I'm hungover this morning, and more than a little maudlin, when that happens I tend to think of happy memories. I'm aware that for many, Keogh barracks might not be a source of happy memories but I remember, when I was there for the first time, spending more time laughing than anything else. DL has a fund of stories about Keogh, back from when he was a brat and the world was still black and white because they had not invented colour yet (In fact he talks so much about it it might be the last time he was 'green' I don't think he has been on tour, ever, that chest-full of medals he it so proud of............ cut from the back of a cornflake packet). It was thinking about those that led me to my own time there on my CMT3 course. We had all the usual suspects and sterotypes, the course biff who had the admin abilities of a flatworm, when the entire course was given a show parade one night, for a reason that escapes me, his No:2 dress was found, crumpled at the bottom of his wardrobe and had to be ironed for him, and he still looked like a bag of shite. There was he chap who allegedly joined the army because he wanted to kill someone, I remember we were concerned for his sanity, not because he wantd to kill someone, anyone, but because he had joined the RAMC and killing people was not really what we were supposed to do. We were there for the start of a JMQC course and laughed our socks off when they were all jailed on the first morning parade of their course. We were also blessed with a TFI from the Royal Anglians who had won the MC as an RMA in the first Gulf war, he was a full screw, and acted as an unoffical instructor, keeping us in line. Which leads in to what I wanted to say, we were tasked as a course to wait on at the Sgts Mess summer ball. We were all dressed in our fineary, barrack dress I recall, I was running the bar. It was decided since we had to work we might as well make the best of it. We stole exactly half of the bar stock, as stuff came in from the mess bar to the 9' by 9' we were using as a bar on the grass at the back of the mess, it was taken out the back and put into the boot of someone's car. We stole so much drink that at one point we had to raid the car's stocks to keep the mess do running. According to the FSA and mess treasurer who I spoke to months later, more drink was actually missing from the bar stock than had been drunk at the ball (how that was quantified I have no idea). It all made the stolen booty the more precious when we drank it on the roof of the entrance to the scoff house in Sandhurst block, by C wing where we were accomodated, and all while watching the world cup final. So come on, what other stories of the factory can the rest of you come up with?