I just re-read my last entry – it was so darn boring! I can’t seem to transform the mundane into the spectacular; there’s this inexplicable oomph lacking in my writing. Aargh! It’s frustrating but I guess I’ll continue trying – correction: I WILL get there. (Positivity!)

There was a little more excitement yesterday: I nearly got into big trouble with my boss, and my 4SIR friends came by today - which will, I hope, make it easier for me to write a more engaging prose this time.

The trouble was not something major per se, but colonel – alright, that was lame. The problem was that my buddy and I had failed to record the news for the past two days, because of certain mitigating circumstances which I shan’t dwell on too much. It seems to be a trivial matter if you look at it from a third party’s perspective, but trivialities inflate when it involves someone of high rank.

One of us had to break the news to our big boss, but whom? I decided to sit in the electric chair this time since my buddy had covered my ass on two major (note: this adjective has nothing to do with the scale of the problem, but the personnel involved) occasions.

My mind was awash with trepidation and dread as I approached his office door. The once innocuous-looking door suddenly seemed like the gates to hell, and I could just imagine the guardian of hell, the three-headed gargantuan dog, breathing heavily on me. I was engulfed with fear to say the least. I took a deep breath, and knocked - three light raps which were barely discernible. Then, I pushed the door open.

What happened next seemed to be a whirl, as I went about explaining the reasons for my mistake. Once done, I stood with my head bowed, waiting for the axe to fall on my neck, and I muttered a little prayer in my head despite my lack of any serious religious affiliation.

My prayer was answered. I received little more than a slight admonishment, and advice on preventing the problem, and was spared the executioner’s axe. I guess, high-ranking officers, instead of ranting and raving at you when a mistake arises, are more likely to provide constructive criticism as compared to sergeants or lower-ranked officers. Nevertheless, I doubt the reception will be as favourable if I were to be recalcitrant.

After my near-death experience, something more pleasant happened: my 4SIR signal platoon mates had come to my camp! It had been a long time since I last saw them, and although I was less than enamoured of some characters in my platoon, I was glad to see them nonetheless. There was a lot catch-up chit chat, as they brought me up to date with the latest misdemeanours of my platoon sergeant who has become increasingly overbearing and intolerable. Although in all fairness, I must say that despite his shortcomings, he was quite nice to me, at least relative to others, in my short time under him. But, I suppose a person’s true colours are only shown when you’re outfield.

That concludes one of the more exciting days in my life here (pathetic right?), and from the look of things, it won’t be repeated today. Oh well, I don’t suppose my heart could take another walk through the gates of hell again anyway.

Time for tea break at the canteen!