We were doing poetry, and Mr Smith (not real name) left us to our own devices and said when he got back he wanted to read out what we'd done in front of class.
So he gets back, and everyone just said, "I read this poem" out of some book we had. Then he got round to me and I said, "I've written a poem". His eyes lit up and he brought me to the front of the class so I could read it out. So it went:
Heart aches, lungs pain,
It's Mr Smith (not real name) making us work again,
Isn't he ugly, isn't he horrid?
He's about as bad as my mother's porridge,
I really hate it when he gives me stick,
He's so ugly it makes me sick!
It was about twice as long as that and it went on to question his sexuality, but I forgot the rest and I'm afraid it's confined to history because he took my book off me and tore it up in front of the class.
The class was in hysterics, and I got suspended, but it was ace!
So he gets back, and everyone just said, "I read this poem" out of some book we had. Then he got round to me and I said, "I've written a poem". His eyes lit up and he brought me to the front of the class so I could read it out. So it went:
Heart aches, lungs pain,
It's Mr Smith (not real name) making us work again,
Isn't he ugly, isn't he horrid?
He's about as bad as my mother's porridge,
I really hate it when he gives me stick,
He's so ugly it makes me sick!
It was about twice as long as that and it went on to question his sexuality, but I forgot the rest and I'm afraid it's confined to history because he took my book off me and tore it up in front of the class.
The class was in hysterics, and I got suspended, but it was ace!


Great memories of a great man.




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