As you probably realised by the sudden inexplicable void that has appeared in your social calenders I left on Tuesday for HMP Bessbrook Mill South Armagh. So you can once more breathe a huge sigh of relief and take the call diverts off your phone safe in the knowledge that I will not be bothering you for the next six months- all those who I didn't manage to see, congratulations you're safe till September.
I spent the last few days prior to departure putting my life into suspension. A bit like the United States packed most of their fast jets off to sit in some desert after the end of the cold war, so the Volvo S40 M6 Stratofighter detaxed and decommissioned, lies like a sleeping leviathan in the garage at home- not for the next six months will it be see burning Sunshine Variety buses off the lights or pulling doughnuts in the car park at the bowls club. However any of you thinking about having a fastball wedding in the next 6 months ( if any of you ladies suspect that the extra spare tyre around the waist may not just be due to the 15 meat pies you ate last Saturday, or if any of you modern men, wish to take a leaf from Dave and Damian's book and take advantage of the new San Franciscan interpretation of the marriage laws before our man Dubya repeals them) do not worry you will not be left without a wedding limousine, Dad (ever keen for some cash in hand) has kindly agreed to don his shiny grey lounge suit, blow the cobwebs off the Vo and deliver you in style to the Holiday Inn of your choice for the reception. He'll even throw in a tasteful textile bouquet made from carpet off cuts- and we can't say fairer than that.
If, like me, you utterly despise the RAF you will be pleased to hear that they managed to surpass even themselves for jobsworth stupidity whilst transporting us out here. Flight Sgt Numb nuts insisted that we each put our rifles, that we were carrying on to the plane as hand luggage, through an x ray machine to confirm that they were indeed rifles. But not content with that, having confirmed that I was indeed carrying an extremely dangerous semi automatic weapon he proceeded to confiscate 5 AAA batteries from me. This of course was in case the terminals of the batteries touched in my pocket causing me to explode and take the plane with me. Whilst admitting I did not really want to waste 6 months of my life sitting in an Irish bog I told him that the prospect was not, as yet, making me suicidal, and that even with the massive electrical force generated by 2 AAA batteries accidentally touching, I thought my internal organs ( with perhaps the exception of my bladder) were stable enough not urge to explode. However he had obviously had a more pessimistic physics teacher at school and the fear of the nuclear winter that the battery explosion would cause prevented him, quite understandably, from bending the rules. After a few minutes verbal sparring (whilst the batteries rolled around on the desk and inched the planet ever closer to Domesday) it transpired that he would relent if placed each of the 5 offending super conductors separately into the finger of the rubber glove that he just happened to have in his bag ( obviously left over from his weekend's antics). Little do you people know how close you came to your maker on that fateful Tuesday morning- if it hadn't been for the suspiciously moist rubber glove we could all be wearing white sheets and singing psalms.
Apart from my £10 pocket money a week for sweets (yes very prep school- hope the shop has wham bars) the rest of my enormous wage packet is going offshore, apparently Haiti is quite a steady bet at the moment. My world renowned music collection is up for grabs, but be quick I've had offers from a number of supermarkets and line dancing clubs already. All those clamouring for my cutting edge M&S woolly jumpers will, I'm afraid, be disappointed they are already encased in moth balls to retain their unique mustiness for my return. I would like to say that as I have just invested in a new phone communications will not be a problem however... My bobby dazzling new phone would appear to do absolutely everything, e-mail, play music, get radio 4, take photographs and videos, track war criminals, move Chinese Spy satellites etc .. apart from make phone calls. I should actually qualify that by saying 'make phone calls when you intend to make phone calls', as I haven't yet worked out how to lock the keys, as soon as I put the little baby in my pocket it seems to systematically go through my phone book, work out who is away in a country with the most expensive phone tariffs and then leave 5 minute messages from my left testicle on their answer phone. So if you've had a long indecipherable message from my left testicle many apologies. Once I have crunched through the 18 volume instruction manual I might know how to transfer my sim numbers across and establish contact. I know that the cynics amongst you might think these lame excuses are merely cunning ploys by the tightest man in South Manchester to avoid making expensive phone calls, however the good news is that as I am now so far up the army hierarchy I have been trusted to have a phone in my room ( obviously when more junior they think you might be unused to such responsibility and try and eat it/ pour beer down its receiver/ wrestle it/ make friends with it) so you will be able to ring me whenever I'm asleep- so don't expect me to answer.
As yet have not seen any of the bad guys, although according to my blokes I do closely resemble a well known terrorist (I thought Che Guevara died years ago), so have to watch my back in case any of the more docile ones try to arrest me as i walk to the shower. That apart thanks for all your letters, do pop in for a chat if you happen to be passing.. and remember your tax returns should be in by the end of the month.
That's all.
Fuck Off you Brit Bastards (as the locals seem to use as friendly salutation around here).
No comments:
Post a Comment