The celebrities now begin to rouse from their slumber, and in the half light of dawn, through multiple farting, rustling and the occasional hockle of a large dockyard oyster they begin to realise the implications of what is ahead now Delia Smith... or "smudge" as she pefers to be called will be entering the fray as a wild card.

Smiths bezzering credentials are already impressive, and she still hold the "East Anglian all comers" award for trying to Bezzer the entire home end of Carrow road, whilst simultaneously offering out the entire away end... impressive stuff indeed from the dinminutive gastro cum wino.

Grant is first to rise from his maggot, his floppy fringe is rigid with half digested Gyros Brotchen that he honked on himself in the night, and he tries to hold his wash bag and towel in front of his morning glory, which is leaving a small damp patch on his boxers from the barely restrained power lag he's got pushing on his bladder..... as he shuffles off, hair standing on end, and looking like the comedy survivor of a small explosion he realises Kate Adie has layed a cable in his flip flop in the night, and it's squeezed out of the sides forming a big dust bin lid of guiness poo.

Next up is Sinden. back with the group, but sporting a full on Head bandage, he sheepishly crawls out of his doss bag, it looks like he's been sweating profusely all night, but Sinden knows that unless he gets his doss bag outside and away from the kero heater, the ammonia fumes comming off of it may render him helpless, and the smell of lag is already turning stronger than sugar puffs and is making his eyes sting.

Attenborough is steadfastly refusing to leave the warm cocoon of his fartsac, and from the rustlings coming from it, it looks like he's woken up with some serious wood, and with the aid of his Happy sock, is trying to milk his"origin of the species" before he rises.

A full 25 minutes later, over the stench of steam, beans, fried bread and "warsteiner guffs" and as the previous nights tales are recounted, the "Bezzering staff" break the news of the days challenge ahead.

the room falls silent.

Herbie, wreathed in cigarette smoke, and cutting an almost romantic figure (if it wasnt for a pair of eyes that looke like gunshot wounds and egg yolk in his mozzer) introduces the new contestant to the group......

"Right Gents... listen in. I'd like you to welcome a new team mate, she has a reputation for already being an accomplished bezzer, but she's a Yo Yo bezzerer, one minute full of equal parts joyous bonhomie, veiled threats and hysteria.... and the next a po faced sloppo with delusions of grandeur and a tendancy to talk to people like a patronising QMSI... we're here to get some consistency, and we expect you to treat her as one of the team.... Delia come in and introduce yourself"

The tent flap flies back, and a dishevelled and grinnig Smith stumbles in, trips over Herbies foot and falls face down into the cookhouse....

"I'm fine... I'm fine.... just a bit off balance..... Whassat fuggin smell.... who's frying sh1t.....Q SPOOOOOONS.....WHEEEEEEERRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR RRREYAAAAAAAAAA ......."

There is a sound like someone putting a nail through a high pressure hose... and a puddle spreads under the prostate celbrity drunkard.... she gazes up at a proud and sympathetic Herbie...

"I fu ckin love you Herbs..... help me up mate, you're a prince mate.... no a king .... no a f ucking Emperor.... if i was in charge of the world mate... i'd pick you as 2 i/c.... but if you double crossed me, i'd cut your f ucking heart out with a pastry cutter you two timing c unt...."

Delia breaks into an off tune version of "if i ruled the world" and sobs her way through it....

A glistening tear of pride is seen to trickle across the Burst veins in Herbies cheek.

Following on from the previous nights fighting patrol a quick headcount by the bezzering staff ( this takes some times as none of the staff have ever had to count anything with legs before other then field tables) reveals they are three diffy.

A quick call to the guardroom confirm their worst fears..

McDonald, Scott Thomas and Paxman are back on bed blocks.

…………………………………

Guard Commanders Report

Guard Commander Cpl Himbleton

Duty Start DTG 1730hrs 23/01/06
Duty End DTG 0830hrs 24/01/06

After taking over the guard room at 1730 I found all in order. The guard was mounted at 1800hrs by Cpt Cardigan Fitz-Badly who did a full ammo check and drank three cups of tea. At 1800hrs I was called to the cookhouse as one of the “Celebrity bezzer” TV programme contestants was causing some trouble. When I arrived at the cookhouse I found Kirsten Scott Thomas was holding up the meal serving by refusing to leave the line.

“Call that scoff you fat remf c unt” I heard he say to the Chief Chef “If this was the Ivy I’d send that back and I’ll be fucked if I’m paying for this shite!”

