It was Daf 44 variomatic in case you care


Not quite sure if this qualifies, but here goes….

Back as a young dogfoodbloke at posh school I was required to join the Combined Cadet Force. This involved hours of pointless shoutiness and crawling through muck being bullied by wannabee officers – mostly sadistic Geography teachers. There was also the occasional discharging of firearms, which was cool… but too high a price to pay for the general misery and militaristic bullshit.

Each Wednesday afternoon was parade day. Tuesday night was, therefore, spent polishing boots, belt, brass huffing, ironing shirt etc. Formal inspection each time, and woe-betide anyone improperly dressed or other-than perfectly turned out; the sadists loved a “non-conformist” and would become imaginative about their methods of exacting humiliating revenge. Wednesday lunchtime we had to get into uniform for parade.

One Wednesday I realised I had left my beret at home. Rang mummy to say are-you-going-shopping / can-you-bring-my-beret-if you-are. Nope. Not a chance, staying in all day, tough shit, you should have packed kit properly like I told you to, etc. Cue a couple of hours of abject misery for me, anticipating the 3.15 bollocking from the bullying bastards owing to lack of hat.

At the appointed hour, there I am standing on parade, sans green headgear. Much sniggering from rest of group looking forward to my crawling-through-poo-whilst-being-shouted-at punishment. The officer walks down the line; ten away; nine away; eight away; buttocks clenched; seven away omigiodhesgonnakillme; six away. Then in the distance I heard the distinctive clatter of my mother’s air-cooled car. She screeched into view and stopped at the school gate by the playground on which we were assembled. I froze. Five away; four away. Still frozen. The window wound down and my beret was frisbeed in my general direction. Three away, didn’t break ranks, two away; ohfuckohfuckohfuck. What to do, bollocking from parent Vs bollcking from sadistic bastard…. continue to freeze. Then she bellowed “You ungrateful bastard” from inside the car before clattering off.

Officer bloke: “pick up your hat dogfoodbloke”.

He calculated, rightly, that any punishment he could imagine was nothing near as horrid as having “you ungrateful bastard” screamed at me for the rest of my time at school. I was ten.
(dogfoodbloke didn't invent a new dogfood flavour, mummy did, Fri 11 Sep 2009, 11:43, Reply)