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"Hello soldier" by Ben (a friend of a friend)
~~~~~~~~~~
'Deciding to move down South was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Down South I could make my millions and impress my Southern brethren with my urbane wit and Northern cant. I could also hang around with the rich in the frequent social events like Badminton, Royal Ascot and notably, the Henley Regatta.
A large group of my friends had gathered on the river bank of this most reverent and class-ridden spectacle and were proceeding to get b*st*rd drunk. We were caning Guinness and Tia Maria (we called it Snapper) and trying not spill it on our chinos, deck shoes and blue shirts.
I soon noticed a couple of my friends in heated debate with another couple of large, equally drunk chaps. Thinking I would be able to sort things out, I ambled over.
I soon realised they were soldiers and were discussing the imminent demise of my two friends and how it simply would not do to disrupt the Regatta by fishing dead people from the river.
Taking on a slightly absurd stance and puffing my chest out I began a scheme to win the soldiers over by dropping large hints that I was in the SAS and that they better watch their step. Numerous clever ploys were squandered upon their low foreheads.
In mid-conversation about the advantages of the Hechler & Koch pistol of the more lightweight Glock, I casually demonstrated my 1000-yard stare to them (much to the irritation of a man some distance away who thought I was eyeing up his wife...) I took on the deranged giggle of a man "who had seen combat" and come through OK. I showed them my Booster Injection scar pretending it was a bullet graze from '91. "Special Ops, can't talk about it...."
Yet all these hints, dropped into conversations like so many pieces of cucumber into a Pimms glass, went nowhere and the soldiers were none the wiser to my faux-SAS standing. In order to scare these guys off, increase my social cache and save my mates, I was
clearly going to have to drop the bombshell.
"Hey," I said commandingly, giving a firm nod "you guys better stand down, I'm based Hertford you know..." I let the revelation hang in the air, the Thames lapped gently against the bank we were standing on and it began to dawn. What I perceived as recognition slowly shined upon their large faces. "The fackin SAS are based in HEREFORD, you Scouse tw@t" was the last thing I heard as my plan spectacularly back fired and my friends and I legged it away.
Suitably chastened at my naive attempt to mingle with the Southerners and look cool, I was the butt of all jokes for the rest of the evening, until my friend followed through on a fart and shat his pants.'
~~~~~~~~~~
'Deciding to move down South was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Down South I could make my millions and impress my Southern brethren with my urbane wit and Northern cant. I could also hang around with the rich in the frequent social events like Badminton, Royal Ascot and notably, the Henley Regatta.
A large group of my friends had gathered on the river bank of this most reverent and class-ridden spectacle and were proceeding to get b*st*rd drunk. We were caning Guinness and Tia Maria (we called it Snapper) and trying not spill it on our chinos, deck shoes and blue shirts.
I soon noticed a couple of my friends in heated debate with another couple of large, equally drunk chaps. Thinking I would be able to sort things out, I ambled over.
I soon realised they were soldiers and were discussing the imminent demise of my two friends and how it simply would not do to disrupt the Regatta by fishing dead people from the river.
Taking on a slightly absurd stance and puffing my chest out I began a scheme to win the soldiers over by dropping large hints that I was in the SAS and that they better watch their step. Numerous clever ploys were squandered upon their low foreheads.
In mid-conversation about the advantages of the Hechler & Koch pistol of the more lightweight Glock, I casually demonstrated my 1000-yard stare to them (much to the irritation of a man some distance away who thought I was eyeing up his wife...) I took on the deranged giggle of a man "who had seen combat" and come through OK. I showed them my Booster Injection scar pretending it was a bullet graze from '91. "Special Ops, can't talk about it...."
Yet all these hints, dropped into conversations like so many pieces of cucumber into a Pimms glass, went nowhere and the soldiers were none the wiser to my faux-SAS standing. In order to scare these guys off, increase my social cache and save my mates, I was
clearly going to have to drop the bombshell.
"Hey," I said commandingly, giving a firm nod "you guys better stand down, I'm based Hertford you know..." I let the revelation hang in the air, the Thames lapped gently against the bank we were standing on and it began to dawn. What I perceived as recognition slowly shined upon their large faces. "The fackin SAS are based in HEREFORD, you Scouse tw@t" was the last thing I heard as my plan spectacularly back fired and my friends and I legged it away.
Suitably chastened at my naive attempt to mingle with the Southerners and look cool, I was the butt of all jokes for the rest of the evening, until my friend followed through on a fart and shat his pants.'