Before I got the front of the line an unfortunate incident occurred whereby the bloke behind her had told her to

“Get your f ucking skinny arrse out the way Thomas! You don’t eat nothing anyway”

Before I could stop her she had cracked her plate over Gunner Hughes’s (now in med centre) head and proceed to deliver a right shoeing to the prostrate and bleeding gunner whilst shouting

“Who the f uck asked you - YOU C UNT” very loudly (though with perfect diction).

A general disturbance followed whereby Thomas (after some considerable effort) was subdued by myself and five members of the provost staff (she’s got a lot of fight for a little girl)

“I’ll fecking do you” she said to me as we finally managed to get her fingers off Gunner Hughes’ neck.

The MO and duty Officer was called and after some considerable difficulty pronounced her fit for detention. Capt Cardigan Fitz-Badly interviewed her but she refused to converse with him saying

“You can feck right off, think you’re a posh bloke, I know posh blokes and they shite on you – wannabe”

Later that evening I called out the guard as the ORs bar had called operation “Wild West”, I the entire guard contingent (equipped with pick hafts) and some tasty lads from B Coy made our way to the Bar.

The bar was in some disorder with some 300 men fighting to the tune of “One Step Beyond” – (interestingly one bloke (Bamber Gascoigne) was not fighting but continuing to run on the spot and wave his arms as if he was Suggs himself)

The situation was brought under control and the bar cleared, the last two individuals to be pacified were Jeremy Paxman and Trevor McDonald who apparently had come back into the bar looking for Bamber Gascoigne shouting “We don’t leave ANYONE behind”.

“Go back to the block lads – it’s all over here” – I said to them

“Is it really?” said Paxman “Who are you to fecking well tell me what to do?”

“Your in enough trouble paxman” I said

“Answer the f ucking question – it’s simple enough - Who are you to fecking well tell me what to do” His questioning style is intense.

Pte’s Smith, Higgins, Wilks and Micheals all received their injuries in the next 30 mins with the three celebs putting up quite a fight before being subdued.

“I love you Gumbo” could be heard being shouted above the fray but who “Gumbo” is cannot be said.

These are an accurate depiction of events as I remember them

Sir

Cpl Himbleton
24937469

The bombshell of Delia 'Smudge' Smith has caused all sorts of ructions in the course. Some of the more confident students like paxo, attenborough, and McDonut are a bit threaders and have adopted the attitude of 'Who the fcuk does she think she is?"
But the others, most notably the still injury Don Sinden, see Delia's previous experience as very much the 'Just failed selection on the last day due to injury', scenario.
It's Friday afternoon and a brief spell of egyptian PT has left the course ready for the squadron bar.
Herbie and the other instructors have given the dress code of oily covvies fresh from the tank park, and have been prepping to receive some chest poking.
Everyone is milling around supping their first warsteiner, but paxo is hammering a bottle of warm apple korn, taking 5 second chugs, burping up and re swallowing sick, then getting straight back on it.
Showing the weaker side to her bezzering abilities, and to the dismay of the instuctors, Smudge gets a bit victor mature and polices Paxo who is already visibly pin balling and in an advanced state of undress.
'Steady on with that, jezza!"
Paxo has a string of drool hanging from his bottom lip to the elastics in his lightweights, and whilst still able to swear is mildly incoherent.
"Cnuting fcuk. FCUK OUT!!! CNUT FCUKER!"
He raises his hand to jaw smudge, but the balled fist tilts him off balance and once his huge hooter gives in to gravity, there is no going back. He goes down like a felled tree taking two tables and judith hann with him.
Delia mutters 'Wnaker.' Under her breath and Trev McDonut throws a track. Using the racially steriotypical finishing move of all mid 70's black wrestlers like Jonny Kwango, Trev lands the melon on Smudge and she staggers back into Bamer Gascoigne. Who, like all Gwarrs goes nuts for no reason and blows up on her.
Don Sinden is having non of this as he idolises Smudges proven track record of Uber bezzying.
Soon Don and Bamber are going at it on the floor with a doppel headlock grapple, Paxo is swamping on them and giggling to himself, oblivious to the fact that he started it all. And Smudge and trev are nose to nose, trying to pull the duty hardman routine.
The instructors decide to let it go for a bit. It's the right decision, as Dave attenborough accidentally rings the bell with his elbow during an animated rendition of a fictitious shagging anecdote that supposedly happened on leave. (Dave has a bit of a rep as a sex liar).
With the sound of the bell, all conflicts cease at the promise of free booze, which in turn brings out the bezzering later on.
One hour later, Trev McDonut is consoling Smudge as she is voming in a bin next to the pool table.
"GETTEROUT YA FOOKA!" He shouts as each wretch racks smudges body.
Smudge stands up, all bleary eyed.
"OOOOH JESUS", she moans. There is snot trailing from both nostrils and into her mouth. Her hair looks like it has been combed with a toffee apple and she is wearing bamber gascoignes skidded up Y fronts over the top of her lightweights.
Once her composure is regained, she orders a death wet topshelfer, stands atop a bar stool, then cries out.
"COOOMMMMEEEEEE OOOONNNNNNN!"
The whole bar chants, "SMUDGE! SMUDGE! SMUDGE!" As she downs the drink and up turns the glass on her head. Joy turns to pain as the drink comes back up almost straight away, with a nostril exit velocity of 400 mph. The power of the honk blows her backwards of the stool and she is rendered unconcious on the bar floor.
When she wakes in the morning she is alone in the bar, covered in beer, fag ash, phlegm, dhobi dust and it appears that she has been used as a make shift toilet.
"Bastard5" She mutters as she peels herself off the deck and shuffles off to her scratcher.

