In the army

I mentioned yesterday that I spent a year in the Territorial Army, which was a ludicrous decision on my part and which I suspect primarily resulted from enjoying the film Dog Soldiers a bit too much.  What I declined to mention at the time was that I was promised, or essentially betrothed, to Sandhurst, the Royal Military Academy for the training of officers.

Clearly that would have been an absolutely devastating blow to the British Military, which likely would have crumbled in my very presence and resulted in a Guinness World Record of Mutinies and the eventual toppling of the monarchy.  Thankfully, I had the good sense to decline the offer before it was too late, which followed after a conversation with the army doctor at my last medical examination.

Doctor: So you mentioned on your form that you suffer from mental problems.  Care to expand on that a bit for me?

Cecil: Well it's just anxiety, really.  Depression.  Minor-sounding sort of things.

Doctor: Minor-sounding, yes.  What symptoms do you get with the anxiety?

Cecil: Heart palpitations.  Paranoia.  General feelings of... doom, and such.

Doctor: Doom?

Cecil: General doom.

Doctor: (writing) General doom...  Ok.  Any idea what might be causing that?

Cecil: Not especially.

Doctor: Any issues at home?  Family, relationship, money?

Cecil: No.  Nice family.  Zero relationship.  Zero money, but it's been worse.

Doctor: It would help if there was something you could pin it on.  Some kind of reason.

Cecil: Pfff... (blowing air out of the mouth in defeated consideration) Boredom, I would think.  I had nothing to do over the summer and I got so bored it drove me mad.

Doctor: Mad mad?

Cecil: Not Jack the Ripper mad, no.

Doctor: So nothing very specific?

Cecil: I'm afraid not.

Pause.

Doctor: The problem is, you see, that I can't really write he got so bored he developed an anxiety disorder.

Cecil: That is essentially what happened, though.

Doctor: But still.  Are you sure there weren't any relationship issues?

Cecil: I wish there had been the opportunity for some.

Doctor: I see.  Well.  I'll note it down then.

Writes.  Probably writes 'relationship issues.'

Doctor: But I can't see why it should be any barrier to you joining the army.

Cecil: Oh.

Doctor: So that's good, isn't it?

Horrified pause.

Cecil: Well I'm just not sure I'm really the right sort of person for leading men into battle.

Doctor: I think the army would do well for having someone like you with them.  We have a lot of psychopaths, you know.  Nice to get some variety.

Cecil: Psychopaths?

Doctor: Psychopaths.  Anyway, that all seems in order.  Now whip off your pants and we'll see if that's all in order too.

Curtain.

But despite the doctor's diagnosis and his following thorough investigation of my balls, I decided that the military was not for me.

It is, however, full of psychopaths.  So sleep well, knowing the safe and reasonable hands your country is in.

I am in this photo somewhere, though luckily not close enough to see how wildly out-of-place I look.