Memoirs of a nod circa mid 80's

Great work brings back some memories. Joined 86. I clearly remember that one of our TT members was a RM Policeman and he must have had as much hair on his chest as on his head. He looked like he used to shave to his lower neck area and his fur seemed to explode out the top of his shirt. Looked really funny. I am reading this whilst in a training course for work and trying not to laugh outload at some of the stuff, would not go down well..... :) Next subject please...
Blobbs, dear chap, do buck up and crack on, you have had a year or two to rest up and get your memory in gear.

Missed this the 1st time round, and got to admit it has cheared me up no end reading it, it even took my mind off the terminal case of man flu I am suffering from.
Blobbs that was remarkably well written and truly entrancing to read. Makes me gush with envy that I'm unable to become one of gods own as I'm too old and fat.
God love a Royal.

My own experience was limited to some scuffles on Union Street (I was whippet quick in my younger days so didn't suffer too much of a kickin'), the SF who joined us for quite a few weeks while we disembarked/re-embarked them from our Sub while they perfected their fantastically devious ways of murderin' Johnny foreigner, and a short run-in with a retired Sergeant at my North Devon local pub.

Being a happy-go-lucky back-aftie with far too much Tiffy swagger than was good for my health I had trapped and moved in with a lovely young Kim Wilde lookalike. All blonde, bubbly and boobs, she was a lovely looker but Lord help her she was young and innocent of the world, especially the military bit.

So I had happily spun her the oft-told-but-never-carried-out Naval dit of what to respond with when she was introduced to one of her Maj's fabulous Royal Marines, namely, 'Oh really, what instrument do you play?'

Once told, I had long forgotten spinning this time of ages dit to her until we happened to move a smallie village and introduced ourselves to the locals. All was well, loads of smiles and handshakes, and I showed due deference to the retired short but wiry Royal Marine Sergeant without a hint of cheek or humour about the Marines and their various instruments.

The music played, the beer flowed, the conversation sparkled and some hours later I was back to back with him at the bar whilst we engaged in separate light hearted chit-chat...

... and then I heard the sweet, sweet tones of my lovely girlfriends voice as she introduced herself to him. As he replied and told her of his previous career, my heart stopped for just a second, hoping, just hoping that all would be well. Alas, it was not, for without a seconds hesitation she quite innocently asked forth the fabled question.

My heart didn't even have time to sink for ye olde Marine reactions were far too smart for some whipper-snapper Naval nugget and in a split second I was held off the floor and gasping perhaps my next to last breath as I begged my case that it was a joke, an old, old joke, and in any case I hadn't asked it...

Lord Neptune smiled upon my fate that evening as said Royal decided not to kill, skewer and fillet me all across his local watering hole, for being retired and beholden of some benevolence, and a decent pension, he saw a vaguely humorous side to the silly Submariner... and let me live.

I have never asked THE question ever again.

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