Whilst not really wishing to "black cat" Dave's post
, I can modestly and curiously enough lay claim to a similar double, the first part whilst a Midshipman at Dartmouth, and the second whilst Deputy Training Commander at a major shore establishment.
On the first occasion, I was in the middle rank of the guard of honour for a visiting Japanese Admiral, for whom we had just completed a General Salute. On ordering arms prior to his inspection, a sub continental mid in the rear rank lost control of his rifle, and his bayonet plunged through the shoulder of my No 5 jacket and my shirt, leaving me bleeding, but thankfully with little more than a scratch. Somewhat inevitably, I was propelled forward and so succeeded in catching my own rifle in the top pocket of my No 5s, and tearing some six inches of cloth in the process.
The Japanese Admiral said nothing when he paused momentarily in front of me, having clearly seen the torn jacket but, as he passed down between the middle and rear ranks, he paused behind me, having seen my torn and bloodied shoulder, and uttered the immortal words, "I think you breeding"!
On the second occasion, umpteen years later, having just attended a major parade during which my nether regions felt unusually cold, I had retreated to the gym for coffee, and was sitting chatting to a group of junior officers who seemed in particularly high spirits for some unknown reason. The Captain, who had been on the dais immediately behind me on the parade, then arrived and promptly made a beeline for me, so I naturally stood up, only to be told briskly to sit down. I demurred, only for him to repeat the instruction, so I quickly sat down. For some reason, the junior officers had melted away, still grinning as the Captain told me to check carefully the seat of my pants, when I promptly discovered a truly literal meaning of the expression "split from arsehole to breakfast time".....
Jack