Celebrity Bezzering has moved on to the 'Break into the Naafi gaming machines round' before a quickfire round of 'break into the cookhouse and make egg banjos' run by celebrity chef and swear-monkey Gordon 'Feckin Cnut' Ramsay. The Gaming Machines round will be scored later as all the action was caught on CCTV and will be judged by the fourth official aka the SiB (although no-one will get done for it despite everyone involved wearing Troop T-Shirts).

Ramsay judges the early rounds of Bingo-Banjo a dead heat as he has 'never tasted such shite in all his chuff, it was like chewing on tramps pants' but following his half time refreshment break in the celebrity bezzer tequilla tent he judges Brandreth's eggy mess 'as the best dob of mess i've ever licked off me chin'. The resultant victory lap of the camp arm in arm takes about an hour and three quarters as the runner up 'Super-chef' Paxman insists stopping for just a little kip under an UBRE is a good idea. Ramsay and Smudger dissappear for half an hour following Smith's invitation to "let's be 'avin' you".

I'm on absolute tenterhooks waiting to find out who's going to win the Douggie Shefton memorial trophy.

It's presented to the bezzerer who:

"Smelt most of stale pi-ss and magic markers on a squadded run"

My money's on Jeremy Paxman. Apparently his Ron Hill's can get round the BFT route on their own.

Following an altercation with Fat Dimitri the sweaty propriertor of a local Gyros shop, during which Delia complained about the halb hanchen via the medium of lobbing a polyprop chair through his window, the course are all confined to camp.
Never the less, the instructors are well aware that this may effect their bezzer training, so they officially sanction a block party.
With out further ado, paxo, grant, hann, mcdonut and sinden all head off to the colonel and clear it out of yellow handbags and asbach.
As soon as the others hear the familiar 'ching, ching, ching' approaching, they all help unpack the warm booze.
Almost immediately Don Sinden and Trev Mcdonut decide to liven things up with a slug race, so they both crawl into their dossbags, zip them up and begin wriggling to the other end of the room.
Half way through Trev suggests turning it into realistic slugs by swamping to leave a rudimentary liquid trail. Ever the entertainer, Don sinden agrees and lets fly with a Herfy power waz. Unfortunately for Don, who is a bit of a grot on the sly, years of milking in his doss bag without the use of a catching rag, has finally caught up with him, as his slug trail is made uber realistic with the gelatinous p1ss-rehydrated spuzz seepage.
Everyone notices this and give him a light hearted shoeing from which his dossbag stops him escaping. After a shortwhile they all stop except for grant who has turned nasty and with his tongue out, is really putting the boots in. Paxo drags him off, "Howay, Granty, he's had enough!"
The mood is a bit quiet for a bit due to the savagery of grant's attack, but it soon picks up when Hann rocks up with a stolen ghetto balster that she "Knicked from the fcuking scaleys block."
Scott Thomas puts on some Bob Marley and her and beeny do a rendition of Exedus, but instead they sing.
"Hexeblocks, movement of ja compo."
Dimbleby commits the Block Party Cardinal Sin of wobbing out early, so Judith Hann returns to her scientific roots by inserting a weetabix into his gob to aid dehydration and thus enhance that 'shat in mouth' feeling of a hangover. She also places two large piles of sugar over his eyes to give him a rude awakening.
By midnight they have sorted out a beer and p1ss water slide in the middle of the room and paxo has called Naked Bar.
The instructors are outside listening to the melee, Herbie turns to Eggie.
"I fcuking love them cnuts, I do." He sniffs.

