Guten Tag, ein Beir bitte..
For reasons that will soon become apparent, I'll leave out the name of my favourite teacher, but suffice to say he figured out the best way to get us to learn German was to take us to a German pub.
( difficultchild, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 23:07, Reply)

Mr Macauley
In year 4 we had a teacher called Mr. Macauley, from Canada. This man was an absolute legend; he taught us about interesting stuff like dry ice and let us draw all over our workbook covers. He was a massive fan of Daredevil, and the time we had a horrible cover teacher he let us write a story about all the mean things she'd done in "fictional story" form. He also introduced us to the wonder that is root beer, and let us read Calvin and Hobbes comics when we were done with our work. I can't once remember him raising his voice; he didn't need to, he commanded total respect from a room full of 8 year olds just by being himself.

At the end of the year he made us all yearbooks, before he left to go back to Canada. I have lamentably lost mine, which is really sad seeing as I'd like to contact him again, but at the least I'm glad I was part of the only class at my school he taught.
(aedowin, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 22:36, 1 reply)

Mr Dawson
Mr Dawson was a geography teacher. The poor guy was stuck teaching in a primitve pre-fab right at the far end of the school, which was in a way appropriate as he always in a different world from the other teachers. He wore one of those jackets with leather patches on the elbows, and had a beard that could have housed a family of squirrels, and quite possibly did. Often in the course of a lesson he would mutter some disparaging comment about the board of governers or the education system in general.

Anyway, what was most endearing about him was he had his own terminology which we all had to adhere to in his lessons. He abhorred the pronunciation "jogrufee", and would always have us say "Gee-oh-graph-ee", to remind everyone that it meant "earth study". Lined paper was "stripey paper" in his classroom. Best of all, if you wanted a ruler, you either asked for a "Queen Anne" (15cms) or a "Queen Victoria" (30cms).
( Photoshop Bitch 2014 edition, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 22:23, Reply)

A teacher at my school
whose name I cannot remember for the life of me, once taught me and my best mate how to break into cars and hotwire them.

I never had him as a teacher (other than that impromptu lesson given one dinner time), but he was my mates form teacher for years.

Last I heard of him, he was sent to prison for murdering an elderly guy after they got into an argument whilst he was walking his dog. Stabbed him in the head with a screwdriver, and also a teenage lad that tried to intervene.

My school was fucking nuts though. A few short years later and this happened:

menmedia.co.uk/manchestereveningnews/news/s/225651_schoolboy_jailed_for_joe_geeling_murder
( PMGT -Bacon., Thu 17 Mar 2011, 21:56, 1 reply)

My wife did her teacher training at my old secondary school.
Turns out my form tutor, and art teacher, spent their free periods drinking wine and smoking, just out of sight of the pupils (no smoking in the staff room!), whilst preparing shag lists of the fittest female pupils (was an all boys school when I went) - class acts, the pair of them.

One of the governors at said secondary, had been Deputy Head at my grammar school ("women are well put together. If your lucky, you can put your arm around one and have somewhere to rest your hand"). Despite only having taught me for one semester, many years previous, he still remembered me, then asked to be introduced to my wife, despite having met her on a number of recent occassions, what with her working at the school.

Honourable mention for my better half, too, who swiftly found that no boy will answer back or attempt to push past you if your tits just so happen to be the same height as their head. Given that you pretty much can't lay a hand on kids now, this comes in very handy. Probably doesn't work if you're just a fat man, though.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 21:51, Reply)

Mr Lewis
Sadly Mr Lewis is no longer with us - he was attacked outside a pub and died back in '98 (his attacker was tried for murder but I'm not sure of the outcome) but he was without a doubt the best chemistry teacher ever.

Mr Lewis got suspended from teaching for a while because some of the senior year had been found distilling alcohol in the chemistry lab at lunchtimes. He told us the technique to blow up police cars (I've not tried it but let me dream that it works ok?). He used to snuff bunsen burners with his bare hand.

He could not function in the mornings without at least half a bottle of Scotch inside him but he made chemistry fun, exciting (or was that dangerous?) and definitely memorable. An absolute loon but a brilliant teacher.

