Yin And Yang

As the days stretched into weeks, the weeks into months, the author looks back at how his time before the Army helped to fashion a sense of belonging that he wasn’t yet able to see and fully appreciate. Since then, he has started to find solace within the Army whilst still maintaining a link to reality.


Hard to believe now it’s been over five months since I was living back in Hull training hard for the Army. So much has happened in these past months and yet conversely it seems like so little time has passed, it’s such an odd feeling. Another odd feeling, certainly one much less expected, is that of nostalgia.

I remember with the fondest of memories my days in Hull before coming to ITC. Lay ins where still a regular occurrence, even if they were no longer fuelled by cheap watered down lager and highly cut class A drugs like the last time. It would be up and looking for another short term contract job for a week or two by the docks or in the city centre to keep my boredom down and bank manager happy. That and the local offy. Then it would be round to Luciano’s to catch up with The Independent and introduce my morning pallet with a few over priced cappuccinos. I remember quietly reading a piece on the latest fatalities suffered by the British Army in Basra one morning and how the whole situation was going down hill. To my left were a pair of middle aged ladies going about and discussing their business, totally oblivious to that mornings grim new statistics and thinking ‘what the fuck’. What the fuck does it mean any more to join the Army and fighting for a country who just couldn’t give two fucks? Then I realised it wasn’t anything to do with anyone else, that it was for me. ‘Hu Arr’.

Next port of call for the morning was the local library to research career options should the Army go tits up before it had a chance to get going. I had literally thousands of ideas and plans, one of which I hope to be doing when I leave the Army, whenever that is. Then back home to cook some pasta and munching the kilos down before heading off to the gym for the afternoon to work on weights for the next few hours, always trying to up the weight involved and always feeling better by the day that I was going to be in peak physical condition for when I start and giving me the best possible chance and leaving nothing to fate, the most cruel of mother fuckers, on a par with love. (sic) On the way home I would always cut through Gower and call on Steph and walk Buddy in the park and getting ever more involved with her. I doubt I’ll ever learn. Back home to get pissed!






Up here we get the majority of out weekends off when we can either go home and see loved ones (pay week) or we stay and get drunk in Catterick and Darlington (every other week bar pay week).

The weekends home are something I thought I would have little time for, save for the odd visit at Christmas and pass off at the culmination of our tenure here. Now it seems I’m doing everything I can to go home most weekends and see family and friends. Having lived in so many different areas over the past four years that relationships became one of many fickle and insipid characteristics in my life, and now it appears that finally I have some relative continuity I require something more, and need to keep my family and friends in the forefront of my life. I never expected this would be. Along with The Independent, my link back to loved ones appears to be the thing keeping me sane whilst in the Army, as I know wherever I may go, whatever I may see and experience, I shall always have these people to go back too.

Which is one reason why weekends back home are filled with two very powerful but most contracting of emotions. Whilst I am among my friends and family catching up and getting drunk and meeting girls on a night out I feel so elated and free from the bullshit of everyday life; but that, of course, is because that for me is no longer everyday life, but quite the reverse. And then, of course, is the grinding come down of a Sunday morning; that of a realisation that I will but in a few hours time be back amongst where I belong; shunned away from the very society that employs me to do it’s dirty work whilst it likes to maintain an oh – so – very overlooking stance on the whole situation while they go about their pretentious life’s.

I should have realised that in this ever increasing Yin Yang world of mine I would come to miss Hull and my way of life there. Even though it was a short period of time, it was a very peaceful and tranquil part of my life, one that gave me time to work out what exactly it was I wanted out of the next few years rather than dosing month to month on short term quick fix plans to find my next meal and room. And even if the solution was not what I expected of it, it is no doubt the bed I have made, and I thourghrly intend to make the most of it, no matter what the future brings.

Just so long as I don’t cut links, I feel I’m in for one hell of a good time.

Trouble In America

Never before in recent memory has an election by the sole world super – power been so crucial not just to the short term future of the United States, but for the long term future of the rest of the World.

