Spin me your dits.....

#21
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Rumrat said:
Sterling_Stirling said:
2DD, enjoyed that mate, cheers.

You creep, you stokers are always working a number 8O :D :D
He ain't sending you no Tickler :twisted: :twisted: :D
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
 
#22
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Merlin28 said:
Rumrat said:
Sterling_Stirling said:
2DD, enjoyed that mate, cheers.

You creep, you stokers are always working a number 8O :D :D
He ain't sending you no Tickler :twisted: :twisted: :D
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
I've already posted one in your thread shippers and I will be back later. I'm off to the pain clinic this morning in Burton on Trent. As if I need any more pain? 8O :D :D
 
#23
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

8) I joined to see the world and swagger home all bronzy bronzy from the far away places with the strange sounding names. After a few days in Viccy Barracks I did part one and two training in the middle of Yorkshire and my first draft was to a W.A.F.U training base near Nuneaton which is near Me riden the plumb centre of England. :( Later I also had a draft to British West Hartlepool with no security of a ship or establishment.I HAD TO LIVE UNPROTECTED RIGHT OUT IN THE MIDST OF IT. :( HAD A NERVOUS TWITCH EVER SINCE;- :? AND I NEVER GOT A MEDAL :!: :!: :!:
 
#24
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

BreathingOutOnTheWayUp said:
Rumrat said:
BreathingOutOnTheWayUp said:
He must be v young, though:

Carrying carpet burn on his schonk from the carpets in a Mess Deck 8O
When I think of the quartersine (if that's how you spell it) green decks in the mess decks, I think of a certain incident when we sailed from Bangkok in 68. I had brought a bottle of thai whiskey on-board, and we were playing uckers. The bastard 6 face fucker I was playing with gave me a splendid fuckin great mixy blob and as I arose to fit the board over his head, I knocked the bottle over.
Fuckin hell we wipes it straight up and stood back in amazement as we saw a dirty great big brown stain on the deck. No bugger would drink the whiskey then so we flogged it to the RO's grot for four tins of beer.
The bastards lived. :twisted: :roll: :oops:


Found it at Wiki under Linoleum:

<<.....The heavier gauges of linoleum are known as "battleship linoleum", and are mainly used in high-traffic situations like offices and public buildings. It was originally manufactured to meet the specifications of the U.S. Navy for warship deck covering on enclosed decks instead of wood, hence the name. Most U.S. Navy warships in fact removed their linoleum deck coverings following the attack on Pearl Harbor, as they were considered too flammable. Use of linoleum persisted in U.S. Navy submarines,

However Royal Navy warships used the similar product "Corticine". ....>>

Steel wool (except boats) & Teepol only. NEVER polished.


Bob you must have some interesting stories to add?
 
#25
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Merlin,

Your thread title was rather a forlorn hope. But never mind, I guess we were all that 'Spaz' at one time or another.

In your case I just hope that it's not terminal. :wink:

Merlin28 said:
Bob you must have some interesting stories to add?
Ah well, a bit of insomnia last night so I'll rise to your bait just this once.
But be warned, it's no RR 'one-liner'. (Clears throat, deep breath....):

After completing REM’s Course in 1961 (allegedly ET WE in new money), my first draft (whilst waiting to be flown out to Mauritius W/T station – And that was really tough :wink: ) was a loan stint to the Navy Buildings at Greenock, where, along with a few others, we provided assistance to the RNR for their big annual communications/paperwork war-footing exercise.*

Supplementing our Pusser’s Bag meals with alcoholic carry-outs we ensured that the overnight train to Glasgow was one hell of a party; among our picaresque fellow travellers were a couple of young Ghurkhas. Say what you like about their bravery, fighting spirit, and regimental track record but these two, who had both put some active service time in, were actually deserters! How they got on the train I don’t know but in those days you could buy a Penny Platform Ticket and I guess they just boarded the train after showing that. Regardless we recklessly and gleefully adopted, watered and fed these two renegades whilst keeping a sharp lookout. Every time the Ticket Inspector did his rounds, which was not very often as there were only a couple of stops, we cunningly hid the two of them beneath the seats, boxed in with our kitbags, tool bags and grips. At sometime in the middle of the night, way out in the woolly wilds of northern England, the train halted for a short while at which they were on their toes, melting away into the darkness. I often wondered what became of them as they would have been quite conspicuous anywhere in UK those ‘pre-multicultural society’ days.