Length? About 48 years
(manwiddicombe is thinking of something witty to add here, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 21:35, Reply)

Mr Price
Used to host the Jambori in North Wales (probably wanted to be a TV star rather than a teacher).
He was our headmaster. On your birthday he'd pick you up and turn you upside down.

I'm sure that sort of thing is banned these days.

I believe he went on to become head of education at the council.
( thistle, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 21:31, Reply)

My pal Liam
told a supply teacher once that his name was "Dave Generator", and was called this for the rest of the week.

This still amuses me on rainy days, nearly 11 years later.
( PMGT -Bacon., Thu 17 Mar 2011, 20:58, Reply)

Mr Williams the Australian metalwork teacher
Two anecdotes to give you the measure of the man.

1. One of the kids brought a hefty WWII ammunition round (possibly from a big machine gun) into school. Mr W immediately takes it, clamps it in a vice and starts hitting the back with a hammer and centre punch, exclaiming gleefully, "This oughta set it off!". Fortunately it was a dud.

2. This was the mid-80s and everyone was worried about the threat of The Bomb. During a class question-and-answer session, Mr W is asked, "Sir, what would you do if there was a nuclear war?".

Without hesitation, Mr W replies, "I'd put my head between my legs and kiss my arse goodbye."

I don't think he gave a Castlemaine XXXX about school inspectors or anything.
(rogerzilla, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 20:54, 1 reply)

Standouts
Can't remember any particular occurrences that made teachers instantly awesome, but there were ones that were just fun and/or a little bit insane.

Ms. Webber; the English teacher who just LOVED to burst out into a Whitney Houston song after giving us work for the lesson. Ex. "Ok class for a few minutes I'd like you to read" etc. followed by "OH I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY"

Mrs. Murray; Created several euphemisms whilst teaching us to help revision, like remembering a certain type of erosion was recalled as "playing with Jack's rubber" because we took to throwing the contents of his pockets at the whiteboard as an example, and you can guess what he had once.

Mr. Treby; Another English teacher addicted to coffee and cigarettes, with a sense of humour I've only ever seen on Blackadder. He had no qualms in stopping an unruly bugger by reading out all of their failures in the school and pointing out their flaws. Bloody terrifying.

Ms. Dean; The. Best. Ginger. Ever. Always brought in a shitload of sweets for the best students, often used films to teach Physics (If the speed of a Xenomorph's jump is 35mph, what is its force on impact? etc.) amongst too many other things.

Damn I wish college teachers were half as fun as them.
( Trogdos The Raging Cuntmuffin, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 20:39, Reply)

did anyone have a teacher
With a more unfortunate name than Mr Blow?
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 20:31, 28 replies)

Best teacher ever
For four years, our maths teacher taught nothing. We would sit down and he would say "Read your book". If you asked a question he would say "Read your book", actually if you said anything at all he said "Read your book". None of us learned a thing in 4 years.

So, one year from O'Levels, he was replaced by a student teacher. She started going through the things we should know, and we knew none of them. When it finally transpired that only 10% of the class could even do long division (me not included), she said "Ok, so I've got 1 year to teach all of you the entire syllabus"

And she did, we all passed and I got an 'A'.

She was also very nice too! Actually she was so nice that we never teased her on her name "Miss Condon" and you can imagine how easy that would have been.

S
( simbosan liked your link on, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 20:22, Reply)

erm...
Well there was the French teacher who used to wear her shiny blue tights and short skirts, the other lady french teacher who used to show us french films with naked ladies in them (to the whole class, obviously EDIT- here www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxI75Dwvltg ) masquerading as 'culture' - oh, and she also called one of the boys in my class a dildo for mis-conjugating a verb, and that was after moderating the starting of the word 'dickhead' because obviously calling someone a dildo is less offensive-
The lady art teacher who used to wear leather trousers and plunging necklines, used to lean over your shoulder to look at what you were doing on your artwork and ooze Chanel scent with her boobs hanging just a foot away.
The lady biology teacher who was tasked with teaching us human reproduction but instead of catholic school austerity started with 'this is about one of the most wonderful experices you will have'.
And the lady RE teacher who encouraged us to ask any questions (anonymously via paper slip) we wanted and she'd answer them truthfully, so therefore 'what's Oral Sex like?' and her straight-faced reply 'well, it's a matter of taste'.