Up until the last fortnight and before Super – Tuesday clouded the democratic issue further, barring some act of God, it looked almost inevitable that the Republican party would loose come November fourth. Now, in the aftermath of the latest round of primaries, the Republicans have all but settled on their nominee to face the Democrats and can now spend the next six months until the party conventions in August to do as much fund raising and PR to work up the almost impossible task of formulating a successful presidential campaign.

Now numerous hard – core democrats, desperate for real change, are worried that the infighting between the two remaining candidates Obama and Clinton has the possibility to go nasty over the remaining months until a winner is declared, most likely at the party conventions this summer. If no clear winner is recognised then the next few months will exhaust both candidates to the point that it could seriously jeopardise a national presidential campaign.

Two presidencies are in competition here; one driven bottom heavy to top run by a former community worker, the other running top heavy to bottom by a former veteran chief judge. There are fundamental structural differences between the two campaigns and the two prospective administrations, but instead of focusing on them as we should, were still fighting because one of the candidates is a black male and the other a white female.

The Republicans can now consolidate their new found advantage and rally behind John McCain. However, to do that, the conservatives on the far right of the party will have to get over their misgivings of the veteran Arizona senator. Many of these revolve around the views held by McCain to do with the more ‘traditional’ topics of the party. These include his more liberal stances on abortion, immigration and taxes. One of the first policies he has openly admitted to change, which has shocked some party officials, is to cancel Bush’s higher income tax breaks on individuals earning over $200,000 salaries. This, he has rationed, would provide the basis for his ‘universal health care’ system. This early plan is evidence enough for some conservatives that McCain just does not have what it takes to represent this very traditional side of the fence.

Firstly, persons earning over $200,000 in the Republican party have always tended to lean more to the far right and thus think it some what of a ‘birth right’ standard to have to pay lower taxes per proportion of their income, and see it as government meddling. The same applies to a ‘universal health care’ system openly trumpeted by McCain and is resented by the neo - cons.


McCain’s, and indeed the Republican Party’s as a general, saving grace (and it is a rather big one in this day and age of uncertainty and mid – term unpredictability) is foreign policy and national security. Even with the last seven years of an uber hawk administration that has cost the incumbent President the lowest ratings in nearly four decades, America is hungry for a Commander – In – Chief who will deliver against the threat of Islamic fundamentalism, both at home and abroad.

All three presidential hopefuls have varying experience on this matter, some more so than others, but all with a different appeal than the rest. McCain, for example, runs along the line most similar with Bush and Chaney in the need to halt Iran’s suspected nuclear weapons programme, overtly stating that he will do ‘everything’ in his power to make sure this never reaches a conclusion ending with a second nuclear armed Muslim state. He also has a wide experience with foreign policy having sat on numerous Senate comities over the years.

The same with Senator Clinton, she too has a vast understanding of the ins and outs of international diplomacy mainly due to her unique eight years as first lady, combined with her being a third term senator means she has a very popular appeal with the more right wing voters. So much so that numerous Republicans have started to side with her instead of McCain over his more liberal views (discussed above).

Finally the weakest of the three on foreign affairs, having virtually no experience in his still first term as US Senator, has the exclusive advantage of using his perceived weakness to his advantage. One thing more than any other ordinary Americans desire is change. Barrack Obama is alone in being a genuine change to the status quo, having talked before about his desire for open dialogue among some of Americas more undesirable world partners, including Iran.

Whichever party finally ends this most fixating of contests the winner, one thing remains certain; that the Democrats are the sure fire favourites to succeed this coming Autumn, but with the current un – certainty of the coming primaries, time is undeniably with the Republicans.

For the moment, at least.

What Makes The Grass Grow?

The last seven weeks sure have passed quickly, and yet seem but an age away already.

About to start week eight at Infantry Training Centre Catterick, and there is no let up. Passed off the square on week six and became a badged member of the Royal Anglian Regiment, so that’s one mini achivment already. The training, although still technicaly phase one basic training (ie every recruit in the army has to complete) feels like its getting much tougher and more real than other corps training. We had bayonet training the other afternoon, which mainly involved us getting ragged for three hours straight by the NCO’s, crawling through rivers and over fields until our elbows and knees where red raw with chaffing and bleeding. Along with this beasting we had the actual practical bayonet training, combined with a bit of old school ‘full metal jacket’ brain washing of the ‘kill kill kill' chants.

