I wondered if any Regiments, Corps or sub units have any long standing Christmas traditions? Having opened the floodgates for the obvious pvss takes, I was thinking back to a battalion I served with, who every Christmas would hold a Battalion Christmas concert. It was a parade so all attended. My role in the affair was a very minor one, with each company putting up two acts I played the straight man to a well known battalion character. C Comapany however put six Jocks on stage with a motor bike dressed as the Village People. To this day I don't know if it was a pvss take on the RSM or if they didn't realise that the VP were gay....... The point of my rambling though is to highlight the lot of the junior officer at Christmas. The subalterns rarely elicit much sympathy but there is one occasion when they are called upon to muster personnel courage and forbearance not often required when on service....anywhere. Anywhere that is except when detailed by the Adjutant, at the request of the RSM, to entertain at the Regimental Wives Christmas Party. My God, I've seen front row forwards reduced to shambling, incoherant wrecks at the prospect of being the star turn at the Wives Christmas Party. Individually, of course, the ladies are terrific girls - on masse, they're a threatening, intimidating force from the Dark Side. One particular December the Adjutant named the unlucky four. "Good luck chaps, it'll all be over by Christmas." One innocent amongst our number suggested doing a skit as Lenny Henry's character "Theophilus P. Wildebeeste, " the lounge lizard crooner. Two and half minutes we gave his survival time so that was scrapped. Then an officer of Geordie extraction came up with a cunning plan........ We arrived at the Lions Den, having fuelled up with liquid courage and one officer was in an especially poor state. Announced, we strode onto the stage to heckling, shouting and jeering but the Ladies soon settled down to the Junior Officers Game of Festive Bingo with a first prize of 2 tickets to New York. Well, it sounded a good plan in the mess. On the numbers went with growing tension and a quiet buzz in the room until the final cry from the Geordie officer, "All the 8's, 88," at which point 220 excited wives sprang to their feet screaming, "HOUSE!" Silence. They looked around, then the penny dropped...................... they'd been had, and we'd been rumbled. 220 wives wanted a flight to New York or they wanted some dead bodies. Daley Thompson couldn't have beaten us out of that hall; by crikey we were lucky to escape with our lives. The sad postcript is that the subaltern who had imbibed too much crashed his car into a tree in his haste to escape and was left with cuts, bruises and a very very big bill............. still, better than being eviscerated by 220 angry women.. Any other interesting traditions?