It is with great sadness that the producers of Celebrity Bezzers announce the death of Donald Sinden. Mr Sinden, "a great actor and a top bloke although if he crossed you you would cut his heart out", passed away during filming of the second series. He had been confined to the guardroom following the AT weekend in Brecon and set the task of cleaning his mess-tins to a household division patina of shininess, unseen since the hey-day of National Service. Sadly in the grip of withdrawal symptoms from alcohol, it appears the thespian drank nearly two pints of Brasso before dying.

"Of course this is a tragedy but we will go on filming, Donny would have wanted it this way. He was the best..ah fcuk, get them beers in Granty!" said David Attenborough. Trevor McDonald added "Who are you looking at you poof."

Kate Adie is 73,

The second series of Celebrity Bezzers is drawing to a close on ITV. Viewing figures have been astronomical and the producers are delighted with the cheap but punchy (especially Friday evenings) format. It is therefore no surprise that the programme has been nominated for several BAFTAs, based on its slick production values, beautiful locations, engaging cast and frequent shots of Sarah Beeny showering in the block.

The night of the BAFTAs and the lovies are gathered at the Grosvenor for the gong-dishing out, one-upmanship and scoring off of long term rivals. A technical fault delays the commencement of the formalities by half and hour. Herbie and his two side-kicks waste no time therefore in organising a quick champagne only boatrace. Paxman's team wins and stand proudly their pint-pots upside down on their heads while Granty and his team perform the Mexican bum wank as a forfeit. Unfortunately this is not the NAAFI, these are not the boys and girls of their host unit and the teams are surrounded by aghast media types, actors and generally supernumerary REMFs guzzling Evian.

Granty does a quick recover and leads his boys and girls off to the pub in the back street behind the GH. "Don't worry Herbie mate, we'll only be gone half an hour - there's loads of time before the awards" he brays. Paxman is unwilling to leave as he is now poking Kirsty Wark in the chest "And another thing.." he can be heard to say "you think you are sooo shit hot, you bitch.." His oppos beg him to calm down, "as we've all had a drink" but to no avail. suddenly Paxo gets the red mist and despite the best efforts of fellow newscaster McDonald and TVs Mr Wildlife, David Attenborough, proceeds to wade into Kirsty. Unfortunately she is unprepared, lacking Paxo's two seasons of CB and she is melted almost immediately. As are the two BAFTA officals, three Grosvenor waiters and four security men who try to interecede. Plus two of the Met's finest. Eventually a call is made to rochester row and specialist elements of the RMP's crack Bezzering Squad have Paxman pinned across the bonnet of their squad car. McDonald is shouting unintelligibly and Kate Adie has been maced to try and remove her from a passing high Court Judge.

The BAFTA award ceremony goes on inside, for the show must go on. The CB team's tables are conspicuously empty and it is geting close to their moment. Suddenly the doors of the ballroom fly open and the rest of the cast run in, naked. Each has a lily protruding from their ricker and have swapped trolleys before donning them, cap-comforter-styley, on their heads. Grant spins to a halt in front of the podium, where the producer is about to receive the BAFTA "on behalf of the cast who are indisposed".

"What's going on? Eh? Eh? This is fcukin nice, this is. We put in the hard work and you bsad's take all the feckin glor..gly..grol..credit!" he roars. "Bsad, you're not fit to tie my bootlaces..producers? feckin producers? I've shat 'em. COME ON!" The mass brawl that ensues is generally agreed to be the worst the Grosvenor has sen since Boat Race night 1954.

In the morning a terse press release announces that despite the success of Celebrity Bezzers, the proposed third series will not now be taking place. Hugh Grant's agent makes a statement to the effect that hugh Grant is now resting at the priory. Gyles Brandreth appears in a promotions list at 4 GS Regiment RLC, as a/l/Lance Jack having signed on for 22. David Attenborough is offered employment by a private military company, who have been impressed by his close protection skills during the various rucks, kerfuffles and fisticuffs. His first client is the Pope...

The Vatican, 0600hrs

The sun is rising over Rome and the Pope, having finished his first session of God Bothering for the day decides to slip into something more comfortable (an SS-Brigadenfuhrer uniform and full length leather coat) before heading to the Holy Cookhouse for breakfast.

