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#21
Splendid thread.

Shat myself in a pub in Cwmbran and pissed in a kraut pongo's boots in Skopje.

I've always been an underachiever.
 
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#23
Dit of the century award goes to Stan. Hands fucking down.
2 Deck you make me blush but fcuk me did I Larf, OOD a doddle on a 42 but a CVS like a Micheal Jackson Thriller DVD after pipe down watching the piissed up fcukers attempt to get up the gangway, you don't dare laugh in case side show Bob kicks off takes her kit off and makes the gangway staff spew.
 
#24
2 Deck you make me blush but fcuk me did I Larf, OOD a doddle on a 42 but a CVS like a Micheal Jackson Thriller DVD after pipe down watching the piissed up fcukers attempt to get up the gangway, you don't dare laugh in case side show Bob kicks off takes her kit off and makes the gangway staff spew.
Spent far too much of my time as Bosun's Scrote on Illustrious - seeing the concentration of Jack desperately trying to look sober whilst climbing up the gangway when at high tide almost made this shit job bearable ..... almost but not.
 
#25
Spent far too much of my time as Bosun's Scrote on Illustrious - seeing the concentration of Jack desperately trying to look sober whilst climbing up the gangway
That was the best bit about doing those Fishead-type duties, when the boat was tied up with bits of string in the harbour. I still have vivid memories of Gib and our intrepid heroes returning to their floating hotel. The 'plank' was hidden round the corner of one of the buildings so they couldn't see you and vica versa. Anyway, all you could hear for about 5 minutes were drunken songs, shouting, wolf whistles etc etc, as Jack approached the building's corner. Then it was those really LOUD "SShhhzzzhhssszzz" noises as they prepared themselves for their 'definitely not drunk', walk in a semi-straight line to the gangway and then climb up it quietly, without falling down. It was all you could do not to laugh at some of the attempts but, of course, I had to keep a serious face and convey the gravity of the situation :) Then came the fun of that whirly thing with some sort of passes in it (I really can't remember what it was for) but our 'definitely not drunk' lads then had to try and find their name/messdeck or whatever and retrieve what was kept in the slots. Naturally, that was never leant against because the boys weren't drunk/tired and could support themselves and didn't need to focus VERY hard, so that container-of-cards thing definitely never got tipped over.

Only ever had one unsavoury incident, when AB Punchy Drunk obviously decided he didn't like gold stripes and took a swing. Not being totally stupid, I always tended to 'hide back' a bit, PD's swing went wild and he ended up falling flat in his face. The Bosun's Mate was so quick that I hardly had time to blink before PD was dragged off his arse and bundled none too gently off to 'jail' for the evening. Shame, really. It was the only time I had to go to the Captain's Table because the Cdr had decided drunk onboard + taking a swing at an occifer was something to be dealt with by the Top Bod.

PS: The Booties were always the best at looking after their oppos. I hate to say it but they were so well organised that one of the guys who remained onboard was there when each of his mates came back up the plank and made sure they were whisked straight back to their messdecks. Couldn't fault their organisation at all.

Sorry, no dits in there, just funny memories of drunken sailors and gangways. Poo stories, carry on.
 

wet_blobby

War Hero
Moderator
#26
Gang plank dit......

Whilst a young thruster cruising around the Oggin on that famous old cruise liner HMS Fearless we docked at Sevastapol. Awesome run ashore, beer, wine vodka all at stupidly low prices, 3 whores cost a fiver the Russian empire was crumbling, we'd just won the cold war and the russians hadn't really grasped capatalism so it was good times. The only down side was as we where the first British warship to visit the place the ship was stuffed full of Brass and important people. We were allowed "cinderella" leave and had to go ashore in uniform, Lovats for us booties, spangly sailing suits for jack and we had to be back on board by midnight.

It all went well for the first few hours but things got out of hand. The Russians didn't have alot of money so would try and flog us anything and everything. That quaint little ceremony that jack does at odd times of the day when the sun is normally still high in the sky "sunset" was particully amusing because 5 minutes after it ended we'd have a queue of russian jacks flogging their ships flag.... I got one..