Arriving in the cold light of day at Greenock, tired, hungry, unshaven and in well-creased & grubby uniforms (one bonus of the old white fronts was to put in on back to front if the front had collected any stains), we discovered that there was no service accommodation left for us so we were to be paid subsistence monies (which then took several days to materialise). We therefore victualled ourselves into a Seaman’s Hostel in the town, the ‘Inverclyde’ or some such. A towering, gaunt, edifice decorated with religious homilies and reminiscent of a Dickensian workhouse. Located near the shipyards & town centre but a few bus stops and a fair stride away from the Navy Buildings on the outskirts. (Apparently it is now an HM CG centre.) That Inverclyde hostel food was dire – Salty, watery porridge followed by bacon sliced so thinly that they had to place the (tiniest) fried egg on top of the rasher just to stop the draught from blowing it away. They need not have bothered as the heavy grease held it firmly in place. I must admit that deep fried Scotch mutton pies are almost bearable after a few scoops of McEwan’s heavy when there is no alternative - but not so as an evening meal of high tea served at 5.00 pm whilst still stone-cold-sober. ‘Mince, tatties and peas’ was another of the Inverclyde’s specialities, but I swear that the waiter had more mince than we ever had on our plates!

Being growing lads we desperately needed sustenance and obtained this mostly in liquid form. All the local bars were shipyarders-basic, real spit and sawdust with a long sturdy shiny brass foot rail at the base of every bar; these were always swimming in beer, beer mats/towels had not reached Scotland yet. Pouring the pint was an elaborate and delicate ritual, each glassful came out half-full of creamy froth and the dexterous barmen used a thin ivory paper knife to slice off this overflowing head, juggling several glasses before serving an almost full pint, plus an inch of thick white foam. I must stress ‘barman’ as women were rarely sighted in those bars, we visited most of them to check them out but eventually found the female of the species elsewhere. Although the bars all opened at 5.00 pm (Good news) they then shut again at 10.00 pm dead on, so no drinking-up time (Bad news). After that - Fish suppers (McDs, KFCs Pizza huts etc were all in the far distant future), tins of McEwan’s Export and bottles of Lanliq back at the Workhouse kept us sufficiently nourished, just.

At that time the US had recently parked their S/M depot ship, USS Proteus (AS-19), nearby at the Holy Loch for servicing the USN’s brand new POLARIS boats. (USS Patrick Henry had arrived there in March 196I after the second, but her very first, SSBN patrol) Petty Officer Seaman Specialist (fourth-class) Elmer J Chickensplit Jnr (the third), and his ship’s company, rarely ventured ashore to sample the grimy delights of downtown Greenock. Possibly one reason for the absence of rucks.

I particularly recall the hot topics of the day were; Khrushchev vs. Kennedy and POLARIS vs. CND. Being Jack flat ‘aback, and thus maritime experts, we were frequently drawn into quite serious and philosophical debates about each of these weighty matters; in particular the ‘four minute warning’ had a local resonance for the locals - who were very conscious of having a (if not the) ‘prime target’ on their very doorstep. After all, it had not been so many years earlier that the whole of the Clydeside area had taken a plastering from Hitler’s bomb deliverers and these new ‘nukes’ were capable of a making a much bigger bang.

With Jock, being the canny Jock of legend, we weren’t actually ‘lashed-up’ very often, but we were always made welcome and had a great time with the craic, as a bonus there was never any bother or rucks with young bucks.

Although it was at sea during our draft, one of the RN’s Bar class boom defence vessels was then a regular visitor to the port; so curiously you had the USN’s latest nuclear-power and weaponed-up FBM S/Ms operating within arm’s length of one of the RN’s last coal-burning chuggers! And that in the very same watery patch where Henry Bell (initially encouraged in 1803 by a certain Lord H. Nelson who had written to the Admiralty <<My Lords, if you do not adopt Mr Bell’s scheme, other nations will, and in the end vex every vein of this empire. It will succeed (he added), and you should encourage Mr Bell.>>) had established the old world’s very first steam-powered ferry service, across the River Clyde from the ‘berg of Helensburgh to Greenock.

Ermm, female companionships? Eventually we discovered some of the rarer sex at the dance hall above Burtons, the fifty-shilling Tailors. The trick was to arrive early and escort the lady home before the Jock studs appeared, well-oiled and incoherent, at closing time. But the best was yet to come: On a rare afternoon off we took a short ferry boat trip across to Dunoon, passing the Holy Loch USN Boats en route (jeering and heckling at the poor pistol-packing Elmer-soul acting as S/M casing sentry, another matelot sport which has since become obsolete.)

