busker

Cadet Wales

No sooner do I quail under Ken Ballenger's parade-ground gaze at Improv than I read of Prince Harry arriving at Sandhurst military academy for 44 weeks of hell.

And across there is the geezer he'll be suffering under, the superbly named Sgt Major Vince Gaunt. Looks a right old molly-coddler, doesn't he?

Actually, he'll be fine - his real dad, James Hewitt, is good cad material and Wales has already shown himself a chip off the red-head block with his admirable scuffles with the paparazzi and that silly Nazi arm band nonsense.

Speaking of good names, I love the idea of Wales having a private sec called Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton. I can just imagine Sarn't Major Gaunt making use of that:

"Jump to it, you 'orrible bit of royal snot! Or maybe you need 'Miss' Lowther-effing-Pinkerton to help you carry that 'eavy little rifle. Blimey! Gawd 'elp the country if *you* ever get behind the wheel. **Don't** answer me back, boy!"

Interesting point about the lad's security. I suppose they've got some fit bloke posing as a fellow recruit and few others lurking as kitchen staff.

In re matters military, my dad told me a nice tongue-twister that's seen me through a few mess room dinners.

In his day, they were called Staff Sergeant and colloquially addressed as 'Staffs' altho' the correct address was 'Sir'. In the case of NCOs (non-commissioned officers), the Staff Sergeant also called *them* 'Sir'. Confusing.

Apparently Dad witnessed one exchange with an NCO who couldn't seem to get it right.

Staffs: "You 'sir' me, sir, and I 'sir' *you*, sir. Is that clear, sah?"

NCO: "Yes, Staffs"