That was brilliant, give your friend kudos.
"Hello soldier" by Ben (a friend of a friend)
~~~~~~~~~~
'Deciding to move down South was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Down South I could make my millions and impress my Southern brethren with my urbane wit and Northern cant. I could also hang around with the rich in the frequent social events like Badminton, Royal Ascot and notably, the Henley Regatta.
A large group of my friends had gathered on the river bank of this most reverent and class-ridden spectacle and were proceeding to get b*st*rd drunk. We were caning Guinness and Tia Maria (we called it Snapper) and trying not spill it on our chinos, deck shoes and blue shirts.
I soon noticed a couple of my friends in heated debate with another couple of large, equally drunk chaps. Thinking I would be able to sort things out, I ambled over.
I soon realised they were soldiers and were discussing the imminent demise of my two friends and how it simply would not do to disrupt the Regatta by fishing dead people from the river.
Taking on a slightly absurd stance and puffing my chest out I began a scheme to win the soldiers over by dropping large hints that I was in the SAS and that they better watch their step. Numerous clever ploys were squandered upon their low foreheads.
In mid-conversation about the advantages of the Hechler & Koch pistol of the more lightweight Glock, I casually demonstrated my 1000-yard stare to them (much to the irritation of a man some distance away who thought I was eyeing up his wife...) I took on the deranged giggle of a man "who had seen combat" and come through OK. I showed them my Booster Injection scar pretending it was a bullet graze from '91. "Special Ops, can't talk about it...."
Yet all these hints, dropped into conversations like so many pieces of cucumber into a Pimms glass, went nowhere and the soldiers were none the wiser to my faux-SAS standing. In order to scare these guys off, increase my social cache and save my mates, I was
clearly going to have to drop the bombshell.
"Hey," I said commandingly, giving a firm nod "you guys better stand down, I'm based Hertford you know..." I let the revelation hang in the air, the Thames lapped gently against the bank we were standing on and it began to dawn. What I perceived as recognition slowly shined upon their large faces. "The fackin SAS are based in HEREFORD, you Scouse tw@t" was the last thing I heard as my plan spectacularly back fired and my friends and I legged it away.
Suitably chastened at my naive attempt to mingle with the Southerners and look cool, I was the butt of all jokes for the rest of the evening, until my friend followed through on a fart and shat his pants.'
~~~~~~~~~~
'Deciding to move down South was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Down South I could make my millions and impress my Southern brethren with my urbane wit and Northern cant. I could also hang around with the rich in the frequent social events like Badminton, Royal Ascot and notably, the Henley Regatta.
A large group of my friends had gathered on the river bank of this most reverent and class-ridden spectacle and were proceeding to get b*st*rd drunk. We were caning Guinness and Tia Maria (we called it Snapper) and trying not spill it on our chinos, deck shoes and blue shirts.
I soon noticed a couple of my friends in heated debate with another couple of large, equally drunk chaps. Thinking I would be able to sort things out, I ambled over.
I soon realised they were soldiers and were discussing the imminent demise of my two friends and how it simply would not do to disrupt the Regatta by fishing dead people from the river.
Taking on a slightly absurd stance and puffing my chest out I began a scheme to win the soldiers over by dropping large hints that I was in the SAS and that they better watch their step. Numerous clever ploys were squandered upon their low foreheads.
In mid-conversation about the advantages of the Hechler & Koch pistol of the more lightweight Glock, I casually demonstrated my 1000-yard stare to them (much to the irritation of a man some distance away who thought I was eyeing up his wife...) I took on the deranged giggle of a man "who had seen combat" and come through OK. I showed them my Booster Injection scar pretending it was a bullet graze from '91. "Special Ops, can't talk about it...."
Yet all these hints, dropped into conversations like so many pieces of cucumber into a Pimms glass, went nowhere and the soldiers were none the wiser to my faux-SAS standing. In order to scare these guys off, increase my social cache and save my mates, I was
clearly going to have to drop the bombshell.
"Hey," I said commandingly, giving a firm nod "you guys better stand down, I'm based Hertford you know..." I let the revelation hang in the air, the Thames lapped gently against the bank we were standing on and it began to dawn. What I perceived as recognition slowly shined upon their large faces. "The fackin SAS are based in HEREFORD, you Scouse tw@t" was the last thing I heard as my plan spectacularly back fired and my friends and I legged it away.
Suitably chastened at my naive attempt to mingle with the Southerners and look cool, I was the butt of all jokes for the rest of the evening, until my friend followed through on a fart and shat his pants.'