I was on exercise last week and, after a weekend of hardcore R and R, was faced with the task of washing combats, shreddies etc this morning. Sure enough, snarling at me from a dark corner of my Berghaus mule were a pair of fake Calvin Klein boxers (Ludlow market, Â£1.99 for a packet of three) complete with a skidmark like the starting grid at Brand's Hatch and a collection of interesting salt stains on the front. I momentarily considered chucking them away but then thought 'waste not, want not' and bunged them in the wash with the rest of the gear. This left me musing about two things. First was, of course, Andy McNab's almost supernatural ability to take a residue-free dump: whatever happened to Bravo Two Zero, surely the man deserved his DCM for that alone. Secondly: what is the most appalling grunge-up I have ever seen on a fellow human being? Way back when the Beatles were still a going concern, I was a pupil at a small kindergarten in the vicinity of Knightsbridge in central London. Every morning, we would walk up to Hyde Park to play for an hour or so with the contents of a hamper full of toys which were dispensed by a strange old harridan who wore a fur coat. One of my fellow pupils was a girl whose parents sent her into combat every day wearing one of those coats which are only sold on production of an official membership card for the upper middle classes - a heather-mix tweed number with a dark velvet collar. Anyway, the long and short of it is that I pulled said girl's hair and she chased after me before unfortunately tripping, landing face-first in a large and luxuriantly coiled dog turd, simultaneously biting her tongue and bottom lip and, with the forward momentum of the chase, sliding forwards through the turd. Even though this happened nearly 38 years ago, I can still vividly recall the look of horror on her face as she contemplated the fact that she was smeared in dog sh1t and blood from the tip of her nose to the hem of her coat. The mad old crone was so sympathetic, she gave her a beaker full of Ribena when we got back - an unheard of treat. Many years later, when training recruits, my staff and I were confronted by a similar sight: a girl who had started her period early (and had cleverly broken SOPs by not bringing any sanitary protection on exercise) and had shortly afterwards shat herself as the result of a hitherto unsuspected dose of the bumsquirts. After the careful ministrations of a female lieutenant and corporal, she was able to continue the exercise, now also sporting an FFD cleverly modified by yours truly for an hitherto unsuspected purpose, but it has to be said there was a noticeable increase in foxes and stray dogs hanging around the basha site. Any advance on this?