On arrival at this wee, twee, Jockinese seaside resort - WOWEEE!

The Town was absolutely overrun with nubile young women of all shapes and sizes, and all white! it was the Glasgow Vernon Pools Company annual outing and about three hundred of them had travelled ‘doon the watter’, arriving well lubricated at the same destination as this lucky couple of matelots! Some might say I was/am doggo; but even I clued up with that year’s Miss Vernon Beauty Queen. She was a blonde and lived in Paisley, another story: Sigh, what happy days……

Money, however and somehow, soon evaporated, as is it’s wont. The promised subsistence cash had not yet been received, so how does one finance a hectic and alcoholic social programme? Balls!

Yes indeed, all three of them. At the swinging (it was the 60’s after all) sign of the Medici family (evident in abundance at Greenock at the time) Jolly Jack nonchalantly joined the orderly queue of local Biddies & Jimmies for the collection of beer tokens in exchange for a multitude of personal items. My posh new Ronson electric razor went under, but sadly Hymie wouldn’t take the (new & unused) tool kit on account of the peculiar arrowhead marks identifying it as Government Property. One guy even pawned his Pusser’s Burberry, but that was not the wisest move in our location of persistent precipitation. (Later, my dear Mother, RIP, was horrified to learn of such transactions of usury because ‘hard as times had been, no-one in our family had ever stooped so low before!’)

Ho Hum, needs must when the thirst and females take over.

By the way, the only other time I have needed to visit such a place was just to identify some stolen property of ours, when pointed there by the Old Bill. But they still have their uses for some folk, apparently without any stigma attached these days.

Looking back fifty years to Greenock about the only problem I recall was the initial difficulty with the local language and those rather strange banknotes, but I gradually learned enough to get by.

Much later the knowledge of that dialect was to stand me in good stead; both during my years at Faslane and whilst substituting, for the 1970’s fire-fighter strikers of ‘Tinder-Box’ City, at the equally prime location of nearby Govan.


* And how did I assist the RNR in their mega exercise? After a fairly long and costly REM’s course I was considered highly qualified to turn to in the Navy Building’s Galley – Washing up and scrubbing out. Easy, even with a hangover most days and I never even once broke so much as a plate!

So there you have an excellent example of the RN assisting the poor RNR in their bleakest hour of dire need.


Bob
 
#26
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

BreathingOutOnTheWayUp said:
Merlin,

Your thread title was rather a forlorn hope. But never mind, I guess we were all that 'Spaz' at one time or another.

In your case I just hope that it's not terminal. :wink:

Bob
Thanks for the story. Can't hang around, the windows are getting dry :wink: :D
 
#27
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Merlin28 said:
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
A run ashore in Malta comes to mind to show how an innocent little excursion to have a quiet drink can kind of escalate into a friggin nightmare.

I was at one stage of my career as a young Able seaman (just rated up from OD) the bestest of oppos with another young thruster called Wally. Wally hailed from Bury St Edmund's. Together we would fight anything that walked, but were in the main just an average [pair of p1ssy up jack with no particular axe to grind.
So off we go ashore in Malta and head straight for the Gut. Its Sunday and we were about to ascend into the pit, when our attention is drawn to activity in the form of loads of bodies going into the bar. On the right hand side of the hill as you entered the Gut, is the "Britannia bar". You entered by going down stairs and into a massive room with a bar along each end. Around the bar there was an upstairs mezzanine floor and the place was reminiscent of an old swimming pool without the pool.

Any way we shuffle up to the bar and grab the last two stools and set to drinking. Next to us is the canteen manager, his civvy oppo off another canoe, and the chief airy fairy off our ship.
It was at this time of my life I had taken a keen interest in making music. The like of my music had never been heard before, except when the odd dockyard Ferrel was run over. I had bought a harmonica in Honky Fid and fancied I could play it. (I can now but then 8O ) Trouble is I was not deterred by the abundant threats to put me ashore even when at sea.