With so much brass hanging around and vodka flowing there was a constant stream of high ranking officers getting piped on and off the ship, the poor gang plank sentries and the OOW etc where getting run ragged, one night about 1ish this russian admiral comes sauntering towards the ship, big hat, chest full of medals, the full regalia. The gang plank sentries obviously got a bit worried and decided that full naval protocol should be observed and called out the watch who formed a gaurd of honour as the OOW and the ranking matelot dusted themselves down and began piping the admiral on board. Well, the Admiral was struggling with the plank,one step forward two backwards. He made it to the top to be met with a crisp salute, as he staggered through the gaurd of honour he spoke. In a lovely scouse accent he thanked the lads for turning out but insisted there really was no need.

Poor sod went straight down to the cells, he'd bought the uniform in the pub off some fella who thought he'd make a few bucks selling his fathers gear. Poor jack was so proud of his new uniform he decided to wear it home.
 
#27
That was the best bit about doing those Fishead-type duties, when the boat was tied up with bits of string in the harbour. I still have vivid memories of Gib and our intrepid heroes returning to their floating hotel. The 'plank' was hidden round the corner of one of the buildings so they couldn't see you and vica versa. Anyway, all you could hear for about 5 minutes were drunken songs, shouting, wolf whistles etc etc, as Jack approached the building's corner. Then it was those really LOUD "SShhhzzzhhssszzz" noises as they prepared themselves for their 'definitely not drunk', walk in a semi-straight line to the gangway and then climb up it quietly, without falling down. It was all you could do not to laugh at some of the attempts but, of course, I had to keep a serious face and convey the gravity of the situation :) Then came the fun of that whirly thing with some sort of passes in it (I really can't remember what it was for) but our 'definitely not drunk' lads then had to try and find their name/messdeck or whatever and retrieve what was kept in the slots. Naturally, that was never leant against because the boys weren't drunk/tired and could support themselves and didn't need to focus VERY hard, so that container-of-cards thing definitely never got tipped over.

Only ever had one unsavoury incident, when AB Punchy Drunk obviously decided he didn't like gold stripes and took a swing. Not being totally stupid, I always tended to 'hide back' a bit, PD's swing went wild and he ended up falling flat in his face. The Bosun's Mate was so quick that I hardly had time to blink before PD was dragged off his arse and bundled none too gently off to 'jail' for the evening. Shame, really. It was the only time I had to go to the Captain's Table because the Cdr had decided drunk onboard + taking a swing at an occifer was something to be dealt with by the Top Bod.

PS: The Booties were always the best at looking after their oppos. I hate to say it but they were so well organised that one of the guys who remained onboard was there when each of his mates came back up the plank and made sure they were whisked straight back to their messdecks. Couldn't fault their organisation at all.

Sorry, no dits in there, just funny memories of drunken sailors and gangways. Poo stories, carry on.
Oh come on, surely you must have crimped off a Cleveland steamer in the cockpit of a Sea Harrier and jettisoned it at 600mph or something?
 
#28
Plank Dit!

On the Dev alongside in Malta back in the 70's ... my mate returned on board "3 sheets to the wind" and on eventually getting up the gangway was greeted by the OOW (some sprog Subbie) with " and where have you been?" to which my mate replied "Ashore... any more stupid fcuking questions!" ... Swopped my duty watches with him while he was on 3 days 9's!

Also in Malta ... same ship - same time ... killick Regand I used to go up to St Angelo badmington court for a thrash around and ended up in a doubles match with some Crab Police from Luqa and thrashed them - ended up with an invite back to their mess for a few wets so off we went. Having got completely bladdered we got a lift back to the ship courtesy of the "RAF Blue Light Taxi Service" ... along with the Joss who was also visiting. Swept through the dockyard gates with blue lights on and up the jetty where by the OOD happened to be standing and started rubbing his hands in anticipation ... his face was a picture as Killick Doc, Killick Reg and the Joss climbed out the back of the landy ... shook hands with the driver who drove off waving out the window and we proceeded up the plank ... rapid exit of the OOD
 
#29
Plank Dit!