Week eight starts with us deploying on Intro Ex Four, our longest and inevitably hardest exercise yet; four days and three nights of section battle drills. We thought bayonet one was tough, I have a feeling this will really sort the men from the boys, several of the lads are already starting to crack, talking of handing in their DOR’s.

Not too bad with the time off though; had two decent leave periods already. First was after week four parents day, a bullshit health and saftey enduced bout of welfare for the fresh - out - of - school lads. A pal and I went out to York for the night and thourghly enjoyed the suprinsgly distant feel of female company, lie ins, and a lack of orders being barked upon us by a semi pissed off JNCO. But not for too long! Home sweet home and all, and they do say home is where your hats at. Or, in our case, shit lid.

Second time out was after week six pass off and had a long weekend which I spent with friends in Lincoln and had a good night out in Loughbourgh. Already, after only a few months, you start to feel that your different from civies, from your friends and families. Slightly better, that your doing something worth while, that you are doing societies dirty work and they don’t give two fucks. Maybe that’s what is meant by the Infantry brotherhood that we hear so much about – that were on our own preserving socities way of life in a totally thankless capacity. Everyone else is saying it too; that we all feel very different not just to normal civies, but our loevd ones. It’s a strange feeling and one that certainly I, nor anyone else I expect, had prepared for.

Two Days To Go

Yea fuck yea here we go home stretch!!

Last day in Lincoln today before I leave and hopefully wont be back for at least three months when I have leave for a fortnight. Get a long weekend off after six or so weeks, but have already long planned for that haha thats gonna be party week. Planning on flying straight to Bangkok and see some old faces and get truly arseholed and back in time for tea at Catterick. Hats off if I manage it I think what a story to tell when I get back!

Talking of getting arseholed went out for one last time with some mates in Lincoln the other night after work. Watta night!! Went round a few pubs straight after work with a friend then another met us a few hours later in his mini cooper soft top the bastard thats one cool ass car.

Went to a few old haunts with these two then went straight to a club in Lincoln and who was there but that lass mate of mine and her boyfriend whos in the army I couldnt fucking believe it!! Turned out we were cool after all though and looks like I'll have a familiar face to go with a drink when I get to Germany so thats pretty awersome I suppose.

The mood didnt last though my mate introduced me to these two lasses and when she told them I was in the army they got wet just looking at me. Now these lasses, bless them, werent anything special, but by this time I was well and truly pissed, having had over a dozen pints in little over three hours, on top of doing a load of shots with my mates before we came in. I was going to the loo to bang a few johnnies out and had the sudden genius idea (as you do when your pissed) to ring an ex - girlfriend up. Off all the ex girlfriends of mine (and friends in general) this is the one who I still have feelings for and would love to see one day again, but know that the chances are pretty slim. So when she hung up after she realised it was me I was absolutley buggered, and proceded to neck the contents of the bar that forty pounds can buy. The night ended with me vommitting pretty much everywhere, including the following:

• in the bar


• in the bars toilets


• down the stairs in the bar


• outside the bar


• in the river


• in the taxi home (taxi driver not impressed)


• on the drive up to my front door


• downstaris bog


• upstaris bog


• and my personal fave when told about it the next morning, out my bedroom window. quality.

So with these precious few days left I'm seeing a lass tonight in Hull, get the rest of my kit packed for Catterick, and get the train up on Sunday morning via York.

Right time to watch a throw back classic before I get started on packing, a bit of the old Rocky 3 harhar. Who knows when I'll next be on here but hopefully it wont be untill that weekend off when I report from an inet cafe in good old Bangers suffering the inevitable hangover.

Cherz.

5 Days To Go (and an angry bloke)

I know I've waited all this time (four years!) but with only 120 hours left it's dragging on even slower!! Talk about torture couldn't they just slap me about a bit, shine a torch in my eye you know some chinese water torture that kinda thing haha take that shit over the waiting game.