Amongst all these, the answer is actualy Mr Peter Hayden who was in charge of the library, creative writing classes and the school magazine.

While allowing us the freedom to drink coffee in the creative writing lessons and never stifling a ridiculous flight of fancy, encouraging the quiet and deeply troubled loners to express themselves through writing (one of the quieter and glowering girls in the year wrote a piece about being kidnapped and driven away on a throbbing motorcycle, for example).

Coming in on Sundays to help us photocopy the school magazine that we wrote and tabulated (masters were cutouts glued on white card- this was before affordable DTP software)- allowing my anonymous 'Mr X' column in the aforementioned mag without censorship and then when confronted by the headmaster, threw down the gauntlet and insisted that there would be no censorship or they would have to remove him.

Also,a really really nice chap. Organised published authors to come in regularly to give advice, rarely had to raise his voice and eventually left teaching to become a full time children's author.

When, at some point in the future I managed to get an article published in a magazine, rapidly followed by a series of them in another one (T3 mag) and then culminating in some research work for News International during a non-work year in Cornwall and even an article in the Sunday Times, I got back in contact to say thank you for the inspiration and to let him know that his efforts worked well.

Cheers Peter!
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 17 Mar 2011, 20:02, 1 reply)

A nicer tale
I found my old Form Teacher on Facebook and sent her a message just seeing how she was and that. She replied saying she remembered me very well and she had even kept some pieces of my English work. Short stories, poems and the like. We were her first Form class who she looked after for the duration of Secondary School.
made me feel all nice and that knowing that as we remember teachers, they also hold fond memories of us :)
( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 19:47, Reply)

An Apology
First Year of secondary school we had a Maths teacher who was a bit, ok a lot of a pushover. Never a lesson went by without half of us screaming, fighting, throwing things, banging cupboards and generally being a little bunch of bastards. We even locked him in the stationary cupboard for the duration several times.
The poor man must have hated knowing he had us next.

The next year we were put into sets and distributed by means of intelligence.

Said Maths teacher suffered an aneurism (sp) while crossing the yard and sadly died. I hope it wasn't the stress that caused it. It's not a dignified way to die. Especially not while carrying a tray of school dinner :(
( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 19:43, Reply)

Health and Safety (Sparta Branch)
Mr Pawsey was awesome. Had we known, at the age of about eleven, the meaning of the term we'd've probably nick-named him 'Cerebral'. In that classic eleven-year-old-using-words-you-don't-really-understand kind of way.

Mr P was a PE teacher. He also taught other subjects, such as maths, but only because that's the sort of thing that PE teachers (used to) have to do back then. I don't know if it's different these days, but it certainly should be. Mr P's grasp of maths didn't go much beyond writing down the algebraic equation for a five-nil thrashing at hockey. This did seem to involve a lot of thrashing and not much algebra, and as a consequence I've since always whinced at the term "sports science".

His one major contribution to the up-bringing of both myself and my contemporaries, however, was his selfless demonstration of how dangerous it is to stand down-wind of an 11-year-old javelin thrower whilst not paying attention to where the javelins are going. There were, he said, many things that could distract you but that you should always be careful and watch where the javelin was going. He was very adamant about this, and we were very attentive.

Well, you can probably guess the rest. Fortunately for Mr P he was standing side-on so the javelin only passed through the bridge of his nose from right to left, rather than him getting it in the eyeball front-to-back HaroldKing1066_LOL-style. As far as I'm aware none of the class present that day has since had any similar type of incident involving rogue javelins piercing, or even merely grazing, any part of their skull. Or anywhere else on their body.

Thanks Mr P, for taking it in the face for the young boys :)
(Wilton Mitrowserz, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 19:24, 1 reply)

Fuck nose and bullshit
Our head of sixth form was my A-level English teacher, Mr Taylor. This was back in the mid-90s. I remember very little from those hazy days; and especially very little of A-level English, but the lessons were always entertaining. Two things that stick in my mind which Mr T taught us:

1. When he didn't know the answer to something, he would make an 'O' by joining thumb and index finger together. He would then vigorously "fuck" his nose with the finger/thumb hole. This meant... You've guessed it - fuck-nose.