On the Dev alongside in Malta back in the 70's ... my mate returned on board "3 sheets to the wind" and on eventually getting up the gangway was greeted by the OOW (some sprog Subbie) with " and where have you been?" to which my mate replied "Ashore... any more stupid fcuking questions!" ... Swopped my duty watches with him while he was on 3 days 9's!

Also in Malta ... same ship - same time ... killick Regand I used to go up to St Angelo badmington court for a thrash around and ended up in a doubles match with some Crab Police from Luqa and thrashed them - ended up with an invite back to their mess for a few wets so off we went. Having got completely bladdered we got a lift back to the ship courtesy of the "RAF Blue Light Taxi Service" ... along with the Joss who was also visiting. Swept through the dockyard gates with blue lights on and up the jetty where by the OOD happened to be standing and started rubbing his hands in anticipation ... his face was a picture as Killick Doc, Killick Reg and the Joss climbed out the back of the landy ... shook hands with the driver who drove off waving out the window and we proceeded up the plank ... rapid exit of the OOD
Nothing like a police escort to rile up the gangway staff.

As a 16 year old trainee at Collingwood, I had a moped. This basically meant I was a god among the other 16 year old trainees because I could zoom around at 30mph and get big eats from Fareham and Gosport. One evening my oppos and I were having a party in the block and I was tasked to go and get some pizzas, 5 to be exact, the really fucking huge ones.

Not really thinking things through properly, I trotted off on the bike to pick up the food and soon realised that getting five 18'' pizzas on the bike wasn't gonna happen. I tried putting them on the footwell, but they didn't fit, the bike had a small luggage rack but I had no way of securing them to it. In the end I resorted to balancing the pizzas on my knees and wedging my elbows on top.

Now this effected my stability somewhat and I had some difficulty manouvering the bike, things were a little wobbly to say the least and the 2 cans of Strongbow I'd consumed not half an hour earlier, probably weren't helping. As I wobbled my way around the roundabout under the viaduct in Fareham, I noticed the familiar sight of blue flashing lights in my mirror. Shit rumbled, or so I thought.

The very nice copper and his chubby female companion started out with the usual questions:

''You insured son?''

''Bike taxed?''

''You appear to have a bit of trouble controlling the bike, hasn't got anything to do with the five family size pizzas you've got on your lap has it?''

So I explained to plod that I was just a stupid young matelot and that we were all being sent to sea the very next day (a complete lie) and were having a leaving party and that's what the pizzas were for. The copper and his chubby WPC mate, took pity on me and gave me a police escort to Collingwood with the pizzas on their backseat.

As we approached the main gate, all the security staff started to twitch with excitement, ready to arrest whichever miscreant was in the back of the car. They were properly disappointed when plod handed over my five pizzas with a friendly ''ride safe son.''
 
#30
Me and Paddy S were doing a seariding job out in the Adriatic on Cambeltown in 98, flying onto her at sea in a Canadian navy Sea King just as we boarded at Bari airport the pilot told us we had to wait for another passenger. He was a German matelot who had missed his ship, he duly arrived managed to clamer into the back with us and promptly passed out still shitters. About 10 minutes into the flight there was the most horrific stench emminating from the kraut he as either dead or had shit himself extremely badly - it was the later, the aircrewman opened all the doors but the stench wouldn't fcuking go away, twenty minutes later we were in the hover over the Bremen, and the crew winched the cnut down still asleep in the strop, shit was rolling down his trouser legs and the downwash gave the flightdeck crew freckles, bet they kicked ten bells out of him in the handar.
 
#31
not 5h1T but a crab one...

When RNEWOSU moved from portacabins at RAF Wyton to a big purposebuilt unit at RAF Wadington, we in the mob got used to the crab aircrew officers wearing their flying suits on Friday - a sort of dress down concept. The WO(OPS)S who was on RDP decreed that all of us matelots wear our action dress - ovies, antiflash hoods and gloves on a specified friday. Major sense of humour failure by the grey/blue sidewalkers.

Also a LS(EW) - Stan ? who justified a robertson's golly in Nos 1s as a branch badge on his wooly pully to the Crab SWO - oh how we laughed!
 

