I only joined the army because it was raining. I had done an engineering apprentice with a local factory but that had been shut down because the fat greedy fucker that owned the factory closed it and tried to flog the land for development (which, 20 years later, still hasnt happened, and the fat cunt drowned when he fell off his yacht). Anyway, I got laid off and the redundancy payment, all £39 of it, barely lasted the afternoon in the Hop Pole Inn on the Upper Bristol Rd. So I set off walking to the bus station in Bath and it started raining. Now, the old ACIO was opposite the bus station and as I had I had missed my bus and was getting piss wet through, I spotted the only place still open at ten to six on a Thursday evening. I stepped inside to shelter and this ma-hossive bloke with a bristling mouser and an immaculate, starched red sash over his wooly pully asked me in an Irish accent are you looking to join the Army, son? I wasnt as it happened, but to deny it would see me back outside in the rain, so I said yes. We filled out some forms, me and my new Sgt of a friend while I supped my first brew and I eventually caught a later bus and presented my dad with a fist full of leaflets for the Guards Brigade in general and the Irish Guards in particular. He told to sleep on it, and the following morning persuaded me to at least get a trade, so we split the difference and I joined the REME about a week later (much to Dads chagrin, he wanted me to give the R Sigs a spin.) How about you? How course of action ended up with you joining Her Majestys gun club?