The First Short Story

Dear Micks,

As promised here is the first short story from the eccentric and brilliant writer, Brock Norman Brock. A former senior executive producer of the Film Council, his credits include Gosford Park. He also wrote the acclaimed screenplay for Bronson and the lesser known film, Dogging: A Love Story. Brock was an officer in the Honorary Artillery Company.

Without further a do, Brock Norman Brock's short story...

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By Brock Norman Brock

Tpr HAC

If you, like me, have ever been a soldier, or married, you will know how difficult it can be sometimes to remember something when someone is shouting at you. In the Army, we use mnemonics, which means something in Greek, to help us remember what to do. Many of these mnenomics are classified, or restricted, and I cannot tell you what they are. Or, rather, I cannot tell you what they mean. Because I can, actually, tell you what they are. For example, PAWPERSO. That is a very important neumonic, but it’s of no use to you whatsoever unless I tell you what it is that it is meant to help you remember. Which I am not prepared to do, having signed the Official Secrets Act. I am, however, prepared to tell you my PIN number—or Personal Identity Number number—which is 3544. But this Personal Identity Number number, too, is of no use to you whatsoever, unless you also happened to have in your possession the Barclaycard to which it corresponds. Which is highly unlikely, as even I have no idea where it is, although I am sure it is in a drawer somewhere. Or maybe in the suit at the cleaners. If they haven’t donated it to a charity shop by now. But I can’t believe they would do that. Once, when I left my passport in a jacket pocket they hung onto it for a good six months and were kind enough to ask if it were mine when I next came in to drop off my ex-wife’s winter coat.

You see? You begin to see how this works? Look, in the Army, there’s no room for faffing about. Pfaffing about. Either. Both. There’s no room for it, and there’s no time for it. Imagine: the rounds are going off over your head. You’ve not had more than three hours of sleep in as many days, and your socks are wet. Someone’s squawking at you in your earpiece and you’ve developed an embarrassing and painful chafing rash on the inside tops of your thighs because the elastic’s gone on your compression shorts. You’ve got a little tin of Vaseline, which would help, except that it’s mentholated, and that might further upset the skin. None of the guys in your patrol admit to having any petroleum jelly you can use, but hell, they’re just kids and you can’t blame them for not wanting hair on their lip balm. And anyway, you’re the P.C. (abbr.), you’re in charge. What will you do?

Use the nmonomic. The mnenonic. In this case, PPPP, which stands for Planning Prevents Poor Performance, which I probably shouldn’t have told you, but there you go and what’s done is done and I don’t suppose one little memomic is going to hurt anyone. So. When the rounds are going off and your elastic’s shot and your thighs are chafed and you can’t remember what prevents poor performance… PPPP….! Planning prevents poor performance. Or, conversely, planning prevents poor… what? PPPP! Planning! Planning prevents poor planning. No. Wait. PPPP. Performance. Planning prevents poor performance.

There are more advanced techniques, involving how to remember what kind of performance planning prevents—i.e., poor—and also how to remember the effect that planning has on poor performance (it prevents it.) Some years ago, the Army had a five pee pneumatic variation, PPPPP, or Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance, but this was scrapped under the Labour government along with several historic Scottish regiments. You do still get the odd Spartacus or Special Forces fantasist who insists on using the old pattern mimonic and wearing a ‘tache. But personally, I prefer the four pee version. It’s one less pee to remember, and when you’re out there, somewhere or other, you know, in the ulu, you don’t want to carry any more than you have to. The same goes for the moustache. These days, the real Hereford chaps usually prefer to wear a strip of black gaffer tape above their upper lip. It looks just as fierce and warlike, but you can also use it to make quick, temporary repairs in the field. And you can’t do that with a ‘tache. So. TNT. Tape Not Tache. Top Tip. Or, TTTNT.

The correct use of a remonic won’t, of course, get you out of every sticky situation you might find yourself in. Knowing the causes of poor performance and the consequences of planning isn’t necessarily going to stop your thighs from chafing. To guarantee that doesn’t happen, you will need to have remembered to wear a fresh pair of close-fitting shorts, keep a spare with your dry kit, and pop a tin of non-mentholated petroleum jelly in your smock pocket where it is within easy reach. And that’s something that really only comes with experience. Like marriage. It won’t get you out of that, either. Forget it.