You may link to my blog but if you want to copy my article to your own blog, please give the following credit: From "Ampers' Rants" at www.ampers.me.uk. Thank you.
PLEASE HELP ME
Fill in a one question questionnaire - it only asks how you arrived at my blog. Thank you. Just click on this link.
If you like what you see, why not subscribe to the blog? You can follow Ampers' Rants by adding your email address in the box below (right) Notifications are also shown in my Twitter account: @AmpersUK.
Wednesday, 9 September 2015
Life in the Australian Army is easy if you're from the outback
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and
Phil that the Army is better than workin' on the station - tell them
to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone!
I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get outta
bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before
brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No
bloody horses to get in, no calves to feed, no troughs to clean - nothin'!!
Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there's lotsa hot water
and even a light to see what ya doing!
At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks or
goanna stew like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon and
by that time all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a 'route
march' - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the bullock paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals
for shootin' - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody dingo's arse and it
don't move and it's not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big
scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year!
All ya gotta dois make yourself comfortable and hit the target - it's a piece of piss!! You don't even load your own cartridges, they comes in little boxes, and ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload.
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they
break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve
and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.
Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got,
and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and
15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only
5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin' wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me
off to the boozer.
I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,