Onward wounded soldiers

Well it's been a week of peace talks back at HQ which gave many of my front-line troops some time off. Some of them took advantage of this by gathering dust on the shelves, some were packed off to be re-bound, but most lined up smartly waiting to be included in the new role of honour code-named OPAC (for the civvies among you, this is military speak for On-line Public Access Catalogue), which mighty PR initiative (how we modern military folks love our fancy new ways) is to be launched within the next week or so; and which will allow members of the great British public (and any others for that matter) to inspect my troops free of charge, though obviously not to actually hire them out (unless by special arrangement....all bribes carefully considered and cash to be left in a brown envelope beside a bin next to Starbucks in Piccadilly Circus).


Slightly worrying development on the Barracks front however: it appears that my luxury suite of offices (more often referred to as a Broom Cupboard) is to be turned into a WC for soldiers wounded in the call of duty.





 Now I'm all for equality, disability-access and fraternity and all that, but I am rather puzzled as to how I will manage to manoeuvre my troops from a field tent on the second floor. Awaiting further orders on that one, especially as I have now been led to believe that my (currently) homeless battalions temporarily housed in the Billiards Room and Second Floor office suite, are likely to be moved to some sort of cardboard city in a corridor on the third floor. I have suggested building a shelf next to a scale model of HMS Victory so that Nelson keep an eye on them.



Meanwhile in India I received a visit from Lord Clive himself - or someone claiming to be him. On closer inspection it turned out to be none other than old Colonel Gin-soaked himself (Gordon's Gin-soaked Highland Regiment, (Retired)) who, having had one over his usual ration, had raided the closet under the stairs (next to the statue of a bulldog). Having discovered that the chain-mail suit was too tight for him, he'd seized the next best costume and was parading around in it in an attempt to intimidate the members of the Rugby Club who had taken over one of the dining rooms for a particularly long and boozy lunch. Gawd bless the lot of 'em.

(Veterans Parade photo © Copyright Hugh Scott http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1600230)