A few years ago I decided I'd had enough of His Tonyness' rubbish policies and took the opportunity of a free transfer to Australia. Picture the scene - there's me, the Pom new boy in my new very badly "tailored" uniform with funny medals - or come to think of it - with medals. People wanted to know all about me and my wife, why the change and all the other trivia I'm now tired of talking about! Anyway, after the meal, which by the way was terrible, no idea of etiquette these bloody colonials, right, after the meal I decided to help myself to a drink behind the bar â again not the done thing, well I didnât know! I thought I needed to show the subbies that Port is the aprÃ¨s dinner drink of choice for all discerning officers â by the gallon. Now, bearing in mind I was posted to the Hunter Valley â where the make wine youâll understand, imagine my horror when I found a horribly wrinkled old lady, or should I say, civilian contractor squeezing the last drops of the boxed Port into the decanter. Oh, my God I though, what have I done. Suffice to say, over the last three years there have been many similar experiences, however, the sun shines all the time, I knock off religiously at 1600 every day and Iâm currently on a tax free âopâ tour! Hurrah. Now PWRR, QLR etc (or whatever the nom de plume by which they work under these days) aside, can anyone beat such naffness in an Officer's Mess?