The telephone rings, grab it and then speak:
“Irish Hussars, Guardroom, Guard Commander.”
“Take a signal to the clerk, Trooper Jones.”
“Then take one to the Comcen, from the clerk.”
“Has anyone seen my hairnet? For riding…”
“You know, riding, for my hair, on horseback.”
“Eighteen hundred hours, all our cars book out.”
“The Ministry of Defence – Rent-a-War!”

The telephone rings, grab it and then speak:
“You’ll be late, what about Guard Mounting?”
“Football training or maybe its rugby.”
“You’re not driving out in that state mate!”
“Flip-flops? Ear rings? Oh, civvy – sorry mate!”
“Fubalito’s Pizzaria Parlour!”