I dearly regret bunking off one particular day in my 4th year. That was the day that one of the former pupils came back to school, as he'd promised, and kicked the living shit out of Mr. Burns, the short-arsed, swarthy, bullying games teacher.

Those who were there assure me that: it was "a beautiful moment", "poetry", "he had it coming", and my favourite: "he whimpered".

Not even touching Jeanie's quim for the first time was adequate compensation (Jeanie was our dog).

During the sex education class in which all methods of contraception were explained and demonstrated, our MALE teacher squatted, knees apart, and held a diaphragm beneath his undercarriage to show all the girls just what laid in store for them. "I've never had to do it!" he joked, to which I replied "Yeah, right, sir!"

I regretted my heckle when he said "Come here, you, and be my vagina."

So, I was forced to stand before the class and make a ring with my hand, while the teacher inserted a coil between my fingers and explained its intricacies.

Sometimes I lie awake crying, just thinking about it.