The Catterick Experience

All right, just received my joining instructions for ITC Catterick – that’s more like it! One of the guys at the gym went to Catterick back in 2002, though he left after a month or two, and he takes great delight in telling me a scare story from his time there every time I go to the gym and he’s there. We get on really well, he looks army enough but says he doesn’t regret leaving. He’s only two years older than me but acts a lot older, he’s quite a sound bloke and we gas a lot about the army, Blail Brown and Bush, basically setting the world to rights in general.

He told me also a few funny stories about other lads who joined, but for slightly bizarre reasons. A quick example was one lad who was a good five stone overweight apparently, and he joined solely to get back in shape. Unbelievable. Fat bastard.

A few of his more memorable moments at ITC Catterick include;

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  Being woken up at three in the morning with an ‘army issue’ alarm clock. Machine Gun fire.
  


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  Banging out press ups until his arms physically gave up, then being kicked in the ribs by the PTI for his lack of ‘correct mental attitude’. Nice.
  


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  One of his fellow recruits hanging himself when his father refused to sign his slip stating he’d had enough and wanted to leave (as under 18 have to get parental permission to quit).
  

If it weren’t for the fact that I’m now slightly more use to the sound of rifle fire from my combined five years in the Army Cadet Force (NH Forever!!) and TA than most people, can do said required amount of push ups (I hope) and have been known to take a kicking once or twice in my lifetime, combined with my age being over 18, I’d probably be letting all that get to me a tad.

As it is, the only thing bothering me is this talk of a ‘bottom field’, used to thrash fuck outta recruits who have to run up and down it for hours on end. That thought I don’t particularly relish, especially since yesterday was the first time in a long time that I managed to run further than a mile and a half without passing out.

Ah well, shits and giggles, hey.