Top lad you. Cheers.

Having heard this, and many other stories before, if this lad was with 151, and was the same one who was notoriously late on stag at every opportunity and pulled a bayonet on the Guard Cdr when he tried to rouse him leading to a same day RTU, then I had the dubious "honour" of being his Trp Cdr.
That sounds like 90% of your working day right there.
 

Ravers

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
Hmm, there's a thought... @Ravers what's your bestest STD you've ever had?
Given that most of my trapping and swordsmanship occurred in semi third world countries, I was always very careful to bag up.

On my first deployment aged 17, I fondly recall standing in the queue for my weekly Paradigm satellite call home.

The bloke in front of me was on the phone to his missus explaining how “he’d accidentally trodden on a syringe on the beach and needed to have some tests.”

Fuck that. I’ve had a very strong fear of AIDS ever since.

I did catch a dose off one of my first girlfriends. Fuck knows what it was but my legs went all itchy and I had spots on my champ.

I was on some pretty hardcore antibiotics at the time to combat my teenage acne. I reckon these killed off most of the nasties.
 

Boris_Johnson

ADC
Moderator
DirtyBAT
Given that most of my trapping and swordsmanship occurred in semi third world countries, I was always very careful to bag up.

On my first deployment aged 17, I fondly recall standing in the queue for my weekly Paradigm satellite call home.

The bloke in front of me was on the phone to his missus explaining how “he’d accidentally trodden on a syringe on the beach and needed to have some tests.”

**** that. I’ve had a very strong fear of AIDS ever since.

I did catch a dose off one of my first girlfriends. **** knows what it was but my legs went all itchy and I had spots on my champ.

I was on some pretty hardcore antibiotics at the time to combat my teenage acne. I reckon these killed off most of the nasties.
Unlike Reni in the Kenya thread:


A beautiful piece of literature.

Didn't he die of aids in the end?
 
For reasons that are far too boring to explain, I found myself driving past Kidderminster today.

I‘ve only been there once before and that was entirely by accident.

Some years back I was on an RFA (big floating petrol station and bomb shop) that used to spend most of its time in the lochs of west Scotland. We’d call in at some shitty little fueling jetty in the middle of nowhere and go and get smashed in little country pubs in fishing villages. It was all rather nice and sedate but a pain at weekends when you wanted to go home.

So Friday comes and I decide; **** it, I’ll go home and see whichever bird I happened to be banging at the time. Usually I’d arrange a flight from Glasgow to Luton as it was cheaper than the train.

This time one of the other lads offered to give me a lift to Birmingham, after which it was only a shortish hop on the train to Tring, my destination for the weekend. Of course in return I would contribute towards fuel, as is the unwritten rule of matelot lift sharing, as decreed by Lord Horatio Nelson himself when he first gave Admiral Collingwood a lift up the line in his clapped out Peugeot 309.

Anyway I digress.

The plan was pretty simple, Nathan would drive from Dunoon to Brum, drop me at the station and I’d get the train to Tring. All being well, I’d be home by about 8pm and would have time to hit the pub and meet up with the pash.

So we banged on some tunes, sat back and hit the open road. Eventually I fell asleep.

Many hours later we come to a stop and I awake.

”We’re at the train station mate.”

I look out the window and notice that we are very much not at the ******* train station.

”Er where the **** are we Nath? This isn’t Birmingham New Street.”

”Yeah there was a bit of traffic round Birmingham so I thought I’d drop you here in Kidderminster instead. You can get the train to Brum from here, it’s not far.”

”I don’t suppose this is negotiable?”

”No, I only live round the corner and I’m done with driving today. Off you ****.”

So I traipse off in the rain to Kidderminster train station. There is a limited weekend service. I have to wait on the platform for 2 hours for my train. When it finally comes it’s one of those shitty little local trains that stops at every ******* station. It takes another 2 hours to get to Birmingham.

Eventually I get home at 1am. The train from Kidderminster to Brum took longer than the drive from Dunoon.

******* top lad or what.
Cheers, Easy!
 
Audi drivers, cünts top lads.
 

Londo

LE
1989 and approaching the end of the six-month Basic Provost Course at the RMPTC in Chichester. On the Mon morning we are briefed by our squad officer (with no other DS present) that we will all have to attend a church parade the following Sun. That afternoon we are briefed by the squad sgt that if there are no fcuk-ups during the week we will be going on a long weekend from AD Thu to FP Tue (unheard of!) and no mention of a church parade.

