As a 70's teenager myself, I thought I'd blocked out the appalling memories of the school dinners we had to endure (spam fritters, anyone?) but I have to confess that I too thought lobbing projectiles at lunch was such a clever thing to do. Picture the poor soul who happened to be the innocent brother of my sister's latest boyfriend, sitting there in his finest school blazer and tie, just about to tuck into his spotted dick** and custard. Lots of custard.
For reasons only a 14 year old will know, it was a great idea to lob an oversized acorn in his general direction. No one saw me do it. No one saw the trajectory. What they did see however was poor old Nigel sitting there in disbelief as his bowl just exploded, covering his face and uniform in his entire dessert, like something out of a Tom & Jerry cartoon.
I said nothing and he never found out. Unless he's taken up a career in IT in which case he just did.
Sorry Nigel. I owe you a beer. Or a pint of Baileys, which is what I need to help me forget.
**It's a pudding, not an illness