looked like a massive ginger rat. He had a tendency to cry, and therefore jiggle, if you said anything vaguely mean to him.

Mr Johnson - a PE teacher with a terrifying temper. I once went on a school ski trip with him and my friend was on the phone to her parents and therefore was 10 minutes late to bed... BIG MISTAKE... He came up to our room and dragged her out. The whole hotel heard him telling her that she was 'scum of the earth', 'disgraceful', 'an embarrassment to humans' and to 'never ever dare look him in the eye again'. She cried out of pure shock. I think he got a good telling to but it didnt stop him from doing this;

newswww.bbc.net.uk/1/hi/england/wear/2984002.stm
(Clarissa, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 23:27, Reply)

The Scottish one...
...who told the girls they should drink menstrual fluids to ward off low iron levels...
(nostrilsack a handpuppet, and a man-nappy, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 23:25, Reply)

"My name is Dr Gu1ldford (said geel-forr in a french way) . . .
You may call me Dr Gu1ldf0rd, Mr Gu1ldf0rd or Dr J0n4th4n Gu1ldf0rd . . . "

The opening speech of the supply treacher filling in for our (cool, but a bit weird) French teacher did not make the greatest impression. We were nearing GCSE French and still he was deeply patronising, explaining simple French over and over again.
Even to the parents at one Parents' Evening:
'Tres bien. Tres means very. Bien means good. So very good'

His abortive attempts at disciplining people who shifted desks behind his back: "Silence! (french pronunciation) When I say silence (French pron.), I mean silence (Eng. pron.)' which added to the patronising moron image.

He wore murky green colour-coordinated tie and trousers, a blue graph paper patterned shirt and a red jacket.

There was also Mr M05t0n. He really was a hopeless excuse for a man. It sometimes took hours to work out basic maths e.g. 'So x squared is 25, and x is . . . .' We would regularly just turn the tables round and ignore him, talking amongst ourselves. He took Hockey and once got a black eye from a girl smacking a puck into his face.

One night stands out though. He was on duty at my boarding house and everyone was taking the piss as always. Someone (name omitted to protect the guilty) shouted down the corridor to him 'JUST1N M0ST0N!!! Come here now! I want to have your babies! And bum Hugh!' He turned up in our rooms and sentenced the perpetrator to work outside in the corridor, where he was marking work (which we regularly stole when he was out of the room). Perpetrator was able to stand at the windowsill next to him, SMOKING A FAG out the window, and he never noticed.

A mention also for my history teacher who is permatanned so as to be permanently orange (so known as Agent Orange or Mr Walnut, a play on his real name)
or sometimes brick red, with his expansive forehead shedding skin in flakes. He is a Tory and a foreign member of the US Republican party - he was once seen in a tie emblazoned with GOP elephants.

Also a Northern classics teacher who is hopelessly incompetent, once confessed to his class that he wanted to be a cricketer but they said he was too fat, and once went prowling through the bushes of the garden outside the classroom because someone said they had seen a dubious absentee out there, wanking in the bushes.

Also I heard yesterday my old maths teacher at prep school was sent down for paedophilia. But I don't know if it's true.

Edit: now with H4xX0r libel (slander?) protection.

Did he apologise for length?
(Radio Free iPods "Fickt nicht mit dem Raketenmensch!", Tue 15 Nov 2005, 23:05, Reply)

Not so much weird, just a twat
Mr Conway was my Irish, (with unfathomable accent, even in English) French teacher. I had no chance to learn French at all (although to be fair I wasn't that interested).. He hated me, really hated me (which in itself wasn't weird) but I used to sit next to some bizarre girl who would not speak...ever.. I never heard her anyway, so when I pointed out that she really could not get a D for effort and me an E when I at least spoke he downgraded her!!!

I think it mainly stemmed from the collision we had in the corridor..I was with a friend and a couple of girls, he had just left the staff toilets ...banged shoulders..."Willis you pratt" "er... well I'm not the one with my shirt hanging out my flies"

Oh and no need for apologies of any length
(Froddo, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 22:02, Reply)

All-purpose multipack physics teachers
For my A level Physics course I had three teachers who covered most of the stereotypes between them:

Mrs Bibby:
- couldn't control the class
- couldn't teach or explain anything properly
- had a nervous tic (was constantly blinking, and it got faster as her stress level increased).

