DTS
The Business
Mrs DtS neice is off on a school trip today. This got me thinking back to my school days (Yes I did go to school) and about some of the crap school trips we went on.
I think possibly the worst one I ever went on was when I did A-Level Geography - a field trip to Whitby. The trip itself was a seven day jaunt upto the North East to look at various topics. These included but were not limited to such excitment as the effects and causes of costal errosion, the decline on industry in the North East and the growth of the CBD in Middlesborough.
The trip was basically an excuse for the teachers to punish all the gobbiest pupils for a week solidy. Our hotelier was an iron and used to try and bring us clean towels when we had just come out the shower - Its was horrible.
There was a hotel bar but as my birthday is late July I was only 17 - This was May so of course almost everyone else on my course was 18 and could drink. My teacher a bitch from hell called Mrs Dean made a stamp up so she could stamp everyone who was 18's hand so the bar staff knew who could and couldnt drink. I got round this by quickly putting my hand against someone who had just had the stamp done thus giving me a semi-print. I got smashed and caught by Mrs Dean on the 2nd night. I knew she would want revenge.
On day four the trip was basically to look at the differnent uses of land and housing in Middlesborough. This trip basically involved us breaking up into three or fours and spending three or four hours in our designated area taking pictures and talking to the friendly north east locals.
As the areas were read out it became apparant I was in trouble. All the nice areas that we had been studying in class were being given to the class boffins and I had not been given an area. Finally I got mine - An area known as H block - So called as all the councils worst residents had been moved into this area in the 70's as part of a plan to make it easier for the police to monitor. This of course did not work and just meant it was easier of them to find more criminal like minded people.
So we got on the coach. My buddies for this trip were my mate Joel who was always smoking some horrible **** or another (And is now in care as he has gone a bit mental from all the drugs) and Chris Gayday - A rugger bugger from public school and not even the remotest bit street wise.
All my class mates were saying it was well out of order we were being dropped in H block. We were first ones off the coach our class mates waved us goodbye with that "Will I see you again look in my eye". As we got off the coach I began to know how Bravo Two Zero felt when first dropped in Basra. It was hell - I was 17 and terrified.
We did our best to stick to the script. First off Chris asked a local what it was liking living in this area and he told us to **** off. Later we tried to take a few pictures in the street of the run down housing before the locals tried to nick our cameras. It really werent going to plan. One old woman said that southerners werent welcome and recommended we beat a hasty retreat. Of course we cant do this as the coach is coming in 4 hours.
I did what any sensible man would do and made for a pub. I saw a working mens club and we went in there. Walking into the pub was like a step back in time. Plastic chairs and tables, a broken window and a selection of crisps that were light years past there sell by dates.
We pooled our money which came too about £15 which was a lot at the time and started to drink. We decided the best thing to do was to try and look like locals. I went to the bar and in my best boro accent I ordered, and was served 3 pints. We were in.
All was going well till I sent Chris our local toff up to the bar. All he had to do was order three pints in a Boro type accent. Of course being clever he managed to first off ask if they had a G&T which is hardly a working mans tipple. Secondly his accent was more distressed Jamaican than Boro like. Still he got served despite a few horror looks.
We spent three hours in the corner of this pub before making our way to the drop zone for extraction. I have never been so glad to see a coach in my life. I have only ever come close once since and that was Swansea away when the coach turned up just as some friendly locals had crossed the car park to wish us well.
Mrs Dean came over and asked if we were ok. Four hours of drinking at 17 left me almost unable to put together a audible sentance. Mrs Dean was fumming but we thought it was great.
I can honestly say that was my worst school trip ever. Anyone got a bad one?
I think possibly the worst one I ever went on was when I did A-Level Geography - a field trip to Whitby. The trip itself was a seven day jaunt upto the North East to look at various topics. These included but were not limited to such excitment as the effects and causes of costal errosion, the decline on industry in the North East and the growth of the CBD in Middlesborough.
The trip was basically an excuse for the teachers to punish all the gobbiest pupils for a week solidy. Our hotelier was an iron and used to try and bring us clean towels when we had just come out the shower - Its was horrible.
There was a hotel bar but as my birthday is late July I was only 17 - This was May so of course almost everyone else on my course was 18 and could drink. My teacher a bitch from hell called Mrs Dean made a stamp up so she could stamp everyone who was 18's hand so the bar staff knew who could and couldnt drink. I got round this by quickly putting my hand against someone who had just had the stamp done thus giving me a semi-print. I got smashed and caught by Mrs Dean on the 2nd night. I knew she would want revenge.
On day four the trip was basically to look at the differnent uses of land and housing in Middlesborough. This trip basically involved us breaking up into three or fours and spending three or four hours in our designated area taking pictures and talking to the friendly north east locals.
As the areas were read out it became apparant I was in trouble. All the nice areas that we had been studying in class were being given to the class boffins and I had not been given an area. Finally I got mine - An area known as H block - So called as all the councils worst residents had been moved into this area in the 70's as part of a plan to make it easier for the police to monitor. This of course did not work and just meant it was easier of them to find more criminal like minded people.
So we got on the coach. My buddies for this trip were my mate Joel who was always smoking some horrible **** or another (And is now in care as he has gone a bit mental from all the drugs) and Chris Gayday - A rugger bugger from public school and not even the remotest bit street wise.
All my class mates were saying it was well out of order we were being dropped in H block. We were first ones off the coach our class mates waved us goodbye with that "Will I see you again look in my eye". As we got off the coach I began to know how Bravo Two Zero felt when first dropped in Basra. It was hell - I was 17 and terrified.
We did our best to stick to the script. First off Chris asked a local what it was liking living in this area and he told us to **** off. Later we tried to take a few pictures in the street of the run down housing before the locals tried to nick our cameras. It really werent going to plan. One old woman said that southerners werent welcome and recommended we beat a hasty retreat. Of course we cant do this as the coach is coming in 4 hours.
I did what any sensible man would do and made for a pub. I saw a working mens club and we went in there. Walking into the pub was like a step back in time. Plastic chairs and tables, a broken window and a selection of crisps that were light years past there sell by dates.
We pooled our money which came too about £15 which was a lot at the time and started to drink. We decided the best thing to do was to try and look like locals. I went to the bar and in my best boro accent I ordered, and was served 3 pints. We were in.
All was going well till I sent Chris our local toff up to the bar. All he had to do was order three pints in a Boro type accent. Of course being clever he managed to first off ask if they had a G&T which is hardly a working mans tipple. Secondly his accent was more distressed Jamaican than Boro like. Still he got served despite a few horror looks.
We spent three hours in the corner of this pub before making our way to the drop zone for extraction. I have never been so glad to see a coach in my life. I have only ever come close once since and that was Swansea away when the coach turned up just as some friendly locals had crossed the car park to wish us well.
Mrs Dean came over and asked if we were ok. Four hours of drinking at 17 left me almost unable to put together a audible sentance. Mrs Dean was fumming but we thought it was great.
I can honestly say that was my worst school trip ever. Anyone got a bad one?
