Was out in Cambridge a few years ago and bumped into one of my really good mates in 1 Royal Anglian. Due to tours etc we hadn't been out on the lash together for a while so proceded to get on it .. starting at 11 am when the pubs opened up. We carry on drinking through till kicking out time. We both wanted to carry on drinking but we weren't dressed correctly to get into a club so we stumbled into a posh resteraunt . We were seated down amongst the posh students and were trying to behave ourselves, quite difficult as we were both leathered. The waitress said "what would you like to drink?" we replied "a pint of fosters". "And what would you like to eat?", "what do mean by that?", "well you have to have food if you want to drink here". My mate then says very loudly "well we'll have two packets of salt and vinegar chrisps then please"
Suprisingly enough we were asked to leave.

A fine example of this happened to me last week , went round a good mate of mines for a lads night , the bloke is also imminently going to be my new boss ... so , how do you impress him i thought .... well heres a few tips.

climb over his garage , using his car as a ladder and let off a 15 shot air bomb repeater outside his back door (good entrance through smoke)
get annihalated , and when his wife comes in with her mates proceed to pick on them, culminating in a row with one ending in the waving of a sh1tty digit and threats of imminent skiffing ,finishing by calling her .. and i quote
"a self opinionated stuck up c-unt"
proceed to kitchen , and lag in sink whilst casually chatting to prospective employer , and open mouthed wife ...
leave at 6 with parting words
"meant to be working in the morning ... but f-uck it eh"

rang the next day to apologise ..... i've got the job :D

Having decided as an undergraduate that Durham was too temperate, and yearning for the arctic tundra strewn wastes which lie even further North, my baby sister decided to do her Doctorate at Edinburgh. Inevitably she ends up the indoctrinated slave of some weird cult where the men all wear skirts.

And so, some years later, we found ourselves at her wedding. In a castle. In a place so far away that the compass needle just spins lazily around and the haggis has yet to be hunted to near extinction. For her husband to be, a bloke who is only 5' 11" but is just as tall lying on one side, she bought a six foot highland broadswordy thingy as a wedding present. Presumably so he can hide it in the thatch and get it out if his in-laws ever threaten to fly North for the summer. Anyway, for a chap who has married into civilisation he has a perverse hang up with that film with Mel Gibson in (so it must be true!) and the woaded faces only 1000 years out of place. Whenever he's had more than a couple - and bearing in mind where he's from, that's whenever he's not been asleep for the last 14 hours - and there are Angleesh to listen to him, he recites the dying words of Mel like it was Olivier doing Hal.

On this occasion, as midnight approaches, the dancing round in circles band is hushed with what sounds to the other side of his nuptial gathering like the muttered curses of the three witches. The wide wee -man stands up, plants the point of the massive weapon his new wife has acquired for him in the dance floor and proceeds to give us a rendition. What seems like twenty minutes later;

'...but yee'll never take our FREEDOM!!'

Fantastic, stirring stuff. Then, in that moment of silence at the end of any bravura performance as hands are drawn apart and lungs are filled with imminent huzzars, a small but perfectly audible and very English voice from the back says,

'...and then we tortured him to death.'

Originally Posted by fas_et_gloria

Fantastic, stirring stuff. Then, in that moment of silence at the end of any bravura performance as hands are drawn apart and lungs are filled with imminent huzzars, a small but perfectly audible and very English voice from the back says,

“… and then we tortured him to death.”

Oh ma goad, help ma boab..et cetera. I would have pi55ed myself hads I but been there. I love this sort of thing...

At a highland wedding given by "professional Scots" all of we groomsmen were dressed by Geoffrey's of Glasgow in a particularly psychedelic tartan - including a certain Englishman of the Gazelle driving variety. Annoyed at having to dress up as a porridge wog, RH cut a hole at cock height in his rented kilt, with a matching hole in the back of the sporran - an expensive badger hair one!! He then spent the remainder of an otherwise very posh wedding guzzling malt and asking various female guests to guess what was in his sporran - with a variety of good-humoured albeit slightly shocked responses. Until that is he asked the bride's mother - a very douce and very bitter/twisted lady from darkest Inverness...

