'Pastime' derived from an Indian sport that used to be on Channel 4. The actual game involved two teams of Indians in nappies on a dusty court, with the apparent aim being to hit each other in the legs. Why, with a little fine tuning, this would make a great playground game, we said.

We 'fine tuned' it to the point where we actually just beat each other up whilst yelling "KABBADI!".

Although the casual racism was the cherry on the cake, it was those two key elements - shouting and fighting - that made it such a hit.

The sound one must make when launching handfuls of foam ripped from the bus seats out of the back window and onto the windscreen of the jeep behind, causing it to swerve wildly.

Nickname given to boys who had brain tumours. Whether true or not, to us the tumour was removed with a big metal skewer by a doctor who fished around in your brain until he got it. Hence, brain tumour patients were human kebabs, and were so dubbed.

One PE lesson I hid, with a bunch of equally physically inept mates, behind a wall which was being used as one of the goals for a game of football. Amos, a normally tolerated child, was in that goal. Sadly, he soon let one in. For about five minutes after this he stood there, watching the game and repeating, through gritted teeth, the phrase that would haunt him for the next two years: "Keep it together, Amos!" This would be repeated to him after every slap to the head, after every drop of a pencil, after every sneeze. Ironically, he very rarely did keep it together, regularly going into a total rage in response to the taunts. The pinnacle of this was when it was said, unwittingly, by a teacher in Science. He ended up on the floor, in tears. Never have I felt such love for a teacher. Except Ms Freeman. She was fit.

This should be shouted whenever a goalkeeper ventures outside of the goal area, in football. You know, like when they go up for corners and stuff. I'm sure John Motson said this once.

Daring to wear white socks with your school uniform? You're not being rebellious, you are simply being a Kevin.

Woe betide the white-sock-clad rebel whose name really is Kevin.

At the beginning of every music lesson we were told to make a composition, and there invariably followed a madcap dash to the end of the corridor where the more expensive keyboards were kept under lock and key. Their appeal lay exclusively in their ability to play 'demo' tracks, utilising every instrument in rendering, for example, the theme from Star Trek or Air On A G-String. When I got my hands on one, I spent the lesson completely engrossed, and when we performed, Pearson played the Beverly Hills Cop, Josh had the chords, and I turned my keyboard off and pretended to play accompaniment on the click-clacks. I got an E, and our teacher died two years later in his classroom, although these two facts aren't connected.

You will need:
- 1 Yamaha PS110 per pupil, with The Entertainer as the feelgood ragtime demonstration tune.
- 1 Soft Music Teacher.

Stage One : Any one class member pretends to lean on the demonstration start button at irregular intervals throughout the lesson. Ensure the volume is at maximum. The surprise this may cause the other pupils in the class may cause them to slip onto their demonstration tune buttons, too.

Stage Two : Use the bonus comic effect of setting the tempo to maximum. Scroll through the different sounds to be had - Trombone was the best - whilst pretending to try and find the stop button. "Eh! It won't stop, miss!"

Stage Three : After the teacher blows her top, it is stylish to remain silent, and bask in the electric atmosphere, knowing that sometime soon, a synthetic trombone rendition of The Entertainer will start up again, at full volume and tempo.

Final Stage : Plug in a set of headphones to an unattended keyboard, and leave The Entertainer on a loop at a barely audible level, and watch innocently as the teacher psychologically degrades throughout the lesson. Once she leaves in hysterical tears, abandon subtlety and start up 30 simultaneous full volume renditions of The Entertainer.

Raise the volume and tempo on the keyboard to maximum. Then, start the Bossa Nova drum pattern. This will transform a GCSE music class into an impromptu early-90s hardcore techno dance club.

Recreate the rave piano effect by pressing one note with the forefinger of each hand, like a retarded typist.

We had the keyboard that recorded your voice which could then be used to play back all the swear-words, at any pitch you desired. What my mate didn't know was that when the keyboard was left idle for some time the memeory bank would discharge itself in a low slow tone. This happened to be when the class was now quiet after practising, as a Yamaha keyboard responded to its neglect by croaking an angry "fffffuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkk yyyyyyoooooouuuuu".

