At the moment I’m away with Mrs Jim staying in Scotland and doing some walking. We’ve been staying in a pleasant B&B where, as is the norm, we make polite small talk in the morning to guests, but nothing of any substance. Today though, I was talking to the Gent next to me, who seemed dangerously talkative for early in the day. I mentioned that we’d be doing a recce of the coastline to get an idea of what our plans were – at which point he looked at me and said ‘so you’re a military man then?’ Nodding the affirmative, he then told me proudly about how he’d spent 19 years in ‘the SAS’ (pronounced Sasssssssss). This was the cue to probably the most unintentionally hilarious Walt I’ve ever encountered in person. He started by telling me how he’d joined as a Gunner Officer, and after doing 29 Cdo, had great training partners like Seb Coe, and that he decided to give selection a go. He then got badged up, and told me about a career involving time in the Falklands, where he’d gone down on a troopship, not expecting to go to war, apparently the ‘Argentines only lost due to running out of rations’, and how he’d taken part in the assault on ‘twin sisters’ and left some friends down there. He’d been back to the Islands since, but when asked where he stayed, told me that he’d stayed with the farmers he’d helped during his patrols on the island. Naturally he served in NI, and regaled us of tales about how his team turned up in plain clothes on snap VCPs and how they’d told CSMs to do what they wanted while they ‘did the job’. He then went on about how they never wore military kit, although oddly changed his tune when I pointed out that a certain unit I’d worked on ops with more recently wore uniform all the time (‘oh well, we do actually wear it to blend in’ Later his ‘team’ had gone to the Gulf in 1990 and after being stuck in aminfield for 36 hours in a berm in southern Iraq, he then spent the war (and I swear to god I’m not making this up), ‘in a Hilton in Baghdad, identifying targets for tomahawk missiles fired from the sea’ as part of a crack SAS group. Apparently he’d left the Army in 1993, after most of his team left or died, and where his plethora of useful military skills and training resulted in him moving to Switzerland where to this day he apparently drives buses for a tour company. He loves his watersports (not in a MDN way), and then told us how he had sea kayaked round British Columbia on an uninhabited island, being followed by a native American who then lit a fire 8 miles wide on the island, prior to showing them native American burial sites??? Apparently he spent 19 years in the SAS, but when I asked him when he went to Sandhurst, spent a good 10 seconds trying to recall the date, prior to telling me it was 1979. So there you have it Folks – either I today met someone so supremely super awesome that they managed to squeeze a 19 year SAS career (plus green army time) into just 14 years, and who managed to do Commissioning Course, Professional Training, AACC, Selection, Continuation and get posted into UKSF in under 3 years prior to turning up in the Falklands War, and who is so incredible that Chuck Norris himself wishes to be him, or I met the most stupid walt ever. Seriously, WTF is wrong with some people – if you are a short, fat, goatee toting, jean wearing individual, then I find it unlikely that you have ever actually done time in Sandhurst. Why then on talking to someone who is currently serving, and who during the conversation hints that he may have a little bit of experience of working alongside that world in a limited way, would you try to pass yourself off as a super ninja? I was tempted to call BS, but as Mrs Jim probably correctly pointed out – people like that may have wider mental health issues, and its also not terribly good etiquette to try to cause the collapse of someones marriage over the breakfast table – give it till lunchtime at least! For the avoidance of future doubt or if I ever meet someone like this again, could someone advise me on the correct social etiquette for dealing with SAS Walts at the breakfast table?