Mr Cantrecallhisname:
- spent 5 minutes of each lesson teaching and the rest telling us about how he worked on Concorde, and tales of life in Portugal
- disappeared at the end of the year along with the Physics departnment budget

Mr Stratford:
- Universally liked cool teacher
- Only wore lab coat when absolutely necessary and it was tie-died purple and orange
- Laughed at the same stupid things we laughed at (eg famous scientist called Khuntz)
- Was rumoured to be gay due to his tendancy to place his hand on your buttock while inspecting your experiment
- Handed out sixties-style invites he'd designed himself to a post exam party, at which we all got pished.
(Plyck, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 21:35, Reply)

Mrs McColgan
My music teacher when I was 12.

She had a bell which always sat on the left hand side of her piano. It never moved. Ever. She used it to bring the class to attention, but she also used it to fill up tonnes of time with crap stories.

IF you were stupid enough to touch that bell, you would definately grow up to marry a bearded troll woman. And have children with six fingers.

Oh, and she was also married to eleven Italian football players.

Most disturbingly of all, she would regularly cackle on her way down the corridors.

In all the time she taught me, I don't think I actually ever touched a musical instrument.

Odd. Very odd.

------

And in German last year, we had an assistant teacher, who was actually German. Her name: Barbera. She was short, stocky and had a voice deep enough to attract whales. I have a dstinc memory of her entering the class for the first time, rolling up her sleeves, flexing her muscles and saying:
"ICH HEISSE BARBERA"
Most scary moment of my life.
(Fwapper Has just got a new PC =), Tue 15 Nov 2005, 21:24, Reply)

Most ecentric school in the midlands
I went to possibly the strangest school in the entire midlands, despite the fact that most of the girls had kids by year 9 and most of the lads couldn't afford a school jumper and tie, the headmaster had seemed to convince himself that we were a "posh" school and as such we ended up with all kinds of eccentric teachers -

Mr Jones - French teacher, I always thought he was okay, but I had an incident in year 10 where a picture of my penis had somehow made the rounds through the entire school (don't ask how, it's not worth the hassle) and ever since then Mr Jones would always be extra nice to me and would make slightly off kilter remarks whilst smiling and looking at me......

Miss Clark - Science teacher, completely skitzo. We had a gym at the top end of the school which was rarely used due to the fact that you had massive windows all around it and everyone could see you looking like a tard trying to work out. Well after one of my many detentions, I walked past the afforementioned window to see Miss Clark, on the treadmill, stark bollock naked. She was getting on a bit but everything was still in the right place, the memory has stayed with me until this day....

Miss Simmons - Uber fine drama teacher who had a penchant for wearing short skirts with no underwear. Sat on the floor on the studio with her knees bent for all to see as I entered the lesson, without thinking I blurted out "Nice pubes miss". She thought I was some kind of pervert after that and I ended up with an E :-(

I could tell you the story of Mr Gracey, the school caretaker... he used to be a P.E. teacher who made all the boys do P.E. in just tehre underwear, bear in mind this is high school not primary, and people only started to cotton on when he was caught kiddy fiddling in the back of his car. However in the headmasters infinite wisdom, he was re-hired as a caretaker and was in charge of "The Kangaroos" (some stupid trampolining thing) where.... you guessed it, they had to go on the trampolines in just there underwear, as far as i'm aware it's still going on to this day.

I swear everyone in that school was probably a registered sex offender......
(Ben263tinsley, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 21:21, Reply)

Quite a few
Year 7:
Mrs Jost - We had her for German when our German teacher was on maternity leave. She was German and couldn't speak English very well. She sprayed board cleaner in her eye, tried to switch the lights on with plug sockets and we ended up teaching her English. We used to melt chocolate buttons on the OHP without her noticing. The best though was when she was teaching a class of year 9's and someone shouted "We're being invaded! Quick, under the tables!" so she did so. She then found out it was a joke, threw a chair at the student and got fired. Fucking legend.

