Much to nobody's surprise, BlotBangRub finally did what he had been threatening to do for some time and killed himself in October 2008. Some people like to think he was almost certainly a victim of the legendary Curse of Arrse which strikes down anyone who seriously pisses off the Arrse community. Well, a few of them anyway. But in reality he had a nervous breakdown and mouthed of at some people when he should have known better, and had bigger problems than those arising from arguing with faceless people on a website.
Not so Bad
Before his breakdown in May 2008, BBR was generally well liked, over the years made funny posts and actively contributed to Arrse campaigns including street walking on Op Nimby. Those who met him on Arrse crawls would remember him for his sartorial habits (often involving tweed and matching handkerchiefs), quick wit, kindness and politeness. He also had a quick temper and could be a grumpy argumentative b'stard when he was depressed, but he had a lot of time for anyone with a problem and always wanted to help others.
He suffered acutely from PTSD from his time serving in his native Northern Ireland and experiences with the RUC/PSNI. As the obituary says 'he had served in the Army for 12 years with postings in Northern Ireland, Germany, Brunei and Great Britain alongside deployments to Norway, Denmark, Spain, Bosnia and Croatia. He then joined the Police and served in Londonderry for six years.' He once saved 8 people's lives whom he prevented from flying because he insisted on investigating a small fault with a helicopter after others had cleared it to fly. As it turned out the rotor would have failed had it taken off, almost certainly killing all aboard. You could argue as a REME helicopter engineer he was just doing his job, but on this occasion it was more to do with him being incredibly anal and fastidious. Which he was about most things, and probably didn't help him in later life.
He enjoyed and was most proud of his time in the RUC, and one of his favourite hobbies was arresting suspected terrorists for not wearing a seatbelt so that he could search their car. Amongst other nasty things of The Troubles he once saw a man burn to death after having petrol poured over him in Northern Ireland. His 'slurred' typing oft commented on (most thought he was posting drunk) was the result of nerve damage to his arm and wrist as he was thrown through a plate glass window whilst trying to detain a suspect. He suffered pain on a daily basis and found even typing a small amount incredibly painful. He also enjoyed chasing walts, and succeeded in helping to bring one particularly nasty specimen to trial.
He was heavily involved in hang gliding with the Army, met the Sultan of Brunei and once had a dog called Poppy whom he doted on. He loved cigarettes, cigars, and always had a tin of snuff on him in case of emergencies, and he was generous with all of them, especially to scrounging students. He enjoyed Irish Whiskey and kept his handkerchiefs ironed in colour order, and had silk knots numbering in the hundreds. He collected ties and Church’s shoes, which he polished every time he wore a pair. His favourite suit was a hand-made navy blue chalk wide pinstripe. He had a spectacular array of valuable jackets and suits that he had collected over the years, although if pushed would get out his troos for very formal functions. He had an array of aftershaves and scents, and his favourite was Creed’s Green Irish Tweed, because, and I quote, “The chick’s love it.” And they did.
Making a Go of it
After 6 years of checking under his car for bombs everyday, he decided it was time for something a little less stressful. When he died he was a student studying military history in England and was on his way to a First Class degree, which wasn't bad for a man who left school at 16 because his parents told him to.
To those who knew him in person, he was quite the gentleman, much loved and missed. To those who didn't, he probably seemed a bit of an arrse at the end, but in fairness he was rather unwell at the time.