Embarrassment revisited.

A few months/years ago I posted a dit on RR which told partially of a run ashore in Silver Sands Mombasa. For the younger members of RR Silver sands was a rest and recuperation camp just outside mombasa Kenya.
I got absolutely hammered and started off by taking a stray dog to the families bar and buying him some bingo tickets. Now the dog was not feeling grand as unbeknown to himself, the cheese sarnies I was feeding him in copious amounts were laced with Bacardi. Yes he was p1ssed.
So not being a regular bingo player he very soon had to stop the game as he lost track of the numbers called.
We got asked to leave. Actually we got slung out by the jossman and he used a few words at me I did not understand.
So off we went and climbed a tree as you do only to be accosted by a fuckin great furry thing resembling a monkey.
It hit me as I sat on a branch, so I hit the fucker straight back and I decked it, it fell out the tree.
That'll teach you to fuck with me I thought.
About two seconds later a fu
ckin replica of the bastard I'd decked, only three times bigger appeared and ripped me to pieces smacked me one and threw me out the fudgin tree.
I thought bugger that I'll go down the town and get a leg over.
A 10 ton truck was laid on every night to take the randy ratings to town and it returned at about 02 dubs.
So I waited just outside the gate and I heard it coming so I jumped out in front of it to stop it.
It didn't, it hit me a crippler and I spun away like a whirling dervish into a friggin bush, that just about shredded my shirt, and gave me about ten thousand little cuts which bleed like fuck.
I went to the QM's office and was allowed to sleep on the bed there.
I was rudely awoken in the morning and was a bit upset to find I was naked from the waist down and at first thought the QM and his amigo had trollied me.
Put your trousers on said the QM in a not to pleasant tone. I did. I found my nuts had been the menu for about thirty thousand mosquitoes, fuck they hurt.
"Where's my nicks"? I asked.
On the Joss mans lawn, go and stow them you dirty bastard he said, and take a bucket of water.
"What for" I asked.
Just do it he commanded. "Yes leading hand I said and off I went.
Right in the middle of the lawn was a pile of sh1t that was reminiscent of an elephant dump, and right atop the fly riddled heap was my nicks.
Sitting on the veranda watching me was the Joss, his wife, and two teenage girls about 14 and 16.
I had to remove the scale model Everest sculptured in sh1te as they sat at the breakfast table watching me.
The joss seriously wanted to kill me by crucifixion, you could see it in his face. The girls were grinning like rock apes and his wife just sat dead pan, but all stared.
I removed my dump and retired timidly to my "Bantu" (hut).
Every hour all day the joss had a member of the duty watch bang a big tin by my hut, and when I tried going to sleep elsewhere they followed me and it was louder as it was closer.

When I posted it on here, a member of the local RNA saw it and told me he knew that the dit was true. (He knows I am rumrat) "How do you know" I asked? He would not tell me how.
I found out last Saturday( Eons later) as I sat all cosmopolitan like out side the sidewalk cafe, and he introduced his lady wife.
The younger daughter of the Joss,... oh sh1t, and she told me what her mum had thought and said. Not nice.
And dad's still alive and 84.
I don't want to meet him. :D :roll: :D
Well its fcukin obvious to me.The 2 daughters stitched you up by dumping on the lawn and putting your niks on it.This was of course in retaliation because , being a gentleman and a scholar, you refused to give em both one up the arse the night before.Simples. I think you should go and see the old man and tell him the truth, that hes got slags for daughters and his wife aint much better. :D


After a very bad fire in the Java Sea, which merited abandon ship stations as the fire was licking towards the hangar, we limped into Singers for repairs. It never made the papers although there were fatalities.

8 of us spent the afternoon trying to drink the village dry of tiger, before heading to Nee Soon for a tattoo. By now I was skint, so I was the beer runner between the nearest bar and Shaky Joe's (or was it Johhny Gurkha), keeping the lads lubricated as they waited their turn in the chair. After the last beer run, I collapsed totally bladdered and my 'mates' left me to sleep it off by the side of the road. I awoke in darkness, totally disorientated.

Taking a rough compass fix for the dockyard, I decided that the quickest route was as the crow flies so set off across the fields. The 1st monsoon ditch was not too bad, but I had to abandon my socks and shoes to climb out. I vaguely remember walking through the front room of a house on stilts before falling into the next monsoon ditch.

By the time I got to the main gate it was 0400 and I was in shit state. Only knicks on and both ankles swollen up like balloons. The sikh copper on the main gate was highly amused as he asked for my ID card which was in one of 10 monsoon ditches. I spent the next hour in cells as we waited for transport to take me to a more secure and permanent home. I climbed into the back of the land rover which was occupied by an RAF sergeant, with another driving.

On the way we encountered the figure of Surgeon Commander 'A' who was a bit tired and emotional and he flagged down the landie. After showing his ID, he pulled rank and demanded a lift to the Eagle. Recognising my sad and bedraggled figure in the back, (as I did his pay) he asked me what the problem was. I explained that I hd been playing football, and someone had nicked my civvies. I picked up the swollen ankles during the game. It was a slight deviation from the truth, but it did get me a lift to the Eagle sick bay instead of cells.

9 months later, the incident was long forgotten as I married and set up home in Mullion after being drafted to Culdrose. The first Mrs W_M had bagged a job in the local sweet shop when one day a travelling rep came in. During coffee, Mrs W_M asked what he had done for a living being becoming a rep. He told her that he had been an RAF copper and the funniest incident he could recall was collecting a Writer named S*****
from Terror main gate at 0400.

It was shortly after this that I learnt the art of cooking for myself and have never looked back.

As an aside - for anyone on the last commish, I still have the mag that was produced with black and white photos of all departments if anyone was on R09 and wants a pic.
I came out the New Paris p1ssed as a parrot to find my oppo having a dust up with a Maori off the Blackpool.
I poked my shonk in and ended up getting battered by him. He kept knocking me in the monsoon ditch and then pulling me out and asking if I'd had enough.
I was so p1ssed I couldn't feel it, but was sick of loosing.
So on the third occasion I decided to "Let him off". He thanked me and called me round for some golden Heaven.

About four years later I am in Subiaco in Western Australia. I am with my woman of the moment and he is there with his. We do the usual fancy meeting you here shite and head off to have a few wets.
I'm telling him about the girl I'm with and her particular fancies in the bedroom stakes, when her estranged husband appears. He was an orificer in the Aussie Army.
The Kiwi thinks he's my mate and leans over to him and says, "Fuckin hell Steve's onto a good thing here, this bird loves it up the shitter when she ain't trying to munch it off. :oops: :oops: :oops: 8O :D
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