Miss Wilshin - Not sure whether she was male or female. She was pretty manly and came out with things such as "Hello, my name is Miss Wilshin. You can remember my name from the shin in your foot." and "Did you know, you've been so loud you've given me a headache." My friend's class made her leave by eating sandwiches in front of her in class.

The hippo guy: Looked like a hippo. 'Nuff said.

Year 8:
Mr Reddall: Had him for Geography even though he was a DT teacher. He looked like Papa Smurf. We spent many hours in his classes drawing in our books and singing the Smurfs theme tune as he walked past. One time my friend said 'Sir, were you on TV? I think I saw you on the Smurfs."
"Ok Robbie, give me your day book."
"Sorry sir, I left it by a toadstool."
My friend got an hour's detention, a phone call home and had to write a letter of apology. All because I had promised to give him 3 packets of cola bottles if he did it.

Year 9:
Mrs Taylor: Had her for music. She was such a crap teacher. Me and my friends hated her. We had her the previous year and decided to make this year even worse for her. We (me and my best friend) did various things such as starting chants of 'Sausage', refusing to work, using the Van Halen - Jump keyboard riff in a classical keyboard assessment, telling her where to stick it etc. We then found out that we'd managed to make her leave. Result!

I'm in year 10 now and all the teachers I have are pretty normal. So far.
(WaffleMonster, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 20:31, Reply)

2 more...
1. Mr. Morgan, Welsh, and history teacher extrordinaire. Not especially weird, but a dude. His history is shrouded in mystery, but according to some he's ex-SAS, which isn't hard to believe considering his demeanour. This man was unrilable. Nothing got his back up. On the few ocassions his class didn't go silent the moment he walked in, he would stand at the front of the room, knuckles on desk, and speak quietly into the din the immortal words "If you don't shut up right now, I am going to go apeshit." There has never been an incident where it didn't work.

His defining moment, however, came at the end of last year. For the 2 years previous to that, he had be mocked by one Sam Deacon from the back of the room. Mr. Deacon is a world standard fat wanker; full of himself to the point of self-destruction, insufferably loud, and -crucially- extremely cheeky, but lacking in wit. His mocking came generally in the form of stupid questions that amused only him and the people who sucked up to him. Things like "If you were any weapon from World War 2, what would you be?", which eventually moved onto more personal inquisitions such as "Was your father one of the x thousand Welshmen who deserted in the war?". The Morganator would always tell him to be quiet, totally calm, or slam him with a witticism, generally with a rough message of "You are so stupid you don't deserve to be talking to me", which was fair enough.

In the final lesson he held a quiz, the losers of which would be subject to a punishment. When the doling-out time came around, he stood up, and delivered his awesome final speech thusly-

"To the group that came last, your punishment is this: to spend your sixth form years sharing a school with idiots like Mr. Deacon here. As for Mr. Deacon himself..."

At this point he went over to his jacket, and pulled something small and black from the pocket. Sam had the audacity to shout "It's a gun!" at this point, despite being in the middle of an obviously severe bollocking.

"No, Sam, it is something far worse than a gun. This is a high-powered tape recorder, with which I have been, well, recording, your little outbursts for the last 6 weeks. I think the headmaster will be interested to hear it. Goodbye class, and good luck with your exams."

That was the only incident in which I have experienced a shock-induced silence amongst a congregation of people. When it ended, there was a scramble to climb over the desks and point in Sam's face while laughing, followed by a round of applause for Mr. Morgan. What a guy.

2. Dr. Andrew. Chemistry teacher. Northerner teaching in a southern school. She was the most patronising, annoying, idiotic teacher I have ever known. She gave all her Year 11s "study buddies" to work with. She took obvious favourites. She would spend half a lesson teaching us the wrong thing, give us an exercise to do, and only realise her mistake when it became apparent that we couldn't do the exercise. After several people got lacklustre mock results, she was suspended for 6 months. Good, because even the other staff hated her.