2. If he suspected you of being less than truthful, he would fold his arms. The hand on the upper arm would have the index and pinky fingers erected. The hand on the lower arm would make a fist which would open and close. This was supposed to mimic a, er, bull shitting ie bullshit.

Not exactly awesome, but it still makes me smile all these years later.
(Freak Paw, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 18:39, 2 replies)

Mike Collins
The best teacher ever, and the reason I am a teacher today.

He taught me when I was in what today would be year 4. He taught us fractions with cakes and angles with a snooker table!

However the reason that I remember him so fondly was that he would answer any question you had. He would never fob it off or tell you he didn't know. If he didn't know the answer right then he would find out and tell you the next day.

When I qualified as a teacher my mum mentioned that he was now head teacher of a Primary school in the next town. I wrote to him and told him how much of an influence he was on me. He wrote back telling me what he could remember of the school and my year group.

I recently found out that not long after this he suffered a stroke, or something like it, and lost his memory.
Well Mr Collins, there are many of us out there who all remember you.
If I am remembered with such fondness by one child the way that I know the whole class remembers him then I'll consider myself an awesome teacher.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 17 Mar 2011, 18:23, Reply)

The best stories will come from Chemistry lessons...
One day, we'd had the Bunsen burners out and, of course, stuff was getting set on fire. Spills, biros, paper towels, more paper towels, even more paper towels...

One of the lads had set a few too many off and was left with a wodge of burning paper. As the chemistry teacher was on his way over, he decided that the best place for this fireball was the drawer of the lab table and shoved it in.

Of course, this didn't stop the smoke or smell of burning, so the teacher went straight to the drawer and opened it. Which flared the burning paper right up. The lad in question described the teacher's expression as "like he had just seen fire for the first time."

Still, it caused enough of a distraction that no one noticed that our table had thrown about half a kilo of plasticine at the ceiling so hard it had stuck.
(xaer0mancer, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 18:19, 3 replies)

Mr Pryce
I was lucky enough to have been taught by a great many wonderful teachers, but only one of them was cut down in his prime by cancer a couple of years after I left in what has to be one of the saddest human tragedies I've personally experienced. So, here's some of my fond recollections of the very great Mr Pryce.

A hulk of a man, with a booming voice, he was quite a sight when riled. When he thought someone was out of line he would never hesitate in sparing the 'hairdryer'. Legend has it he once bodily through a desk at someone who was acting up. However, he was never unfair if he thought someone was genuinely making an effort and, unlike a lot of teachers, never held a grudge. He was definitely on your side, too - he fought tooth and nail to get a pupil's late coursework accepted by the exam board (eventually succesfully) although we didn't find that out till years later.

He gave up some of his lunchtimes to take me and a few other people through GCSE history we otherwise couldn't have done due to timetabling clashes, except on the one memorable occasion when he informed us that today, we would just be watching the cricket. It was, of course, the oval test 2005, and that lesson we saw Warne drop Pietersen before he made that preposterous 158 that wil live long in the memory. Not that his classes weren't always both entertaining and engaging too, he would go far outside the syllabus if he thought we'd benefit from it, which frequently we did. He'd never talk down to us, but always and without ego was absolutely in charge.

I feel so far I've painted a far sterner picture than was really the case, he was always quick to laugh and his sense of humour was distinctly 'unteacherly'. No one will ever forget his coming to our leaver's bash distinctly unsober and proceeding to heckle our headteacher during her, as ever, somewhat long speech. At his conclusion, the wall he was leaning against obviously became far too slippery and, very slowly, without his expression so much as flickering, slid down onto his arse.

He also came to watch one of the first ever gigs I played with a rhythm and blues band, a kind of music we shared a mutual enjoyment for, in a typically low-key and undemonstrative way.

I'm sure he deserved, and most likely received, better written elegies than this from people who knew his far better than I, but Mr Pryce, you were a bloody legend.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 18:18, 3 replies)

We had a few (names changed slightly)
Whiskey Williams - Legend of a teacher, although nobody really knows why besides the fact he was often drunk, or seemed drunk. I think this was good enough for the pupils.