Dicky got ejected from the wedding. I believe the groom was asked to investigate the cost of professionally removing him from the wedding pics. I know he had to pay about £300 for the damage to his rented Rob Roy costume...

Anybody know a friendly, possibly ex-military publisher? Stuff like this should be put into a book to be sold through the NAAFI, Messes etc., with 50% going to ABF and BLESMA.

As an American girl that's getting married to a member of the British Army...I have to say that this thread has been highly, um, educational.

Many thanks to you all!

Originally Posted by TankiesYank

As an American girl that's getting married to a member of the British Army...I have to say that this thread has been highly, um, educational.

Many thanks to you all!

Congratulations on your upcoming nuptuals; let me know by PM if you want my Californian-born wife's email address; she's just clocked up 13 years of coping with undecipherable military patois and strange smelling camouflage stuff all over the house

Seriously; we may be crass, vulgar and sometimes utterly revolting at times, but at heart we are princes of tact, style and diplomacy...honest!

To continue the american connection, Me and a few muckers, Kev and Steve(so that they know who they are) didnt quite fancy cold old blighty on xmas leave from Batus winter repair. instead headed off to warm sunny California and an American Marine base that was cheap to stay in. Me and the other two are in this surfer dud bar in LA on new years eve, drinking like its our last nite on earth (It was the last night of the holiday as we flew back to Canada next day but the flight exploit is another story) as we were circling the bar like a pack of lions looking for a lame gazzell, two rather nice victims gave off a come and get it scent. so Kev and I strutted over( leaving steve to do some solo hunting) laying on the charm thicker than a rookie plasterer with a trowell we were in. Much supping and patter later we were joined by the girls' friend who had been in thier hotel room nearby. Quite a pretty soul, but a bit plain jane and not to keen to play catch up to the rest of us who were well on the way to the Sssean connery shtage. i comments to my mish monney penny whats wrong with your friend? ''Oh dont mind her'' she whispers '' shes a lesbian''. Now for the life of me i dont know what evil overcame me but in the space of a minute i had introduced Steve to K.D Lang, forgeting of course to tell Steve( totally P@ssed as a newt by now) that the only munching she did was on carpet. Try as Steve might with charm, drink, jokes, the shoes were comfertable and not comming off. Eventually we get the lucky invite back to thier hotel room :D :D (Steve by this time knows that the object of his desires fields for the other team) . Normal room two double beds, table in corner, wash sink and door to toilet. Me and lass on one bed, Kev and lass on other bed and Steve and Jo Brand at the table. lights low commence fumblings. ''Yeew thats disgusting'' screeches Lez, stop fumbling, lights on!!, look accross room Steve while holding onto the toilet door is proceeding to have a piss in the sink . quick adjust of clothing grab Steve avoiding by now race-horse stream off p@ss shove him into toilet. back to the bed, lights low recommence fumbling. aware off Steve returning to table , then all hell, ''come on you f@@cking dike you know you need a good portion and im just the man to convert you back'' whilst grabbing her by the t@ts from behind and trying to plant the lips on her. lights on!! Lez escapes and bolts for the door, Kevs lass bolts after her!!, session over!!!! well not quite, my lass knowing shes onto a good thing says ''She'll be allright in a while me and you will just stay here'' :o result!! lights low, more fumblings, now my lass is doing a brilliant job of convicing me that she is not a vegitarian if you get my drift, when all off a suddden, ''come on you dirty Sc@tter lets have a sp@t-roast'' from steve as he dives on the bed and tries to mount the afore mentioned meat eater from behind. lights on!!! taxi for three!!!

