Age 14-15, school camping trip to France which had turned into the usual total nightmare for the teachers. Basically a group of 30 kids who would find any excuse to sneak off and get drunk or stoned by any means necessary. Some of us fancied ourselves as a bit more mature one night, so after curfew donned the Gallini t shirts, found a bar in town that didnt ask for ID and sat there with a freshly poured pitcher of lager, and a Galloise each acting like big men.

Barely had i sipped at mine when a tap on the shoulder and there is Mr W, my maths teach glaring down at me, a somewhat scary sight it has to be said. He looked me square in the eye as he picked up my pint and downed it in a impressively seamless one take,

"Nice of you to buy me a pint Matty, now you lot get your fucking arses back to the campsite, before you REALLY fucking piss me off".
We did exactly that whilst he and one of the other teachers settled laughing into the rest of our pitcher. Bastards.

FF 4 or 5 years years and I'm out on the piss in the local town on a weekend back from Uni when again i get a nudge and turn to see Mr W. He slaps me on the shoulder, winks and says,

"i never did get my round in in France, did i? Nor did i get you one for getting an A in maths, what you having?"

Bought me two pints, shook my hand and said well done. Good bloke.
(Matty73, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 12:57, 1 reply)

That's
class.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Fri 18 Mar 2011, 12:59, closed)