There was a JHQ tale of an army Colonel who allowed his horse into the lounge via the french windows.
There was certainly a Portadown Way OMQ for which my children refused to babysit, regardless of pay and conditions, as they said it was just too disgusting. Fortunately not the RAF Caterer.
The accumulated grease, dirt and nicotine on the kitchen walls amazed even the hardened and cynical marchers-out when the time came.
And, note, JHQ had the advantage of a "hostel" system in which families could stay for a few days prior to march-out.
My finest hour was somewhere else. I became aware that my successor in the house was to be a lifelong sh1t who had caused me grief. I had a lot of leisure pre march-out, so took Brasso and rags into the cellar and polished the many and various copper and brass pipes and fittings in the boiler room. Sure enough, the march-out team a. congratuled LB and
b. told sh1t that they expected cellar to be in identical condition in a year or two.
How to make friends and influence people.