What made her so weird? Her feminism. She detested all the boys in her class, and we made an effort to piss her off as much as possible as a result, rooting her hatred deeper. Girls could do no wrong, and got away with exploiting it. I personally was bollocked for having ink all over my shirt from where a girl sprayed me with it. I explained the situation, and she laughed, saying that "she's not the kind of person to do something like THAT! See me after class!"

Bitch.

I can't compete with the night-time practising teacher, oh well.
(youthink, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 20:25, Reply)

My old French teacher.
Well, she was one of the most sinister persons I've ever met.
And suffered from an absolute lack of linguistic skills also.

Every time she asked me something in French I replied: "Bob"
And she would say: "Yes, *insert a French phrase* that's right."

That was a truly lame first post.
(Montesquieu The theory of separation of powers... Awesome!, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 20:23, Reply)

Oh, and of course
The was the french teacher, Mr Mercier. He would wander into class, and pronounce either "I am the Bishop of Bombay" or "Mrs Ashworth has very big boobies".

One of those statements was true.
(McDingo, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 19:25, Reply)

Two Teachers
Mr Coops was a 'Motor Engineering' teacher. I'm still not sure why our school had motor engineering as a subject - something to do with it being a comprehensive, I think. Something of a 60s casualty, he'd been a roadie for Pink Floyd and you could tell.

Winnifred Moss was the deputy headmistress. A part time rally driver, you can guess her nickname. She ran the school with a rod of iron, measuring the girls skirts, demanding the removal of earrings and makeup, and smelling the fingers of shifty smokers. Everyone was terrified of Miss Moss.

One fateful day, Mr Coops had been fixing a pushbike, and to test the repair he decided to ride it down the corridor.

On the second floor.

Just as he approached the turn to the staff room, Miss Moss appeared round the corner and stood right in his path. He pulled the bike to a stop in front of her.

Fixing him with a steely glare, Miss Moss said "Mr Coops. Do you realise there's a boy in your form who's not wearing his tie."

"Oh", said Mr Coops, "I'll go and sort it", turned the bike round, and pedalled back up the corridor.
(McDingo, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 19:19, Reply)

Pisshead.
My geography teacher. A blatant alcoholic, ginger fuzz all over the place. For the last few weeks before my GCSEs the class had been doing a project on pebbles. Gripping stuff, yet for some reason I was consistently getting warnings about the shoddy nature of my work. In the end, a few days before my final exams, I see my teacher after class to sort things out. I find him there, obviously pissed, deleting things from my project on the schools computers with abandon. A brief argument, finishing with "I didn't come hear to listen to this" from me and "I'll see you won't get your Geography GCSE" from him and that was it. A few days later, when I got my B for Geography, it's hardly surprising he won't see me.
(Burb Lulls, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 18:45, Reply)

Awful supply teacher
When I was in year 8 or 9, the new IT teacher, after only two weeks in the job got almost the entire school year off because of stress. His long-term replacement supply teacher was awful.

I was the excellently behaved kid at or near the top of the class in my form (although I only got a C for modesty)- this tedious backstory is neccessary if you want to share in my pain.

For some reason, or more likely, a number of similar reasons, we were on "class report", which essentially meant that at the end of every lesson, the teacher signed a piece of paper and commented on the class behaviour, noting down the naughty kids, who would then get detentions automatically.

This was an IT lesson - a subject that I knew more than the regular teacher in, let alone the supply. I had to show Mr Nameless how to crop an image in Microsoft Publisher, for example. It was very easy to "babble him with science".

After working hard all lesson, no doubt doing something like "word processing and using Encarta", the kids who had been misbehaving all lesson told Mr Nameless that I was "hacking the c:\ drive", whatever that meant. The lunchtime detention I had because of it went on for so long that I missed any opportunity to get some lunch. He was an arse.

He must have enjoyed being treated like dirt, as he once took our form, who were notoriously dreadful, for English. The room the lesson took place in was actually a larger room divided by a plastic curtain, and was quite flexible, and could be opened when the head of English decided to "double up" as a "treat" for "not employing enough teachers".

The same kid who, erm... grassed me up for my awful hacking crimes went into the classroom on the other side of the divide, and waited for Mr Nameless to stand behind it, before kicking it as hard as he possibly could. Needless to say, Mr Nameless flew a good few feet across the classroom. At the time, I acted shocked and/or indifferent, in order to not get in trouble, but in retrospect, he deserved it.