It is between Christmas and New Year in Cyprus. I am newly wed and newly arrived in theatre. Wife and I visit the Sgts Mess for a quiet drink before going out for a scoff. Lots of people in the bar. Bugger scoff, we'll just stop here and have something when we get home. 2359 and bar closes. Charlie: "Come on everyone, back to my place, Mildred won't mind". Not many take up the offer but in the spirit of getting to know new folks I encourage my beloved to take up the offer. Entering Charlie's MQ I see nice lady in chair with curlers in hair and very nice if somewhat unflattering dressing gown covering her jimjams.
Me: "Hello, are you Charlie's Mum?
Nice lady: "No, I'm his wife!!!" Now look what you’ve done you’ve woken the children. Ankle biters remain in living room watching and listening in amazement at the incoherent burbling of the assembled company.
I move away sheepishly and decide to prop myself up against the mantlepiece and have a deep and meaningful conversation with Fred about the merits of Keo Beer against Carlsberg Export. Room spins and to keep balance I take three steps backwards …….. sending Christmas Tree toppling to the floor. “Sorry, sorry, its OK I’ll pick it up”. Mummy, Mummy that man’s knocked over our Christmas Tree……… etc etc. Mummy tells me to leave it and restores somewhat dishevelled tree to its upright position. Fred convinces me to try a Carlsberg and leave the Keo alone as it it is too potent (OK Fred, one Carlsberg on top of the 14 Keo’s is going to keep me sober????). Halfway through the Carlsberg, which has failed to have the sobering effect Fred promised, I am again forced to take three steps backwards ………. This time I join the tree in the prone position. I’ll leave this story here for now before I tell you about New year’s Eve, Pipe Major McGonigle and the Dentist's wife!

I’m new on the site and have done the square root of f.uck all since I’ve found it – good job my boss has been away this week as I have spent most of each day wetting myself while reading the tales on here. RTFQ – some great storytelling fella, keep them coming.

Well here’s my first contribution – I hope you all enjoy.

This tale is about a wedding and the antics of an ex full screw and subsequently commissioned mate of mine who try as he may will never really change.

It was the wedding of a couple who drink in my local pub, neither my mate nor i were invited to the reception so rather than go to the service we just went to a nearby pub and proceeded to get slowly bolloxed - as you do.

7pm comes and we rock up to the evening do to the delights of stella on tap at a free bar (good news for us, bad news for the brides family). Bearing in mind that eating is cheating we forego the buffet and after an hour or so decide to try and get amongst the single women present.

I resume my efforts to trap a friend of the bride that I had previously been blown out by because (you guessed it) I couldn't string two words together when I arrived late for the date were meeting on. My mate joins in the conga behind a chick with an ass like a peach and I don’t see him again for an hour or so.

Two things to note at this point. 1 - My mucker is a jock and is suitably attired in his native garb. 2 - There is a buffet at the wedding as previously mentioned.

I am not getting anywhere with the Doris I am chatting to so decide to look for my mate to do a spot of bezzering, I have trouble locating him until I cast my eyes to the buffet table, whereupon I double over in fits of laughter. For in a seat next to the buffet, my mate has the peachy birds fun bags out (which are also pretty fine it has to be said) and is sucking them like there is no tomorrow. Not only that but she has quite blatantly started choking his chicken underneath his 'easy access' kilt with some noteworthy enthusiasm.

To add insult to injury the children that were playing by the buffet have now stopped and are all staring. The kids are soon joined by the rest of the guests as being the mate I am I decide to tell everybody I can about the ‘show' being played out by the vol au vents!

Now I wish I could say incident this ended in a mass brawl or that the buffet was sprinkled with my mates 'special sauce' but the fact is that the bride and groom and the rest of the guests are top folks and followed mine and the children’s example by pointing and laughing! (he'll never live it down though) I would have quite liked to hear some of the questions the kids asked their parents though (‘mummy who is that man in a dress and why is auntie X trying to steal his sausage’ etc etc)

But I mean really, by the buffet - what a slapper! Top bloke though!