In memory of Reni/JR's thread about Lou and Vim, I felt I should start one off myself. You know that person, the one that stands out in a conversation and when in mid-flow always seems to have more space around them than the others. The obligatory and often over-used analogy of the 1000 yrd stare seems, Oh so, natural to this person and if truth be told it's probably only about 30 yrds because their brain couldn't compute any more than that. I digress . . . Anyway Steve was his name and even though he was short, a bit tubby and un-blessed with the most iconic brummie accent you had ever had the displeasure to suffer, there was not much remarkable about him. What made him 'special' was his reluctance to accept reality in the current form. He was I suspect, Stark raving bonkers, if ever such a term could be a clinical diagnosis? Steve had this affection for all that is quirky and off the norm. Steve also had a sexual deviencey for Donkies. Not just a pretty looking Eddie-Murphy-sound-alikey Donkey from Shrek, but a bog-standard donkey in green suspenders! The sussie bit was important. He had great pleasure in telling anyone who happened to be within ear shot of his desire for deviencey. I suspect that this was probably only contained within the depravities of his mind and was never actually carried out for real, but this theory is only based on several Googleâ¢ searches over the years to 'find' that result that had Steve being found to the hilt in some Donkey sanctuary somehwere. Steve decided if he couldn't get his donkey then he would have his girl. And girl is a loose term, what I meant was a fully realistic Blow-up doll with real hair and full mouth action. He loved this girl, she was the light of his life, and so would routinely fill her with warm water from the bogs, drag her to his room and make sensual and siliconised love to her. Anyway. Katie, for that was now her name, would often be seen cuddling Steve on the sofa whilst waiting for the Sqn bar to open and on occasions would appear for a little drinky up in the well frequented watering hole. Steve & Katie were a couple, no one bothered her and she never slapped it about as much some of the more, err. . .adventurous Girlfriends did. In a way I could see Steve was massively insecure and the security that Katie offered was adequate to suppress his lackings. However, as with all relationships it sometimes has to end and this is where Steve excelled himself to near god-like status as the most barking man in the Regiment. For one reason or another I still have no discovered, Katie was sleeping in the corridor rather than Steve's room and as block knobs being block knobs, some inconsiderate twat decided to de-inflate her with a pointy implement. The next morning, Steve found Katie in her last death throws of life, the air, literally, leaking from her limp body. Deciding that she should be revenged, Steve though of the only thing he could and to use the military justice system to the full and called the RMP. The conversation went something along the lines of: Steve (Hysterical): "Please come, please come, katies's been stabbed" RMP: "What, stabbed where?" Steve: "She's dying, please come, some basterd has stabbed her" RMP: "Right where are you? Is the assislant still there?" Steve: "I'm in Block 1*, and I think the basterd is still in the block" *-Details changed to keep anonymity Cue, the RMP and others hurtling to the block and in the best Sweeney and Casualty fashion, raided the block and found Steve huddled over the now deceased Katie sobbing like a baby. That was strike #1 Strike #2, was more a sedate affiar. Steve liked his ladies, plastic or otherwise and frequented the local establishment of ladies of ill-repute just outside the camp. A few beers, a strip show and some light relief was the norm, but on one occasion, Steve decided to have a laugh at the systems expense. Again turning to the medium of the phone decided that it would be fun to call the RMP and declare that he was a member of the PLO, and he was holding several members of the Imperialist British Army hostage and would exercute them one-by-one unless his demands were met. Again, a few members of the local Provost Coy were despatched and only again after some careful approaches, entered the building to find Steve giggling away like a schoolgirl with a Len Faircloughs finger up her, a scarf around his face and a beer in his hand. By this time, Steve was brought to the attention of the MO and the psychiatric nurse for a review. So there we were, preparing for exercise and Steve was offered a holiday in the illustrious place that was commonly known as 'P Wing' up at BMH Hannover. Under close scrutiny and observation Steve was assessed for nuttyness or other clinical psychiatric conditions. The last straw and possibly strike #3 was when Steve was sat solitary in the TV room just chilling out. Again the conversation went something like this: Nurse: "Hi Steve, on your own then?" Steve: "No!" Nurse: "Really Steve, who's with you in here then?" Steve; "Dave!" Nurse: "Who's Dave?" Steve (Annoyed): "Dave , my big white Rabbit friend" Nurse: "Ok, Steve" Heading out the door and making notes. Although Steve was joking (we believe) it was the final nail in the coffin of his disasterous career and he was discharged from Hannover, several weerks later he was released unceremoniously from the Colours with a SNLR notice. I bumped into Steve on a piss-up a few years later and he was set-up as a Coppersmith(?), although I do hear that he now is a manager in a porn shop somewhere up in the Midlands, and I kid you not! So, the reason for this long drawn out crap is; Has anyone else served with someone who should be a soup dribbling loon and shuffling along the corridors of Broadmore in comfy slippers rather than being a steely-faced and armed killer loose on the free world? Sorry for the long post, but I've only touched on the more memorable Steve-isms.