Day 1

Dug trench. Soup hot. Weather moist.
Get shipped out to the front tomorrow. Had to apologise to the vicar about the trench.

Day 5

Arrived at front. Dug another trench. Soup luke warm. Weather luke warm. Some bombs made Badger Harris muck his pants. Laughed heartily. Realised we were bunkies. Stopped laughing heartily.

Day 13

Sat around. Soup cold. Weather overcast. Some drizzle. Lucky I had a spare napkin. Badger Harris started to spontaniously write poems about mutual masturbation. "An Ecstacy of Fumbling" indeed. He'll have to change THAT line if he wants it to be used in schools.

Day 26

Christmas eve. Soup lolly. Killed some enemy. Sang jaunty songs about Nagasaki (where the fellows chew tobacky and the women wicky-wacky-woo). I don't think "tobacky" is a real word. Badger Harris says that unless I could come up with a better line I should leave rhyming couplets to the professionals. Then he got blown up by a bomb. I'd like to see him make a rhyme out of that.

"Incoming! Everybody down!", There came a fearful shout.
Then both of his legs dropped off and his guts fell out.

See? No training required. I kept his nads as a keepsake.

Day 24.

Read my poems in the officers' mess over Pimms. They all looked at me strangely. Spontaneous soccer match with enemy. Kicked two in the nuts. Lost 27-nil. Mental note: next year kick more nuts, just to be sure.

Day 102.

Poison gas attack. Very unsporting. Retaliated like only an Englishman can, and dropped bags of hungry ferrets into their trenches. Coughed up lungs, felt better after. Haven't had any real meat for weeks so saved bits for a fry up later. Soup tastes funny. Told the men it was curry. Found bits of radio in mine. Shot Cooky for over improvising.

Day 938.

Armastice day. Probably a Jewish holiday or something. Wished the lads "happy armastice", and ordered them over the top. Looks like being a long war.

Day 939.

Men didn't come back from over the top. Never mind. The other officers and I will hold this trench if it takes us another three thousand nine hundred and thirty three days.

Day 4872.

Dug trench. Sat around. Soup cold. No bombs today. Casual vomiting from Badger Harris the younger. He tells me that the war ended six years ago. Shot Badger the younger for being a bolshy. Pip finally got the radio working. Everyone said "Oops" really loudly. Note to self - apologise to Badger the Younger's folks some time maybe. Decided to take up fishing when I get back to Blighty.

Day 4873.

Get back to Blighty. Hang nads on wall as a reminder. We were soldiers.


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