Ninja_Stoker

War Hero
Moderator
#32
Whilst working as a "wrecker" for FOST in the Mobile Training Team (Pompey version) one of my more memorable trips was to a T23 in the Med, en-route to the Gulf. (Join off Gib, work-up, alight at Souda Bay, Crete). Funny how senior officers & television film crews find it necessary to join you for this trip, but not the one on a Friday afternoon, force 8, in the Channel.

As the ship was at sea, it was a helo transfer & as ever the Wafus thought it was funnier to winch you onto the deck by strop, lowering at full speed, then stopping abruptly, just above the deck before your ankles got smashed. The sensation caused by the strop tightening made you feel as though your nipples touched each other as your chest crushed inwards.

Off to the QD for a tab, and as ever, the disaffected members of the ships company would air their dirty washing, spilling the beans about life on board despite the strict instructions to the contrary from the hierarchy. One of the more amusing dits was that earlier that day the Flight Observer had called priority landing as he had eaten a dodgy curry in Gib and was touching cloth even as the telebrief cable fell away upon take-off. Happily for all bar him, they landed-on, only seconds too late, to much merriment on the bridge crew watching his bow-legged 'walk of shame' on the flight deck tv monitor.

Later that day, our first fire exercise was spookily a crash on deck, but the aircraft was in the hangar being fixed, so bizarrely the pilot & observer sat on a couple of chairs on the flightdeck, simulating the crash site amidst the smoke grenades, to permit the rescue teams to practice their drills for the cameras.

My debrief to CO all senior officers & ships company: "Scenario: Emergency landing, helo lands-on heavy, weapons hang-up, catches fire - oddly simulated by your Flight Commander & Observer sitting on two stools...a situation which I understand your Observer is only too familiar with already...."
 
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#37
Thanks to Ninja I have just had a poo-related memory dug from the depths of my beer-addled brain. 'Twas Ark Royal and we'd been back at sea for almost a day having spent some time in Majorca. Anyway, the night before we'd gone ashore for a few last ales and hearty helpings of paella. My mate (RIP) and I were on the program to blast off into the ether and play around pretending to shoot each other down, which we duly did. Playtime didn't last too long. After about 10 minutes of turning upside down and inside out my mate called a halt to the proceedings and then tried, subtely, to tell me he wasn't feeling too good. He obviously had an embarrassing problem since he didn't want to share it with the fighter controller and the rest of the Ops Room. Anyhow, he sidled up alongside me and held up the white plastic sheet from his kneeboard, onto which he'd written (in chinagraph). "I've shit myself".

Being the caring, sharing sort of bloke I am I obviously didn't relay the message but just about died of laughter. Without letting everybody on the boat know, we couldn't really 'Charlie' early, so we spent the next 40 minutes or so stooging around more than we normally did, while still pretending to be steely-eyed bringers of death (ahem). The fighter controller knew that something was amiss but knew better than to ask (he was the Sqn 'D', not one of the boat's).

Fast forward the end of the sortie and it was back to Mum for tea and medals. No sooner had we shut down than I saw my mate clamber down the ladder and then waddle across the flight deck. Now the killer end to this dit (as far as my amusement was concerned) was the fact that we were flying around in immersion suits. So that poor bugger had been sitting in the runniest, prawn and octopus flavoured crap for the best part of an hour, whilst it burnt his arse and invaded his nostrils with the putrid stench.

I caught up with him as we signed the jets back in and it was really funny watching the expressions of everyone crammed into the little maintrol space (or whatever it was called) as the smell from Lt Shitty-Suit offended the noses of all present. He decided it would be better to wait a while until the de-brief so, in the meantime, wandered off to the back of the boat where we lived to get cleaned up. The story should, of course, end there but that would have been a bit too kind. Not so for Lt Crap Suit. He thought he'd got away with it and, basically, just took all the bits and pieces from his immersion suit pockets and then climbed into the shower, still clothed in everything but helmet, lifejacket and boots. I've still got the photo at home as we disturbed the peace of his moment of shame. His expression tells a story of telling me to go elsewhere as he stands in a green bag pulled around his waist and full to his waist of shit-coloured demin water :-D
 
