80s free school launched

A RETRO fanatic has set up a free school providing a traditional 1980s education.

Stephen Malley was concerned that conventional schools were unable to provide the experiences of his own childhood, such as pink custard, programming a BBC Micro to endlessly scroll the words ‘Daves gay’, and kicking someone’s head in for not liking The Jam.

Logan said: “Here at the Le Bon Academy we’re getting back to 1980s basics. Not one of our pupils will leave without a ludicrously vast knowledge of glacial landforms or being able to name all the members of Ultravox.

“We are also opposed to the risk-averse culture of modern schools, and instead have taken the 1980s approach of completely ignoring all health and safety guidance.

“One of our pupils recently lost an eye during a playful chisel fight in the woodwork room. Instead of suing the school, his father simply clipped him round the ear and told him to stop being a poof.

“Similarly, our PE teacher, Mr Finch Hatton, is clearly a pervert who recently made the third years play football wearing only their Y-fronts. But in the 1980s most people hadn’t heard of paedophiles, so we just regard him as a bit odd.”

Logan admitted that setting up the school had not been without problems, including an outbreak of scurvy due to the school canteen only serving gristle sausages, powdered mashed potato and green jelly.

Second-year pupil Wayne Hayes said: “It’s really different to my old school. I’m practically an expert on cosines, even though I haven’t got a clue what they’re for.

“We’re having a Fun Day tomorrow to mark the sinking of the Belgrano.”



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If you need me I'll be in the pub, Charles tells Queen

PRINCE Charles has instructed his mother that he intends to wait out his days as heir to the throne in the pub.

Friends of the prince say he has concluded that if he is ever crowned King, he will be led into Westminster Abbey in a bathchair grinning deliriously, swatting at imaginary fireflies and singing the Ying Tong Song by The Goons.

He decided that, until his mother says otherwise, his role will be as the fellow who props up the bar of the Hare and Hounds near Highgrove from noon till chucking out time.

In a letter to his mother, the Prince writes: “Once, I had a vision – of a Britain that had razed down the ghastly grey carbuncles of modern architecture and returned to the alternative values of the soil. Each family its own allotment and thatched house within easy bicycling distance of the village homeopath.

“Now, I have an altogether different vision – an increasingly blurred one of a beguiling row of optics behind the bar. They seem to shimmer before one’s very eyes, like The Three Degrees in some discotheque.

“You know, I tried beer in my Navy days. It reminded me of my father – didn’t agree with me at all and in fact made me shudder with repulsion. Now, however, I find it has this marvellous quality of making one wonder why one spent so much time giving a fig about Britain’s soul and so little time drinking beer.

“Because face it, mother, you’re going to live to 120, aren’t you. Just to spite me. Well, mother, think on this – I’m the one already pissed on Old Speckled Hen at two in the afternoon while you’re opening a municipal swimming baths in Bridgwater.

“So stick that in . . . oh my gosh – queer feeling of melancholy and remorse . . . your obedient servant, Charles.”