So I set to playing, and low and behold I manage a reasonable rendering of Jimmy crack corn. The Septics are all loving it and are all clapping stomping feet and singing.
The chief wafoo is not loving it, and offers to stow my mouth organ in my sh1t locker. I decline his offer by politely telling him to go fuck himself, at which point the can man smacks me in the fizog.
I immediately think this is very impolite, and reciprocate with a left hook.
The chief wafoo seems to think I require another dig and proceeds to deliver it. At this point wally does a superman impersonation and leaps several feet in the air and launches a kick in the chest at the can man, but hits the chief. The can mans' oppo jumps up and at that point everyone is belting each other. The chief goes down, the can mans oppo does as well, and the can man legs it.
The bouncers pin me down, and Wally soon gets the same treatment.
Then Wally breaks free and hits (For what ever reason) the biggest yank this side of Nagasaki. War breaks out and the doormen are fighting the yanks to stop them killing me and Wally.
Order is restored and the doormen tell us their plan. We get to walk out, they lock the doors and keep the yanks in for 5 minutes. We escape and then they liberate the septics.
So out we go. Trouble is Wally tells me he ain't running from yanks. I tell him lets pretend their Russians, and can we FRO. No we cant Kimble comes the expected answer, we fight or die.
Its the "die" bit that gets my attention ,as I have had near death experiences before with Wally, many the time I nearly got killed ashore with him.
So we stay, out come the septics 7 in number, but we have a master plan.
Ambush.
We strike as they emerge and there are quickly only 4 standing.
Yeah four fuckin great hairy neanderthals who set about trying to make me ugly and bleed. Wally has another plan,.......run..... and off he goes.
We run, and run, and run straight into the shore patrol from St Angelo .They want to have a chat, and ask why we are running away from the seventh cavalry. Wally implements plan C, this involves decking the leading patrol man. Then he runs,... I follow,and the the yanks, who have now arrived, start fighting with the patrol. We escape into an ally with a low wall which we easily jump straight into,........Sh1te.
Gallons and gallons of it, and did I mention that for whatever reason (some service event or other) we are wearing ...6's and for the uninformed that's a white sailor suit.
When I say white I mean that's the colour Pusser intended it to be when he gave it to me. Mine is now a lot like the multi coloured dream coat except there is no white present.
I am sitting in a stable full of maltese donkeys who are shitting like its going out of fashion and mostly on me. One was kind enough to try and get some off me by simply p1ssing over me.
Wally now to cheer me up points out the plus side to our situation, we have shook the patrol and the yanks. Thyis cheers me up no end.
All we have to do now is try not to attract attention, and bimble back to Selina creek and go aboard, and the jobs a good un.
We get to Valletta steps and try to get a dhaiso over to the ship.
Not a chance even dhaiso drivers have some standards and we fall short. The ships boat tell us they would like to help but tell us to fuck off anyway as they decide the smell is a trifle bad.
Wally has another plan,.....clean up. He pushes me in the oggin and jumps in himself, we both quickly discover beer is heavier than water and when assisted by full 6's no contest and we start to sink. Well he did , I just started drowning and would have succeeded had wally not cut my blouse off. Then my trolleys.
It was highly appreciated by the Officer of the day when we arrived in our new style run ashore rig, it was 6's negative 6's, infact negative most things except white shoes and chogi nicks.
He liked it so much he placed us under close arrest and locked us in the REM's store. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I went to sleep instead.
Officer of the days was interesting, what I can remember of it.
And what was our punishment for all our sins (the bits they knew about stand fast the patrol slapping incident,.....nothing.
As the can man hit me first and for disciplinary purposes in a ship he is a chief, all charges dropped, DO staring at me for ever and ever, and no service at the canteen....ever.

Edited to replace Vernon with St Angelo which of course was the base in Malta. I moved Vernon there on my own cleaver ain't I.
I was thinking of Vernon Square which of course is in Malta. :oops: :oops:
 
#29
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Rumrat said:
Merlin28 said:
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
On the right hand side of the hill as you entered the Gut, is the "Britannia bar". You entered by going down stairs and into a massive room with a bar along each end. Around the bar there was an upstairs mezzanine floor and the place was reminiscent of an old swimming pool without the pool.
Now that does stir the memory cells, always used to stop in there before hitting the gut :lol:
 
#30
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

WreckerL said:
Rumrat said:
Merlin28 said:
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
On the right hand side of the hill as you entered the Gut, is the "Britannia bar". You entered by going down stairs and into a massive room with a bar along each end. Around the bar there was an upstairs mezzanine floor and the place was reminiscent of an old swimming pool without the pool.
Now that does stir the memory cells, always used to stop in there before hitting the gut :lol:
It was like the New Paris in Sembawang, all tiles so if Jack honked or did an anal spewy they could just hose it out. :roll: :oops: :oops: :D
 
