Scene: a military camp on the second week of December 1999, just two days to the turn of the millenium. The Major has planned a party this evening, because most people are going home or on leave during the New Year.

During the party, the Major notes that the ice-cream is missing. He goes around the back of the officer's mess, and can't find it. He goes around the other side of the mess, and there's the ice-cream cooler, except they're all in boxes.

He enlists out help to open those boxes and give them out. We give out A LOT of ice-cream; to families attending as well.

As we do this, we remark on how generous the budget is, because this is those very fancy, chocolate-shell, Magnum type ice-creams with little gold flakes in them. We're used to these events having cheapo-paper cup type ice-cream.

At the end of the night, I and the guys are helping to pack up, when Corporal S. suddenly has a horrified look and points in one part of the mess. I go and take a look and - lo and behold - it's a cooler full of cheap ice cream.

A LOT of cheap ice cream.

It turns out the Major had taken the ice-cream that was meant for both the officer's mess and the (privately run) in-camp diner. Now this wasn't entirely his fault: the delivery guy must have put it near the officer's mess, because he figured that's where the food was.

So now we call over the Major who realises, with a sinking feeling, that he is (a) going to have pay back a shitload of money for all that ice-cream, and (b) he is stuck with many boxes of cheap ice-cream, that will never fit in his one little fridge.

And that was how the Major ended up paying a four-digit sum to replace the ice-cream, and damn near gave everyone diabetes whenever they walked out of his office.