Talking to a mate tonight her boyfriends in the same battillion I'm joining, which normaly would be a cool thing you'd thing. Shit not this one more like a fucking curse as we have this history shit and hes always had a grudge. Great. I expect the first week he'll have sombody lined up to grease my arse down and aim for penertration. Lovely.

Aside from one angry pyscotic grudge holding boyfriend I'm totaly over the mood joining the battalion I am. One of the reasons I'm so eager beaver to join the army is the travelling. Get this my battiolion has just left UK for Celle, Germany, for the next four to years. Get to travel Europe weekends off and can still speak ok German so harhar bring that mofo on!

After Germany apparntly the battiolions moving to Cyprus for two or three years. Now come on Cyprus!! Thats more like it its the most enviable posting and no prizes for guessing why; golden white beaches, blue surf and naked freaky European chicks for the squaddies taking brap!

At least with this dick head waiting I can console myself with the delicious fact that for the first eight or so years I'll be abroad. Thank Fuck For That.

By the way the anrgy man at the top of the page is an artists impression of what my mates bloke will look like when he sees me first time at battalion. Probaly . . .

Six Days To Go

Ok that's it. No longer a civillian. Had my oath of alliegnce today which means I'm now a member of Her Majesties Armed Forces, and bound by millitary law. Sweet.

Last few weeks been training all day every day and now ready as I'll ever be for ITC Catterick, which is a good feeling knowing I've done everything I can. Back in Lincoln for a bit now before I go in six days, seeing old friends, tying up loose ends that sort of shit.

Got a fucking brill idea for my weekend leave as well haha get three days off after six or seven weeks and recon I'm going to just get first train up from Catterick to airport and blitz it up to old Bangkok for the weekend see some familair faces and get totaly shitted!!

More to follow . . .

England Germany: The Final Solution?

It seems as though England have settled in nicely to the new Wembley stadium, having lost last night to an under - strength Germany team.
We all know by now know the familiar pattern set by previous Anglo – Germanic fixtures.

England started the game the better side by far, keeping possession and dominating the game, not letting the krauts have a look in hardly. With Joe Cole and Frank Lampard controlling the midfield, and the pace ever quickening, it was inevitable that England would soon score. And score they bloody did; young nineteen year old Richards, right back, got passed Panda and another German defender to flick it up for Frank Lampard to blast past Lehman’s near side to make it one nil.

This, however, is every Englishman’s worst fear. We’re very good at taking the lead and initiate in a match, but that’s when it all goes downhill. We loose the motivation to keep attacking, keep dominating and keep making opportunities. That’s when the Germans took advantage and in the second quarter we paid the price for it, and that’s when this author knew we were buggered. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Jerkoffs.

However bad our number one may have been and the lack of opportunistic play being made in the second halve, the most frustrating, yet predictable, part of the match was with our number nine. Alan fucking Smith.

His England record speaks for itself. One goal in eighteen appearances. Now I’m no football expert, but what the fuck is that all about?! That record doesn’t just deserve him being struck of the number nine shirt, but an instant sacking of club football as well, with him being made to repay his total football salary up to now on top. The guy is a total fucking dick head. He had absolutely no chances in the first half, after which he was subbed. His only contribution, as the teams main striker and supposed goal scorer, which the nine shirt brings, was to set up Owen late in the first half. For fucks sake.

What escapes me is how McLaren can give the sacred nine shirt to this bucket of absolute useless monkey spunk, when the likes of Crouch, Defoe and Owen and getting half games, and have far superior scoring records. What escapes me further, however, is that the England boss can justify Smiths continuing presence in the national team.

Obviously Rooney is the managers and nations deserved favourite; he is the only one who can play and feel comfortable operating alone ahead of the pack, but in his absence the clear choice surely must be Owen and Defoe, with Crouch as a reserve / sub. Owens record, when match fit, is excellent, Defoe’s and Crouch’s equally good. The solution, this author believes, is simple; immediate decapitation of Smith. Tosser.