There have been some bloody hilarious posts in Lil's over the years, and i am making it my task, when i have some time free, to track them down and post them here. The originators will, of course, be given the credit that they are due. Some of these dit's can be found (no doubt) in the Greatest Threads bit, but i thought a collection of the odd pearler in here may bring about the glory days of Lil's. Let's get started then.
Ahh the subtle art of revenge.
We had an absolutely mental LHOM down my mess for quite a while, his name was Skid, partly because his surname was the same as what Sir Steve Redgrave does to boats, but mostly because he spent his time fishing goodies out of the gash net and he resembled the creature from the dump. It was even rumoured that Skid would spend his evenings hammocked down amongst the rotting gash bags reading a book watching the sun set with a few tinnys.
Inevitably Skid stank, not due to poor personal hygiene but more to do with the amount of time he spent sifting through the gash, putting food waste into the ogin and crushing all other waste in those tin buckets. Skid's method of man management was extreme to say the least. He would walk around the messdeck, gathering up anything that took his fancy and ditching it over the side. This included photos of loved ones, digital cameras that had been left on charge with a full deployment's worth of phots on etc.
One evening in Singers, I returned from ashore and quietly took off my drinking rig, stowing it on a vacant rack in my gulch in order to not awaken my oppos with the crashing of locker doors etc. Since we were alongside this was perfectly acceptable and considered to be good drills for not disturbing the watchkeeper's sleep. I awoke the next day to find it gone. Now I'm a fairly fashionable chap and I take pride in my appearance, I had a nice Ralph Lauren polo shirt, some decent jeans and a very nice pair of Paul Smith boots, to wake up in the morning and find them all missing didn't put me in the best of moods.
On enquiring with a few other lads, it appeared they too had stuff missing, this included a couple of senior killicks who were less than impressed. We all turned to Skid as he sat in the corner of the mess festering away in a foetid pair of shorts and an ancient deployment T shirt from a long decommissioned ship. ''Oh Skid'' We enquired, ''where the fcuk is our stuff?''
Skid simply replied that we shouldn't have left stuff loafing and it had all been ditched. Despite our valid point that it was considered good drills to neatly stow stuff on vacant pits while alongside, the Skid was having none of it, stating the classic line that all shite LHOMs say when they are wrong; ''my mess, my rules''. A few of us searched around the ship for our stuff but appeared that it had been carted away by the gash lorry and wasn't going to be recovered.
We had a meeting and hatched our plan for revenge. Over the following weeks we kept watch on the Skid, whenever his back was turned, someone would nick whatever it was he had put down, even for just a second, this included everything from paint brushes to tabs to his towell when he went for a dhobi. All of his belongings were slowly gathered and placed in an old kit bag, the man literally couldn't go for a piss without something disappearing. He never twigged though and always just put it down to absent mindedness.
After a few weeks, the kit bag became full of his junk and the climax of our plan came into play. We were in company with an Aussie frigate and the Skid had been tasked as Seaboat Coxswain for the day. He had to make a visit over there to deliver some officers or some such, so we gave him the kit bag full of his shite as well, with a tag on it addressed to the skipper of the Aussie ship. Off he went delivering his special package to Aussies.
I would have loved to have seen the look on the Aussie skippers face when he emptied the kit bag in puzzlement at why the 'Poms' had sent him a bag of dirty 8's shirts, mugs, packets of tabs, wet towels and gash civvies.