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#38
A few years back as a baby MA in Haslar I was working with an old and bold 3 badge killick. It was our job to walk around Haslar sorting out "adminstrative problems" with the Medical Records. At the time there was a Naval Nurse who was 5' 4" in her stocking'd feet, a body like "Jordan" and short curly blonde hair .... quite often we would walk onto the ward where she worked and she'd be leaning forward on the ward desk, legs slightly apart showing her stocking tops and my old and bold Sea Daddy would walk up behind her and deliver a quck slap on her arse. This particular day we bimbled onto the ward and there in her usual position was said Naval Nurse .... or was it ... just joined was one of the first female Medical Officers and this particular baby Surg Lt was a dead ringer for the Nurse when looking from the stern ... So in comes my Sea Daddy and seeing who he thought was the Naval Nurse delivered a resounding slap on her arse ... at which point she stood up and he could see her shoulder boards ... oops at which point I fell on the floor and nearly pissed myself laughing. Got a job change shortly afterwards ... can't think why!
 
#39
A few years back as a baby MA in Haslar I was working with an old and bold 3 badge killick. It was our job to walk around Haslar sorting out "adminstrative problems" with the Medical Records. At the time there was a Naval Nurse who was 5' 4" in her stocking'd feet, a body like "Jordan" and short curly blonde hair .... quite often we would walk onto the ward where she worked and she'd be leaning forward on the ward desk, legs slightly apart showing her stocking tops and my old and bold Sea Daddy would walk up behind her and deliver a quck slap on her arse. This particular day we bimbled onto the ward and there in her usual position was said Naval Nurse .... or was it ... just joined was one of the first female Medical Officers and this particular baby Surg Lt was a dead ringer for the Nurse when looking from the stern ... So in comes my Sea Daddy and seeing who he thought was the Naval Nurse delivered a resounding slap on her arse ... at which point she stood up and he could see her shoulder boards ... oops at which point I fell on the floor and nearly pissed myself laughing. Got a job change shortly afterwards ... can't think why!
In our juvenile days, myself and a few of the other OMs from my mess had a game which involved sticking your finger into your mate's hoop and shouting HQ1! (The telephone number for HQ1 on a 42 is 0 for those who aren't aware.)

Anyway, this childish (and slightly gay come to think of it) game kept us all amused for many months, one would have to be particularly vigilant when going up or down a ladder, as you could quite easily end up with a digit up your jacksy while your oppo stood at the bottom of the ladder shouting HQ1 in your ear.

Fast forward a few months to the RN ski champs, I'm sat in the back of a French taxi gazing out of the window and waiting for my oppo to get in the cab. He's fumbling around trying to put his skis on the roof rack and as he turns around I have a perfect shot at his un-guarded ricker through the open window. So I lick a finger and ram it as hard as I fucking can into his arse, I feel it go right through his trousers and deep into his hoop, at least up to the second knuckle, I shout HQ1, feeling proud of my achievement, but slightly puzzled as to why he had been so foolish as to turn his un-guarded arse to me.

I then look around to see my mate sat next to me laughing. Turns out he'd sorted his skis out ages ago and it was actually the cab driver fumbling about with the roof rack who I'd just violated.

It was an awkward journey after that.
 
#40
On our way out to Iraq in 2003 on ARK we had the pleasure of 40 Cmdo embarked, don't know if I'd spun this dit before but at the risk of repeating myself hre goes, just before we sailed Barnie B rings me and say his son Rob is embarking can I make sure he stays safe and gets home ok, fcuking cnut didn't need that responsibility, however after a couple of days at sea heading towards the Med Rob invites me up to the barracks for a wet bottle of pussers actually good sesh and I bimble merrily back to my cabin at about 2200.
Next day I see several members of the barracks walking around 5 deck with various facial injuries, black eyes split lips etc. I get hold of Rob and asked him what happened after a little encouragement he let on that after I'd gone the corporal of the barrackswanted them to play a game - a Bootie game, said game involved him detailing the lads to dish out blow jobs to their oppos, end result if the guy got a hard on he was given a good kicking for being a brown hatter. I suppose it was my duty to report it but cos I found it rather funny I said fcuk all because I knew were we were going, fcuking glad I didn't land on the Al Fawr with em wonder what they got up to in their dugouts??
 

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