Comedy addition to the J.I.M. (Jesus In Me) Christian notice board.

(Editor's addition; many thanks to Robert Andrews, all those years ago, for the email which contained "Jesus Lives, Jesus Lives, Jesus Lives In You And Me, But Only Metaphysically". And the one after England won the Eurovision, reading "Poo-Bra Just a Little Tit". Thanks - Log)

A gang. Jab Warrior activity was primarily jabbing other pupils with a compass without them figuring out who did it, usually between classes when the corridors were packed. Movement up the ranks of The Jab was speedy if you could secretly: A. Draw blood B. Jab somebody who was hard/older and not be found out (largely theoretical - jabbing was generally confined to younger, weaker pupils) C. Jab a teacher (see B) Higher ranking in The Jab afforded you unimaginable privileges.

King Charles Spaniels that look like they are ready to explode with even the gentlest application of a woodwork vice.

A fat whore.

Not to be confused with Jabba the Butt, an elderly, overweight, knuckleless buttery ogre on the till. The trick was to try and get your change back without actually making contact with her Walls pork fingers. She worked in cahoots with Richard Keepthechange, who handed back your receipt with the words, 'keep the change'. My sides.

Nicknaming supermarket staff remains a phenomenon to this day - my local Morrisons' has Rod Hull, Moomin and Bully's Special Prize Man.

The name given to trousers that are too short in the leg. Usually worn with white socks by scutters, making the jack ups even more obvious.

Also known as half-masts. As in 'Gacco's kegs are at half-mast again'. More amusing if the wearer also has a 'seagull' hairstyle.

A Children's TV show in which grown ups would sit in a chair and read from a storybook, as cameras occasionally panned slowly across a drawing as a substitute for "action".

This show, dedicated to fantastical storytelling, became a synonym for bullshit. When a story (usually an account of sexual athleticism from the hairy boy) is obviously biglies, you can shout "Jackanory!", or more subtly checking your watch and saying "Oh, is it 4.15 already?"

After listening to a fantasist regale us with tall tales, we would sing the theme tune to The Storyteller, an ITV programme with animated opening titles of a Will Scarlett-type character. The third line would be personalised to the liar's location and name; eg. If Rollo Snook claimed that his brother had a fight with Wolf from The Gladiators, you would sing:

I'm the Storyteller and my story must be told,
In Germany I'm Johannes, in England I am John,
In Cheltenham I'm Rollo, and I'm a lying cunt.'

If the liar was actually called John or, God forbid, Johannes, the last line could simply be repaced by a mongoloid impression, and a bit of a dance doing 'flid arms'.

James Schofield had a particularly vivid imagination when it came to the sixth form girls and their exploits with him. And so he was redubbed "Matty" after Matthew Pearson in Grange Hill. The implication being that not only did he tell lots of lies, but he was getting bummed by his dad.

#2 in the lies of Troy Hawkins series.
In Year 11, when Troy was 15, he became engaged to "Jackie D", who lived in another town, and was indistinguishable from Pamela Anderson. The next day he came in with a ring on his wedding finger, a ring which was made from platinum. Although too small for his finger, the ring was worth many hundreds of pounds. With admirable dignity, Troy kept his mouth shut for weeks on the matter, until one day he arrived at school without his platinum ring. Sadly, Jackie D's father had found out about the engagement, and beated Troy's fiancee to death.

Product placement version of soggy biscuit.

Legendary mime performed by me in maths that got me kept behind for one of those "now I know you're only doing this to hide how upset you are" chats from the Mrs. Pearcey. The mime essentially involved playing dead, but as it was the week after the tragedy, I was generally believed to be as topical and more satirically daring than "Have I Got News For You". By me. Everyone else thought I had gone too far, and those really annoying sanctimonious girls got me told off with great glee. Whores.

A similar event occured to me after I decided it was funny that my year 6 form tutor had suffered a miscarriage.

"What's this?" I said, before curling into a ball and being very, very still.

"I dunno...what?" would come the reply. To which I would deliver the killer punchline "Miss Moreland's dead baby".

I performed a version of this in an art class, which was entited 'the Jill Dando'. It was not strictly a mime because as I was lying on the floor, pretending to be dead, I was also screaming "I aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAMMm Jill Dando".

Upon seeing this Mr Addicot informed me that I was "Sick"... I reminded him that he was the one who wanted to "...give Billie Piper more than one".

The Keystone Kops style chases that ensued whenever we decided to forcefeed the class diabetic jam doughnuts "for research". Another boy in our class wanted to put Tizer in his insulin. He was persuaded against it.

This game involves running around "shooting" each other with "guns". Of course, having no uniforms or other way of distinguishing between the two sides you had to ask "Jap or Brit?" before shooting. Luckily, real wars are more organised, with different sides wearing easily distinguishable colours, except for spies, who wear black.

Jason Moody - a hopeless case. Raised on butter sandwiches (most of which he'd hurl grumpily to the ground) and given to muttering to himself as he ricocheted through life. He eventually got himself removed from mainstream education with a show-stopping performance during an R.E. lesson in which he combined shouting out the (wrong) answers to the piss-easy test we were doing and exposing himself to the girls in the front row at key moments.

A friend of mine was habitually ridiculed by his French teacher of all people over his weight problem and alternative life style. The classroom humiliation took the form of him being asked to say he was tired in French to which he would have to reply "je suis fatty-gay". Such role reversal of cruelty was unsettling to our young minds.