I know itâs a long shot, but Iâd still like to know who nicked five pairs of my Bill Grundys on September the 11th 1985. Almost two decades have passed since the theft, yet I still feel the pain as if it were yesterday. My mum had bought them for me two weeks before I joined up, taking succour from the fact that, although many miles away and under the care of borderline psychotics, at least my underpant needs were squared away, in the form of 5 sets of enormous applecatchers. They were blue and horrible. The elastic around the legs was almost non-existent and this, coupled with the fact that I was built like Charlie Drake, meant that my spuds permanently hung outside. The chafing I experienced whilst marking time in barrack dress trousers, made both teds look like Corinthian figures of Simon Weston. Nevertheless, they reminded me of home, and I was fond of them. When the washing machines were broken one night, I lovingly hand washed them, with a nail brush and a toffee hammer. When I let the plug out, a Norgies worth of oxtail soup drained away. A quick twist-rinse using a bass broom and the door handle, got them almost dry, so I slung them all over my shoulder and headed off to the drying room. I had to elbow my way past three victims of bass broom crucifixion and a bloke in a bin-bag doing burpees so that he could make the weight for the boxing. I got them all stretched out and hung up and retired to my bed, safe in the knowledge that the next day, would see me with 5 fresh gussets to attack. I went in the next morning and some c-unt had proffed them!!!! Many questions have occurred to me down the years, but I find myself returning to the fundamental one. WHY?? Surely it was the act of a truly desperate criminal. Their price on the black market must have been negligible, and nobody in my recruit troop was any bigger than Jeanette Cranky. The only person they could have fit snugly was BBC. I searched everywhere for them, paying particular attention to the Camnet and Tent store but it was as if theyâd never existed. I earnestly reported the theft to my troop Sargeant, and was told to âFcuk off,â He even had the audacity to start calling me Knickerless Parsons, the unfeeling brute. Well look, there are 6,000 members on this site, and one of you has got âem. Please let me have them back. I still kid my mum on that I wear them every day, but Iâm dreading the moment that I let it slip, that they were nicked. In fact, this is an opportunity for a drying room amnesty. I would be interested to hear of any other ARRSE members who have been victims of Drying Room based tomfoolery.