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“Damian’s taking a mental!” Tommy Carson's bulletin sent shockwaves of excitement through the Home Economics sewing area. Like a pack of bloodthirsty little hyenas we swarmed into the kitchen area and were immediately rewarded with the sight of a crimson-faced, wild-eyed Damian Cooke advancing on Dougie Pelusi with a molded plastic chair. Pelusi (already with hairy arms and six inches taller than the rest of us) later told us he'd done a trip-and-shove on Damian in hopes of inciting one of Damian's weekly tantrums. We'd all pulled something along these lines at some point--the urge to provoke a Damian-spaz was irresistible. Pelusi had possibly overdone it, though; blood was flowing freely from a wound on Damian's forehead. Utterly unprepared for Pelusi's cruelly uncalled-for attack, he'd taken a header into the radiator. “Aaaaaaaaaaargh!” Damian was now yelling savagely. He shook the metal-legged chair menacingly at Pelusi. In unison we gleefully started up our customary singsong chant: "MEN-tal! MEN-tal!" “You boys stop it right now,” burbled Mrs O’Toole, the feeble old crone of a Home Ec teacher, keeping a safe distance. In a single deft motion, Pelusi grabbed two of the chair legs, leant back, braced his legs, wheeled around hard and released. The momentum sent Damian (still foolishly clutching the chair) careening towards us. We scattered like pigeons and Damian went sidelong into the corner of a heavy wooden table, going down hard. An empty metal bowl got knocked to the floor in the commotion and began to spin around like a top, clonging noisily. “Aaaaaaiiiiiiii!” howled Damian.