Life in the Australian Army...

The Australians were far too good at the Commonwealth Games so this is just a  bit of fun at their expense:

 Text of a   letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and  Dad. (For Those
 of you not in  the know,  Eromanga is a  small    town,  west of   Quilpie in the far south west  of  Queensland  )
 
 
 
 
 Dear Mum &  Dad,
 
 I am well. Hope youse are  too.  Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil
 that the Army  is better than  workin' on the farm - 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 cows to milk, no calves to  feed, no feed to  stack - 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 possum 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 back 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 possum's bum 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  do is  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,
 
 Sheila