The "DJ" button on some Yamaha keyboards has to be the greatest ever button ever made ever, anywhere, on anything.

Pressing it unleashes a loud shout of "DJ!", which for some strange reason seems to infuriate music teachers. It also changes all the keys to various "DJ" sounds, including several orgasmic moans.

When our music teacher told Alan to press the DJ button until he got bored of it, I think Alan believed he had died and gone to heaven.

It seems that Dunc Cameron's entry about the DJ button has sparked a wave of nostalgia amongst our contributors. Here are just a few (all) of the many (some) we received.

The DJ button is indeed the finest thing ever put on a keyboard. Our Music lessons were a doss at the best of times, but the day we discovered the uses of the DJ button was like finding the Holy Grail.

This culminated in a couple of lads using the moaning sounds to recreate a porn soundtrack. All it really needed was the kid next to them playing a bit of 70s funk guitar, and if you shut your eyes, it'd have been perfect.
(Anonymous user)

The DJ button also infuriated our teacher. When asked to go away and write a composition, those with the new Yamaha keyboards would invariably come back with a mishmash of orgasmic moans, "DJ!" and "Dictionary" (another function). We were eventually banned from using that key.
(Nicky w)

Pressing a certain combination of keys under the DJ setting can produce the phrase "COME ON! YO! MOM!". Which is, frankly, class.
(Andrew Barnes)

I remember that you could push the keys in a certain order to make it cry out "DJ! Push the- dic- dic- dic- OH YEAH- One more time!"
(Bionic Sheep)

And lastly...

I'm still at school, and I'd like to say that making a Yamaha keyboard say "Lesbian!" on the DJ function for an hour every Monday morning brings immense happiness, as well as bragging rights.
(Anonymous user)

So there you have it. The DJ button is OFFICIALLY the best button ever. Not even the off switch on Jimmy Carr's life support machine comes close. - Matt

Everyone knows that girls get germs from boys and boys get germs from girls. If a boy touched a girl, she wouldn't get boy germs if she had 'keys', which simply meant that she had to cross her fingers.

If you got tired of having to keep your fingers crossed, you could 'swallow your keys', by miming sticking your crossed fingers down your throat. This provided germ protection for a considerably longer, although undefined, amount of time.

'Keys' also worked for some things that weren't germ-related. If someone was doing the "I'm crushing your head!" bit with their thumb and index finger, as seen on the TV show Kids in the Hall, you could hold up your crossed fingers and say, "Nuh-uh-uh! I got keys!" This rendered their crushing of your head ineffective, so then you'd probably just punch each other for a while.

Approach someone from behind, and throw a bunch of keys at their feet. As they bend down to pick them up, say "You've dropped the keys to the Gay Club, and now you're picking them up."

This is a better insult than "you've dropped your bender card", because you had proof that they were not only members of the gay club, but also such trusted members that they were keyholders of the Gay Club HQ.

Charlie Webb spots a flaw...

Surely this is ruined by the fact you'd have to - presumably - throw your own keys, thus leaving you to sheepishly ask for them back, after declaring them gay?

You : No, seriously. Can I have them back? I need them.
Them: You need the keys to the gay club?
You : No, they're my house keys.
Them: YOU LIVE IN THE GAY CLUB HQ?

Potential nightmare.

The solution to Webb's Flaw, clearly, is to steal Pupil A's keys and use them to employ the Gay Club Key Ruse on Pupil B. This allows you to establish that Pupil B is a key-holding member of the Gay Club, and that Pupil A actually lives there, as A tries to get his keys back from B while you roundly mock them both.

Martin would be asked a question. If he answered it correctly he was kicked once. If he answered incorrectly he was kicked twice. If he didn't answer at all he was kicked until he did. Best question therefore were along the lines of "Do you shag dogs" or "Do you rim old men?" where the only way to minimise the abuse was to give the "correct" answer of Yes.