I May Never March In The Infantry.

They say great minds think alike.

They also say that fools seldom differ.

I’m not quite sure whether it was for the former or the latter reason that Joanne and I decided to walk to Tesco one rainy lunchtime a few weeks ago.

I think we had a simultaneous craving for that pasta with the cheese and tomato sauce, or something, so we dumped our bags and drifted out of the school gates, chatting nineteen-to-the-dozen and not really caring about the ominous-looking black clouds hanging overhead, even though neither of us had brought a raincoat. Our accomplice, Joel Amos Obadiah, walked as far as the Larne Road (which is right outside the gates) before glancing nervously at the sky and turning back. We called him a coward. We called him a girl. We chanted nursery rhymes at him. We didn’t know how wise he was.

Joanne and I had been so busy psychoanalysing one of our classmates (who, we have decided, has a borderline multiple personality disorder) that we didn’t realise we’d walked straight into the middle of a large housing estate. Startled by the sudden appearance of this concrete jungle, I gripped Joanne’s arm and cried, “WE’RE LOST!!” in my most dramatic voice. She rolled her eyes and shook me off.

“We’re not lost,” she said, calmly, “We’re just…um…where are we?”

“That statement fits the criteria of being lost.” I retorted. “I’m not sure. Is this Harryville or Ballykeel…or is it all the same?”

Joanne turned white. “I think,” she said carefully, her voice shaking, “if we follow this road, we’ll get to Tesco eventually.”

So, we followed a long, winding, uphill road. The clouds seemed to be in their element, growing darker and darker, moving quickly across the sky, until -

“Oh, crap,” said Joanne, shaking the first raindrop of the shower off her blazer.

“Crap,” I repeated. “Crap, crap, CRAP!”

Thankfully, we were distracted from the imminent shower by the sudden appearance of a chink of light through the rows of terraced houses. Oh, how we danced, and laughed, and sang as we neared our destination – only to be brought back to reality as the heavens opened and the rain began to pour.

Within seconds, we were drenched. Still, we soldiered on, marching towards Tesco with the kind of vigor men displayed at the fronts. And that reminded me -

“I may never march in the Infantry,” I sang, feeling our situation couldn’t possibly get any more ridiculous, “Ride in the cavalry, shoot with the artillery…”

These words were barely out of my mouth when a blood-curdling scream rang out from somewhere nearby. Startled, I raised my imaginary gun (sometimes the line between reality and imagination blurs, with me) and looked wildly around me to catch a glimpse of the scream’s source.

“Was that you?” I asked Joanne.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!” She screamed. “Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh! Sing that again!”

Hestitantly, I once again sang the first line of “I May Never March In The Infantry”.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhh!”, screamed Joanne, clearly recalling a painful childhood memory. Becoming concerned, I asked her if anything was wrong.

“I love that song!”, she answered, before jumping in a nearby puddle. “I haven’t heard it since P7!”

“Bloomin’ great,” I muttered, spreading my arms to show her how wet I was. “Now, can we please go to Tesco?”

As we entered the double doors to the magical world of Tesco, I absent-mindedly began to hum “How Did Moses Cross the Red Sea?”.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” went Joanne.

Give me strength.