I was always more of a sports/rugger enthusiast at school but, needless to say, the prospect of meeting and boffing real life girls by joining the choir in the latter years was somewhat enticing. So I went forth and put my name down as any horny young squire would, turned up to 'practise' as promised, took one look around and instantly realised what a tragic mistake I had made. I was a typical youth, blustering into situations like a Frenchman at Agincourt! The girls were frankly rotten, and some of them positively queer. Needless to say, once I regained my composure I set my aim on what became the only real feasible target on offer; one of the younger, year 8 specimens by the name of Wilson. Myself and the school loosehead prop finally cornered the evasive blighter during a dress rehearsal for the nativity play; afterall as Wellington showed before us in Portugal, life is about making the most of what you are dealt. And I still maintain that he sung an octave higher after the rogering he took!