Jesus and Mr Woodwork (I forget his name) - Jesus, well... had long hair and a beard and drove a motorbike and was a woodwork assistant, thus was automatically named Jesus. And Mr woodwork was obviously the woodwork teacher (who was quite violent and often threw hammers and mallets at people and fought with the biggest kids during rugby matches) - They BOTH lost a thumb in the same week on the same circular saw.

Our Chemistry teacher looked a bit like a monk, and would quite often repeat the potassium experiment for everyone, chucking lumps of it into water, just to amuse us.

Oh and Mr Dickensworth looked like Ned Flanders, which seemed to pacify everyone.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 18:03, 1 reply)

Scholar and a gentleman
I did psychology at university, I had a lot of great lecturers, and a lot of not so great ones, but one sticks out the most. My best lecturer was possibly one of the finest teachers you could ask for, I'll call him "N".

N lectured me across a number of different subjects as I studied psychology, but he always brought the same enthusiasm and wit, no matter the subject. He would often use Buffy the vampire slayer as an analogy for the id ego and super ego in psychodynamic theory, he was a big Buffy fan and it did make things stick a little better. He always reminded me of Stephen Fry, he was intelligent and funny but had an air of depression about him.

Lectures on research metods were a dull, dry subject, he knew this, and would insert dry jokes into his lectures as much as possible, you could always tell who was listening as they would smile or chuckle at the jokes. He really did love his job, he always had time for a student, even a thick like me.

Shortly after graduation I was invited to join a Facebook group about him, a memorial. He'd suddenly been taken ill and doctors found he had widespread inoperable tumors, there was nothing that could be done and he died very quickly. On the morning of his death, he received confirmation that he had received his PHD. I hope he was aware of this.

When I think of him, I think how big a shame it is no more students would learn from him, no more research would be done and his great mind was now gone. Most of all, I remember his beaming smile as he met my eyes as I graduated, and I miss the man who cared so much for his students.
(Mong goose, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 18:03, 2 replies)

Mr. T
One of the nicest men you will ever meet, got me a B in GCSE Physics and went on to become my Form Tutor in the 6th Form. We support the same football club and he was always up for a chat and a laugh, and he was a good friend to his pupils. Now, he's not the most sprightly chap, but he's not exactly old either. A while ago, some kids thought they could take advantage of his relaxed attitude and ended up taking a joke a bit too far, and he came out with this... interesting speech. www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwWz8K20auY
Listening to it, I feel truly sorry for the guy. The people who recorded that were utter cocks and pushed him way too far.

An inspirational teacher, but more importantly, an inspirational man.
(Hi-Fi nonsense, herons don't deter coconuts, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 17:52, 4 replies)

mr. green
was my headteacher in secondary school. always a nice bloke. if you got sent to him for doing something wrong/naughty, he'd usually let you off(unlike that cunt mr. brooks) with a slap on the wrist.
when i was 14, i became seriously ill and had to drop out of school for a year. when i went back, mr. green had told all the teachers that i was to be allowed to leave lessons ten minutes before the bell went(for reasons i won't bore you with) and, for some reason, decided i didn't have to wear a school uniform any more. he agreed to let me repeat a year, which is why i actually passed some GCSE's. not exactly a star, but a top bloke nonetheless.

about 6 years after i left school, mr. green was one of the teachers supervising a school trip to france. 2 female students in the group were nothing but trouble, wanting to get drunk all the time they were there. mr. green put his foot down, setting curfews and alcohol bans on these bolshy 14-year-olds.
they didn't like this at all.
once back in england, these 2 little bitches decided to get revenge on mr. green by accusing him of molesting them. unfortunately for them, the amount of support he received from teachers and pupils, both past and present, badly undermined their dirty little trick. it wasn't long before they were forced to admit it was all a pack of lies.
the damage had been done, however. mr. green's health suffered, as did his career. those spiteful little cows cost a decent and hard-working man his job.
i wouldn't be a teacher for any amount of money. hats off to them.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 17:22, 4 replies)

My first piano teacher
Quite simply: the man made me a musician.

I started out by only being able to play the first bit of Tubular Bells over and over again (only using one finger), eventually my mum went spare and sent me to him.

Firstly, he taught me to use the whole hand when playing (you at the back, stop giggling!), how to read music, how to pick music up by ear (a skill I'm quite proud of now), and nurtured my improvising constantly.

