School
Background (fast-forward past italics for the real stuff):

In my disgustingly middle class masons' club of a public school I was in the 'gay' house. Everyone knew our reputation was just a mud-slinging campaign encouraged by the unimaginative 'sports/ned' house (St. Dai's - we were better than them at sport, as well as music and academia, and they knew it) and much to their consternation we played up to this and my year in particular became renowned for being total queens. We even had a song which the aforementioned cretins 'made up': 'School-House Gays, la la laa' (repeat ad infinitum. If you're musical, and just to give you an idea of how fucking boring these people were, it had a straight 2/4 feel, starting on the mediant for the first syllable, descending to the super tonic for the second half of the first beat, and then down a further tone to the tonic for the third syllable which was held for the second beat; repeat for the 'laas') They gleefully chanted this at us for about a week, and then I added my own flair to it, and we sung it in five part harmony back at them whenever they started up, with the two topmost voices in a screeching falsetto. They soon stopped.

This amongst many other things led to our reputation.


Probably the best tradition we had was the 'Radox Game'. A highly competitive competition, it involved suspending a shower-gel (originally of the 'Radox' brand, hence the name) bottle in mid air on your genitals, either by hanging it on an erect penis, unscrewing the top and stuffing the bell inside, or actually pulling the foreskin around and over the end, and swinging it to and fro 'twixed bandy legs until such time as it flies off. The aim was to get it to go the furthest. We even marked the wall of the communal showers with dates and names of various champions. The trick was to achieve a balance between the predictability of a light (empty) bottle and the travelling distance and knob-stretching properties (you get more swing) of a heavy bottle.

Also our Head of House, who had a rather too familiar relationship with the new third-formers coming in, glued a £1 coin to the floor of the communal showers where it stayed for years until some tight bastard chipped it off with a hockey stick and spent it.

This did not go down too well with a vehemently homophobic headmaster (he refused a well-known historian from London and his partner a bed for the night in his house after they had travelled all the way to mid-Wales as a special favour for the school) and he loathed us for the 'image we brought to the school'.

We gave it a better image than he did, the stupid fuck-stick that he was (he liked rugby).
(digestive, Wed 3 Aug 2005, 16:37, Reply)