As he enters his chamber, Attneborough is spread full length on the floor, dressed in maroon sweatshirt, jeans c/w Africa, Map of, x1 and desert boots and smelling strongly of Apfelkorn, kebab and piss. He drags himself off the floor and stands long enough to drape himself round the Teutonic Pontiff's neck and scream at full drunken conversational volume "I f*cking love yer, yer c*nt. You're the best f*cking Pope I've ever worked for. I'd let you molest my little brother but if you ever hurt him, I'll gouge yer eyes out with a spoon" before falling into the wardrobe he's been using as a urinal all night.

Suddenly, there's a comotion outside and in bursts Ahmed Al-Karzi, well known fundamental assassin. He raises his Glock and takes aim at the Pole-massacring Pope...

Attenborough, seeing his Principal under threat launches himself into action. A half full glass of Wobbly flies across the room and smashes into Ahmed's face, showing the months of Naafi training has paid off. Attenborough flies out of his wardbrobe/urinal refuge and goes on the offensive, flailing like an epileiptic on fire in a disco. For all of his months of intensive training in the Bekka desert, Ahmed has never faced the fury of a full on pissed up Naafi charge. Still groggy from the effects of the pot of Wobbly to the swede and faced with the awesome sight of the flailing Gorilla-Molester at full pelt, he turns to run.

Attenborough is on him in seconds though. "yer bast, you starting on my f*ckin mate, yer rag head f*cking bast. I've had f*ckin Paxman off, I'll have you too, yer c*nt". Drunken blows rain down on the helpless Fundy until the Chimp Chaser pauses out of breath. Taking a swig from a bottle of Newcy Broon, he suddenly bursts into tears and clamps the assassin into the traditional bezzering headlock.
"You're my best f*cking mate you are, I'd take a bullet for you any day. If I had to be in a trench with anyone, it'd be you mucker. I f*cking love you. I'd let you convert my sister mucker, any time you want, just say the word and she's yours. But if you ever hurt her, I'll slit your throat with a rusty tin opener."

The terrified assassin is still trapped like this when the Swiss Guards arrive to arrest him. Yet again, the pissed up Llama-fancier is the hero of the day.

I thought I would resurrect this thread to co-incide with Celebrity X factor and Big Dave Attenborough's birthday, both of which have had a bit of airtime recently.

Imagine if following his success on the celebrity bezzering programme, and bouyed after tapping off at his birthday bash at the NAAFI bop in the Ali Pali in Aldergrove, Big Dave takes the plunge and volunteers for Celebrity X factor. (he had volunteered for testing at Portan Down, but the TV gig pays more and he is in the red with SSVC after buying a huge stereo for the block and selling it a month later for 150 Deutche Marks, to go on raz).

Anyway, it is the first night and all the other celebs are rubbing shoulders and making promises to do lunch. All that is except for big dave who has tricked James Hewitt into getting on it, by telling him that there is no RSMs parade the following day. (Dave has got the day off in lieu for doing a duty clutch, but Jimbo doesn't know this and is destined for the pokey).
Dave is supposed to be singing 'Fly me to the moon', but half way into their second slab of wobbly dave's memory is a bit ropey and his 'jonny through the nose and out of the mouth trick' that he did to impress Michelle marsh has ruined his singing voice. Michelle is disgusted, so dave attempts a few clap press ups to try and salvage his chances, but his efforts are in vain as he collapses in a crumpled heap. Jimbo Hewitt comes to the rescue and consoles dave by telling him "Divunt worry, Davo, man. That Marsh is a fat lezza, anyways."
The rest of the acts go ahead as planned although Rebecca Loos has to do a solo because Jim Hewitt is yacking his ring up in the traps, following "A bad pint, possibly the 12th."
Dave is the last performer on and pinballs onto the stage, bumping in to and offering out a piece of set decoration, he has to be dragged away from the inanimate object by Kate Thornton and screams "I'll fcuking see you outside, sunshine, I'm going to go all climate change on your ass!"
The intro to 'fly me to the moon' begins but dave hushes the band, he then turns to the audience, pins on his NI medal, throughs up a salute and starts to sing 'The Soldier' by Harvey Andrews. He just about makes "At a station in the city, a British Soldier stood....." Before the tears start. Once finished he shouts "NAKED BAR!" Then drops the microphone, the place is silent apart from the squeal of the dropped mike and rustle of Dave disrobing, oblivious to the muted horror of the audience.