In the run-up to the election, the government’s latest brilliant pledge is to reintroduce a form of National Service for 18-year-olds. We know our Armed Forces are under-funded and under-resourced, but it seems unlikely that throwing thousands of unmotivated, disgruntled teens at them will fix those problems. If our son is at all typical of this age group, then I’m guessing it’s going to be well beyond the reach of military intelligence to get any of them out of bed before noon never mind dressed and standing to attention.
Also, there’s our son’s skincare regime to consider, so he’ll need at least one extra locker for all his toiletries, plus he can’t function unless plied with an array of delightful breakfast options: Greek yoghurt with chopped fruit and honey, smashed avocado on sourdough, or smoked salmon and cream cheese on a proper Jewish bagel from a kosher bakery (not supermarket bagels, which – as we all know – are pappy goyische substitutes not to be mistaken for the real thing). He can’t go on training manoeuvres because he doesn’t really like to carry anything aside from his phone and he can’t do orienteering unless he has a good phone signal because, obviously, you can’t expect Gen-Zers to read a map. My father (born 1931) was of the generation who had to do National Service.
Unsurprisingly, he and the army were not a match made in heaven. He failed basic training initially and, as it became clear that he might never pass, in the end they.
