"School's Blown To Pieces" - Alice Cooper circa 1972

I had that dream again this week. You know that dream. The one where you're back at school, repeating the leaving and you've no study done. Then Big Bird arrives in asking you for a game of Charlie Brown Top Trumps, but you're too busy making out with Twink to even care, while all the time you're sitting on an armchair made of Liga, debating the merits and de-merits of American foreign policy with a Polish member of staff from O'Brien's Sandwich shop. That dream. We've all had it.

What is it about remembering school that fills us with a sense of impending dread? Is it the memories of those incessant beatings? Is it being frozen out of all the cosy cliques because you were too much of a nerd? Is it having your lunch money stolen every day and then making a vow to yourself that some day all those who made your life misery will reap a terrible and painful vengeance involving boiled tar and pubic hair removal? For me, I suppose it's a random combination of all three.

This week, being September and all, I'm going to address my younger school going audience. I've being informed by the ABC figures that I have a significant number of younger readers who were attracted to my earlier, more puerile writings and have stuck around in the hope of a return to that grand era of knob gags. While these younger members (ooo-er!) are present I shall impart on them some handy advice: school is rubbish, get out now while you can; start working as a chimney sweep or matchstick seller now and who knows where you'll be in ten years.

And don't ever believe anyone who says school days are the best days of your life. This is a fallacy, routinely perpetuated by people who are clearly not in school and not showing any outwards signs of wanting to return to school in the near future. I never once heard a fellow student turn to me and say, 'You know while I was doing this unpaid, tedious and ditchwater dull history assignment on the former Minister for Agriculture James Dillon and his threat to drown Britain in a "sea of eggs", I realised this is one of the best days of my life." He would never have said it because a) he knew it was hogwash and b) he would have received a swift slice on the arse with a steel ruler when the next opportunity should present itself.

It's not just the act of being in school that's a drag, it's the lasting legacy it leaves. I hope you students realise that for all the fist-shaking machismo, and unsuitable nickname antics that go on behind your teachers' backs, you will always, always, always act all deferential to them when you meet them in the street, for the rest of your days. It's the truth. I still live in constant fear of being given a write out or lines by any of my former tutors, should they spot me involved in high-jinks that would almost take someone's eye out. Neither can I enjoy a cigarette without having someone to be wide, keep sketch or a derivation of both. These are the mental scars of school-going.

So what have we learned from today's lesson? School is a terrible waste of time. Lads you're better off going of down to nearest mine looking for work, while the girls should be putting those nimble little digits to use in the local linen factory. Reading, 'riting, 'rithmatic are all rubbish.

I suppose I should really put a disclaimer with this piece lest the impressionable young ones think school is all bad. There are some positives. It's a fantastic place to experiment with small amounts of alcohol, recreational drugs, and casual sex, but please kids, for God's sake, try to remember this important adage: everything in moderation. Even homework.


The Zeitghost