The "grass" was suspended for a day, and is probably now sitting in a ditch crying about where it all went wrong. Hooray!

Better still, when this supply teacher left the school at the end of the year, it was announced in the end of term assembly to everyone in the room cheering loudly. Mr Nameless was in the room at the time.

/Blog
(Psythor, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 17:57, Reply)

Ms Johnson
had a tendency to reach higher pitches when aggravated. The exact frequency served as a guide to her exact level of anxiety.

Typical lesson:

Ms J: Now class, I am fed up with your SHIT! (Ms J had long given up on cuss-free speech after a very long lesson) I'm taping the lesson so I can play it back to Mr Evans and show what a RUDE class you are!

Adam: Ms, you're hurting me! Arrrgh!

Danny: Stop hitting him for god's sake!

Ms J: Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shuuut up!

At which point blood began to seep from the ears of all present :(
(crookedjon, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 17:20, Reply)

Mr Christoper Shaw of Stanley Technical High School...
...had a tendancy to literally cuss down the students with a array of your mum gags and saying their dads were gay! I think one time he said to a noisy student...

Mr Shaw: Mr Macavoy, your mother called not long ago.
Macavoy: Really, what did she say?
Mr Shaw: She said if she could come around my house after school because she left her knickers in my bed.

I tell ya, that kid was well behaved in his class after that.
(Reverend Creepy, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 17:08, Reply)

Mr Fitzsimons - What a Prick
It's starting to disturb me how many teachers even in my own recollection were a bit off-tangent. Just remembered another one from my (second) primary school, Mr Fitzsimons. He was, to put it mildly, a very, very, fucking very bad-tempered man.

He'd shout at us at the slightest perceived provocation, one of his more memorable rebukes being something along the lines of '...blockhead. Why don't you go live in Germany where all the other blockheads are?'

The time I've just remembered though is when I left the classroom to have a slash and he beat me into hysterics for not knocking before I came back into the room. This was the third time I came back into the room after he sent me out the previous two times, telling me to come back in without explaining why. I think my visible frustration at being sent out the second time is what tripped him. Well, that and some little cunt named Amanda (we never got on on account of her being an effete little shit) spotting said frustration and bringing it to his attention on an 'awwww, sir, he just...' stylee. Always wanted to track the bitch down and pass on a couple of the blows I took from Mr F, seeing as she earned most of them for me by winding him up. True, I should have knocked, but I was fucking nine - etiquette is a low priority for most lads that age. All the fucker had to do was tell me.

My mum was in school moments after I got home that day, in her own words, 'to rip the child-beating bastard's arms off'. I was never party to the meeting that was hastily convened upon her arrival, but she told me that Mr F explained to her that he and his wife were having serious problems and his temper had gotten the better of him. She told him that in view of this, she'd postpone kicking the shit out of him (she had taught Shotokan as a black belt for years at this point) for such time as he was foolish enough to lose his temper again. Go mam :)

Rather than risk being tempted to try again, he retired at the end of that school year - during the year that I remained after him, he wasn't missed. By anybody.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 16:57, Reply)

never met him
I arrived at my new school in Cornwall just too late to witness this man in action, because he'd been sacked. And here's why:

He was a drunk, which is not enough to get you sacked in Cornwall, and he was a bully, picking on one boy in particular. But that still wasn't enough to get him sacked.

Then one day all the kids in his class decided to turn their desks round so they faced away from the teacher's desk. Except the bullied boy, who didn't dare, and left his desk facing front.

So the drunk teacher walks into the class and sees this one child - his favourite victim - facing the opposite way to everyone else. He flies into a rage and, rather than sending the boy to the headmaster or giving him detention, orders him to jump out the window, which is two floors up.

All the other kids in the class try to point out his error, but he won't be swayed, so the boy edges over to the window, pulls back the blind, and stands behind it, hiding there for the rest of the lesson while the teacher carries on educating the youth of Britain.

Then they sacked him.
(horace, Tue 15 Nov 2005, 16:22, Reply)