If your brain isn't buzzing with ideas that may, or may not, make a decent article to share with your public, then you are constantly wondering 'how did that last post do'?
I blog in rather an irregular fashion. People never know what I'm going to post next. I have no system or pattern to my posts.
I have no running themes on any particular day and I don't do any of that rather boring plugging of products or publication that some others seem to do. If I ever hit the big time then, maybe, I'll change my opinion on that, but it's certainly not an issue which takes up more than a few milliseconds of thought at the moment.
I like to try and raise a chuckle or two and, if I'm lucky, get a response that isn't just another nut or bot filling my comments with obscenities or junk.
How am I doing? (Michelle need not respond to that one)
Anyway, today I was thinking that I'd have another crack at the yanks!
Yeah, you lot! Here we go...
It was summer and I was still in the army.
We were near a small German town of Butzbach and we were involved in a little spot of military training.
I can recall that on this particular day we were due to go off on a long march, with full kit and weapons, to a location where we would 'assault' an American held position. I was not looking forward to it, so when the boss asked for a volunteer to assist our American cousins with a little 'families carnival' in the local American barracks, I jumped at it!
"Get yourself smartened up" I was told (we were in combat clothing most of the time, but we'd brought smart stuff just for visiting the yanks).
So there I was ... highly polished boot, clean and pressed parade dress and a smart looking side-cap ... when an American vehicle turned up at our camp site.
It was one of those big beefy pick-up trucks and as I climbed in, I asked the driver "Any idea what they want me to do?"
"Can't help ya there ol' buddy. Only bin tol' t'get yer scrawny ass there in one piece". He had a smirk on his face which made me nervous.
His driving style didn't do much to convince me of the truth of his previous statement either!
But we got there and, as we drove though the camp gates, there was the usual silly looking snappy hand signals from the guards that are meant to let you know you can proceed.
"Stoopid asshole!" mumbled my driver, who obviously knew the guy at the gate.
After a few moments we came to what looked like a baseball field covered in tents and stall of varying sizes.
"This is you!" he said as he pulled up.
I got out and without any sort of explanation from my driver, he drove off.
I stood there for a moment and as I was wondering what I should be doing and where I should go, I heard a voice from behind me saying "You the poor bastard they sent, huh?"
I turned and saw coming towards me two yanks dressed in fatigues.
"I'm Cap'n Hall. This is Sargeant Major Brown".
I saluted and introduced myself.
"They tell ya what ya'll be doin'?" asked the Sargeant Major.
"No sir!" I said. "They only said you needed some help".
They looked at each other and ... yes ... there was that smirk! Just like the one on the chops of the guy that drove me there.
They told me that would be helping them of on of their stalls ... but that didn't make me feel any more confident or make me think that my immediate future was not going to pleasant!
After a quick guided tour of the stalls, booths and tents, people started to turn up.
"Time to get started, I reckon" said Captain Hall,and he ushered me to the one 'attraction' that had been covered by a huge tarpaulin. "This is where you'll be doin' your thing!" he said.
I watched as several guys started to remove the tarpaulin. I caught a glimpse of the sign ... "Dunk the ...".
Then there was a water tank with a seat above it and a small circular target. Then the tarp fell away.
The sign read ...
Dunk The Limey!
"You're taking the piss!" I hissed, ignoring the rank of the guy I was talking to. "I'm in parade uniform! Smart!
And all you want to do is get me piss-wet through!"
Well, despite my reservations and anger at being suckered, I did have a good day!
And, although baseball is an American national sport, did find out that very few of the 'throwers' were natural baseball players! I was hit (and a baseball is damned hard) more often than the target.
Four hours I was there and I was soaked again and again and again!
But it was all for charity and on our stall we managed to raise over $400 ... and a good few bruises.
I was well looked after by everyone there. I was well fed and plied with beer throughout the afternoon and when it came time to call it a day, my soaking uniform, which they kindly replaced with a full set of US fatigues and boots, was taken away to be dry-cleaned.
Before I left that evening, they were all back! Uniform cleaned, pressed and neatly folded and my boots dry and, once again, highly polished.
It was a great day and I must admit, my hosts were more than generous and really did look after me.