Army Life On The Fly
Oh, I don't want no more of army life
Gee mom, I wanna go
But they won't let me go
Gee mom, I wanna go home
Check out this excerpt from an article in The Scotsman:
The idea, which Officer Cadet Wales (Prince Harry’s name and rank for the next 44 weeks of training) will find particularly tough, is not to draw attention to yourself, not to attract the unflinching eye of the Colour Sergeant or drill instructor to that fact that you exist and have not been recently punished or humiliated.
Life enters a realm where the absurd become normal. A dead fly on the windowsill of my cell prompted the Colour Sergeant to order me to attend the dreaded "show parade", an extra inspection at night when most are collapsing into their bunks awaiting the early morning call to PT (physical training).
"Show yourself and that fly tonight, Mr McDermott", the Colour Sergeant spat at my face. You did not wipe the spittle away or indeed blink until the non-commissioned officers have left the vicinity.
At the evening show parade, another Colour Sergeant asked me what I was doing holding a dead fly in my hand and, dissatisfied with my explanation, told me that my fly did not reach the necessary standard as it was not buzzing. "Show again Mr McDermott, yourself and fly buzzing."
Attempts to catch a live fly in the five free minutes during the day failed and ensured I again stood at the show parade holding the dead fly, but this time making a feeble buzzing sound.
"You are so pathetic I cannot bear to see you on my show parade," bawled the Colour Sergeant. Humiliation and ridicule were a welcome alternative to "show again". I got almost six hours of sleep the next night without having to attend the show parade.
Oh, yes, sir, but the Norweigan Bluebottle prefers kippin' on its back! Remarkable insect, isn't it, sarge, eh? Lovely exoskeleton!