Sometimes he'd ask me if I wanted to study for grades, and when I said"...no, not really." He wouldn't push, he'd just say "Ok, lets jam some more blues".

He had some great stories about how mad Mozart was, how huge Rachmaninoff's hands were, and how John Carpenter was a better composer than filmmaker. Sometimes he'd break out into really strange songs he used to sing with Uni mates, and was just a great guy to chat to.

Without that man and the 7 years he taught me, I would not be the musician I am today. So David B, wherever you are, thanks again!

(sorry for lack of lulz)
( Extinct Jesus Dossier "...I think it counteracts Hitler's magic...", Thu 17 Mar 2011, 17:02, 4 replies)

We had a french assistante called Marie.
She wasn't particularly talented or inspiring but she was attractive in a 1980s sort of way and she let my mate finger her in a clapped out 2CV.

This has nothing to do with the question. I just want to tell him that I still resent him for getting to finger the french assistante in a clapped out 2CV.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 17:00, 9 replies)

His name was (hopefully still is) Patrick Nobes
And he taught me English between the ages of ten and thirteen. Like so many of the great teachers, at the time he wasn't always a favourite. A keen disciplinarian, he had any number of enthusiastic punishments for those of us who failed to comply with his demands. He expected standards of work and attention to detail that I can honestly say I was not called upon to produce again until my A-Levels. It was not enough to understand the structure of a sentence, Nobes would be equally interested in the iambic meter and the function it had in how our work flowed. There existed a considerable list of words that we were not to use under any circumstances and nearly twenty years later I still avoid them for the most part. His marking came with the nuclear option- too far a deviation from his standards meant the work was simply struck through. No further explanation was required- the piece would have to be rewritten. He insisted on fountain pens being used irrespective of whether you were (as I am) a left-hander. We wrote with pen and ink and given the choice, on the rare occasions I don’t simply type something, I still use pen and ink. He was irascible and intractable but we tolerated it.

The reason for this was- put simply- he was a truly brilliant individual. The depth of understanding he brought to any aspect of English was astonishing. He was never ever wrong on any subject he professed himself sure of- and you could be sure that we tried to find him wrong if we could. His wider understanding was remarkable as well. If called upon to cover for any other subject- from chemistry to Latin, he would stroll in, take the briefest of glances at what had gone before and continue if it was the subject he had taught all his life. He instigated a school wide public speaking and poetry competition for which their were no exemptions and when I meet former schoolmates, we all concede that however much we hated them, none of us have a fear of speaking in public, mainly as a result of it. There were enough theatrics to his own performances to fire the imagination as well. Read throughs of various texts would be accompanied by the voices of all characters. Fascinating asides about the history surrounding the piece would be dropped into the recital. He excelled and in turn taught us to excel because that was the only way he knew.

And he had a dog called Thrillington.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 16:50, Reply)

I'm a trainee teacher
So I'm glad to see this question come up. I hope I can inspire pupils as much as some of the guys in this QOTW clearly have.

I don't really have a story as such, but there was one chemistry teacher at my school who ate fire as a demonstration. This was the same guy who was in the 'papers when he was washed overboard in the North Sea and was seriously injured for a good while before he came back to work.

Also, I will never forget one of the language teachers I had, Keith Brockless. The man was a legend, a real old-school academic type. He could speak 10 languages including Latin and both Modern and Ancient Greek, as well as teaching French and German. He made a positive impact on everyone he taught and announced his retirement to a hall full of 1500 or so pupils, who promptly gave him a spontaneous standing ovation.
(ConanTroutman thought we would free the vulture, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 16:49, Reply)

Helen Hill, Gill Bristow and Wendy Robinson - Lincoln College
These three ladies changed my life for the better, without exaggeration.

Before their Media Studies GCSE & A Level courses I faced a life serving drinks to bitter old alcoholics. If Helen, Gill and Wendy hadn't convinced me I was talented enough to go to university and actually forge a career in the media, I'd never have wound up being lectured by them instead.

www.lincolncollege.ac.uk/
(MalibuDonghonkey "Not unless round is funny.", Thu 17 Mar 2011, 16:31, 1 reply)

Only one.
He was the sweet-talking son of a preacher man.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 17 Mar 2011, 16:29, 6 replies)