While most kids were in the dinner hall or down the chippy, there was a fifth former in our school that used to pop to the local pub for a lunchtime pint. You'd see him through the window sat at the bar with a pint of bitter, fag on the go, reading the Racing Post. He got the nickname Jack Duckworth.
For some reason the teachers used to turn a blind eye to it. Presumably he was in possession of some compromising information.