"Name?" asked the recruiting officer.
" 'Erbert Norris," he slurred.
" Very well, please report to the Brunswick Armed Services Training Camp on Monday morning prepared for your new life. You're in the army now, soldier!" the Recruiting Officer said, handing Herbert an information booklet. All this stirring patriotic talk (gag) was lost on Herbert, who was quietly contemplating the surface of the desk, and wondering why is had rushed up and hit him. He lurched out of the building to the stirring tunes of 'Rule Britannia', played too quickly on a defunct loudspeaker system.

He woke up the next morning feeling terrible. He wondered how he had gotten drunk, considering that he didn't drink any lager at the party last night. Deciding that his tongue badly needed a hoovering, he got out of bed and - with an uncharacteristic flash of insight - realized that someone must have spiked the punch. The shock of this made his head throb (not to mention the head rush from standing up too quickly), and he staggered into the hall and sat down quickly on the cat. After the fur had cleared, the cat hissed at him from halfway up the wall, and Herbert realized that he now had pains at both ends.

Three hours later he felt well enough to get up, and went to get some breakfast. While munching on his cornies, he noticed an unfamiliar object on the kitchen table. Once his eyes had focused enough to determine what it was, he decided that - due to overwhelming evidence - it was an orange traffic cone. In the time it had taken Herbert to reach this conclusion his right hand, momentarily ignored due to his brain being used for another purpose at the time (focusing on the traffic cone), had slowly and expertly tipped a spoonful of soggy cornies into his lap. Herbert sat blinking at his empty spoon for a couple of seconds before a message got to his brain from somewhere in his nether-regions. He crossed his legs uncomfortably, and went to clean himself.

It was while he was doing this that he noticed the Armed Services Information Booklet in the open dishwasher, and the pot-plant on the oven element. It must have been a bad night. He sat down to read, and to finish his cornies.

By the time he had finished reading the booklet, Herbert was as sober as a rock (not that rocks get drunk very often). Today was Saturday, and he had to be at the Brunswick Army Training Camp by 0800 hours (???) on Monday. He began rushing madly about the house getting packed and prepared for this. Fortunately there was a list of useful items included in the booklet. Late that afternoon, he finished packing his duffel bag, sent out for a pizza and had a rest. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that was almost four hours ago.

The pizza arrived at 5:29, just in time so that it was cold, but he still had to pay for it. After several insistent rings on the doorbell, he awoke and collected his dinner. As usual, they had put mushrooms on it. Herbert HATED mushrooms. Once he had finished his cold, mushroom covered pizza, Herbert went to bed.

The next morning - a Sunday, which was of little importance to Herbert, though his mother would probably berate him for not having gone to church - dawned bright and early with a beautiful sunrise. Herbert slept late as usual and completely missed it. He awoke at 10:37 am, feeling tired, hot, and above all, uncomfortable. As usual the mushrooms had given him terrible wind and he had farted in his sleep all night, due to it being nighttime. This meant he woke smelling of stale methane and other noxious odours. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he absent-mindedly put the cat on the table and gave his cereal a saucer of milk. He was just biting on a spoonful of milk-covered cat's tail when he realized his mistake. A fed up, confused, and above all damp furball with a persecution complex and very sharp claws attacked his head.

Herbert felt miserable - he looked it too. Well actually he looked more like Edward Scissorhands with all the scratches, but his expression was one of misery. He decided he would spend his last free day enjoying the outside world, with its beautiful weather, and friendly people. He leapt to his feet, sending a soft, delicate part of his anatomy straight into the corner of the kitchen table. After his eyes had refocused, and the sharp, stabbing pains had stopped, Herbert was aware of the cat, sitting on the lampshade, watching him. Herbert had a horrible feeling it was laughing at him.

In fact, the cat was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. In the last two days it had been sat on, asphyxiated in its sleep (which it grudgingly admitted was probably its own fault for sleeping anywhere near Herbert's feet), and bitten. It was wondering what on earth Herbert (who the cat had previously thought of as a necessary evil that was put up with because it meant food and shelter; but now it thought of as crazy) was going to do next. When Herbert left, the cat decided it had had enough, and went to find a quiet hidy-hole until the madness stopped.

Alas, Herbert's plans went awry (again). Not content with having messed up his life to this extent, now someone deemed it fitting that he should be rained on. Cursing his twist of fate, Herbert suddenly got a guilty sensation at the back of his neck, and he peered skywards, looking sheepish. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe it really wasn't a good idea to push his luck. After all, his life hadn't been that bad. And he was sure to be able to talk his way out of this silly army thing. He crept home, feeling damp, yet strangely optimistic.

It was going to take a little more than optimism to help Herbert out, though. He slept in (again), and finally got to the Brunswick Army Training Camp at what they would have called 0924, and what Herbert would have called Too-dam-early. Needless to say, the instructors were not impressed...

"Oh, so it seems that young...(what is your name, soldier?)"
"H..herbert."
"Herbert WHAT?"
"Herbert Norris"
"Herbert Norris WHAT?!"
"Er...er...sir?"
"Right! So young Private Norris has decided to grace us with his presence! You should be honoured!" remarked the Instructor sarcausticly (which is like sarcasm, but even more acidic, and probably only possible for army instructors). The other recruits (Willy Bogge from the fish'n'chip shop and Karl - no-one had ever found out his full name - who joined as an alternative to imprisonment) gave dutiful grins. Herbert could tell that this wasn't going to be a good day.