Roll forwards to Thu lunchtime and we are all parading in the block whilst the squad cpl dishes out the rail warrants in the presence of the squad sgt (still no mention of a church parade). Then up pipes the squad numpty with, "What about the church parade on Sunday, Sergeant?" Squad sgt, "What fcuking church parade?" Squad numpty, "The one Lt X told us about last Monday, Sergeant." Squad sgt, "Err, standfast I'll go and check." Comes back five minutes later having consulted with Lt X, "Cpl Y, collect those warrants back in because you lot are all on church parade, Sunday!"

Nice one, H***y. Top lad!
Did anyone have a 'word' with the numpty at a later date ?
 
Having heard this, and many other stories before, if this lad was with 151, and was the same one who was notoriously late on stag at every opportunity and pulled a bayonet on the Guard Cdr when he tried to rouse him leading to a same day RTU, then I had the dubious "honour" of being his Trp Cdr.
Knuckles healed OK then?
 

NI-EX-MEDIC

War Hero
A friend of mine was accosted in London - no other word for it - by some very rude foreigners who demanded to know how they get to Knightsbridge/somewhere suitably touristy and dear.

Given the lack of manners demonstrated, my friend was delighted to give them directions to somewhere near Hemel Hempstead and managed to contain his glee as they hopped into a taxi. Pretty sure Johnny Foreigner was also thinking "top bloke" as they headed out of London watching a rapidly climbing taxi fare.
My brother used to live very near Kew Gardens right beside a restraunt owned by Anthony Worral Thompson but that is by the by. One Sunday we were walking to the pub and got stopped by a very rude man from the sub-continent in an Audi estate full of letter boxes, he was cheeky and rude for someone wanting help and he asked for directions to Chessinton World of Adventure. My quick thinking brother who knew the area sent him to the M4 and told him to drive for about 40 miles and he would see the sign for the theme park. The guy got into the car and we both had a chuckle to ourselves as even I knew this was tottaly wrong directions. About thirty secconds later 3 cars of fully armed police pulled along side us and enquired why we were talking to this guy. We told the story about how we had sent them down the M4 and one cop laughed but another got very irate and a few expletives came out and off they went in bad temper. It was 2005 I think and in hindsight given what happened in London since this must have been a guy on a watchlist.
 
My brother used to live very near Kew Gardens right beside a restraunt owned by Anthony Worral Thompson but that is by the by. One Sunday we were walking to the pub and got stopped by a very rude man from the sub-continent in an Audi estate full of letter boxes, he was cheeky and rude for someone wanting help and he asked for directions to Chessinton World of Adventure. My quick thinking brother who knew the area sent him to the M4 and told him to drive for about 40 miles and he would see the sign for the theme park. The guy got into the car and we both had a chuckle to ourselves as even I knew this was tottaly wrong directions. About thirty secconds later 3 cars of fully armed police pulled along side us and enquired why we were talking to this guy. We told the story about how we had sent them down the M4 and one cop laughed but another got very irate and a few expletives came out and off they went in bad temper. It was 2005 I think and in hindsight given what happened in London since this must have been a guy on a watchlist.


All 3 ARV cars - close enough to identify you as the ones having a chat - screech to a halt and let the target escape.

Uh-huh.
 
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Firstly, a bit of background. On a boat when alongside, there is a sentry up top by the Main Access hatch (the hole by which one enters a submarine). He is armed and is known as the Upper Deck Trot. There is another chap in the Control Room, who keeps an eye on things inside, known as the Lower Deck Trot. Looks at dials and answers phones.

There are 2 telephone landlines, one to the Skipper's cabin and a general one in the Control Room.

As you all know, when answering a phone, if a squeaky voice asks for Chief X, the correct response is NOT 'Oh, is that his wife?' .........Unless you are a brand new out the box sprog.

When chaps on a boat are having 'marital problems' the standard response to an unwanted squeaky voice call is 'sorry love, he's under the casing / in the dockyard' thus denying availability of Chief X.

So it came to pass that during my divorce proceedings, having cunningly avoided contact with the ex, who knew all the dodges, her being a Wren, I'm in the Control Room when the phone rang.

'Hello, submarine XXX'
'Yes, love, he's standing right beside me'

Her 'Not under the casing then...


Top Lower Deck Trot!
 

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