#31
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Rumrat said:
Merlin28 said:
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
We run, and run, and run straight into the shore patrol from St Angelo .I :oops: :oops:
Good job it was not Maltese plod you ran into, sadistic bastards. brushteeth
 
#32
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Sterling_Stirling said:
Rumrat said:
Merlin28 said:
Come on Rumrat you must have some stories about your time in the RN to tell?
We run, and run, and run straight into the shore patrol from St Angelo .I :oops: :oops:
Good job it was not Maltese plod you ran into, sadistic bastards. brushteeth
If Norway Chris ever comes back on here Mossy ask him about an episode with the Mintoff marauders.
Bastards.
 
#33
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

They were kicking shit out of some poor bloke just by the splash palace, shore patrol looking on, we asked them to intervene, not allowed was the reply. 1970.
 
#34
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Sterling_Stirling said:
They were kicking shit out of some poor bloke just by the splash palace, shore patrol looking on, we asked them to intervene, not allowed was the reply.
We had an RP Jan.......... get his front teeth pushed further into his gums with a truncheon for finishing his wet before vacating as ordered.
Told officers,.. no action.
Two weeks at sea and three pigs had birthdays so they went ashore with their oppos from the Hampshire to celebrate.
They gave them a kicking down the gut, and the Island was crawling with CID and SIB.
1972. :twisted:
 
#35
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Most Maltese blokes as you know were shoertarses, not these buggers,as nippers they must have had there feet in growbags. brushteeth
 
#36
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

remember going up falls rd in75 SLR in hand with a couple of pongos and crab air
they was shittin themselfs dont know why i always got tea and a soda from the locals
 
#37
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

Gibraltar. Sometime back in the 20th Century.

On a sludgemarine and I took one of the new baby RO(SM)'s out for a bit of a run ashore. It was his first time there, so I thought I'd give him a guided tour of Gibs Pubs, Clubs and Fish, chip and chicken shops. Anyhow -as the evening wore on - Taff was getting more and more shit-boxed, and he was starting to get a wee bit above himself. The last straw was him offering out a "Doorman" on some club or other (forget which). The "doorman" was a doorman by night and a Para by day, so I offered up my most sincere apologies and hauled the little stroppy Welshman away and up the Main Drag. I then demonstrated the art of Gibraltar "Parked Car Walking" (That is run up the back of the car, over its roof, down the front off the bonnet.......repeat exercise until you either ran out of cars or fell through a soft-top.) Taff had a go, fell through the roof of someones Volkswagen, and I had to get him into a taxi and send him back to the hotel (The Caleta Palace).
Time wore on and I forgot about him, presuming he had got back okay and had managed to locate the room and get his pissed head down. At the end of the night - I had a reasonably healthy gibber on - but still managed to get back to The Caleta Palace in one piece. I asked the bleary eyed Gibbo on reception for the room key and f***ed off in the lift and up to the room for some kip. Arriving at the room, I observed that the door was wide open, so I entered quietly to discover that wee Taff was nowhere in sight. His cart had not been slept in and I began to get more than a tad concerned. I plonked my freshly purchased Levi jacket over the back of a chair and went on a drunken Welsh person hunt.
From the room next to ours - I heard loud snoring - the door was also open and Taff was splashed out on some other f***ers bed. The room was occupied (as I later discovered) by two female munters who had been chucked out of Tangiers the previous day. I levered the drunken RO(SM) off the bed and manoeuvered him back to the correct room.
When I threw him on his own rack - I suddenly realised that, in that short space of time, our room had been "done over" and my Levi jacket plus wallet with £70 in it had gone walkies. Taff continued to knock out the zeds as I picked up the room phone, to call reception to report a suspected burglary.
No reply from downstairs. I hung on to the phone for about ten minutes before I lost the plot and started to wobble. Still clutching the phone I bimbled out of the room, with the aim of catching the lift back to reception. The phone followed me, swiftly followed by a nice line of telephone cable, as it got ripped out of the hotel room wall, showering the Welshboy in plaster. I got to the lift, with the phone and pressed the ground floor button. Me, the phone and several metres of cable started to descend, before what was left of the cable parted company with whatever it was attached to in the hotel room. Arriving at reception - I banged the wrecked telephone and assorted bits of wire on the desk yelling:
"I'VE BEEN RINGING THIS BAS***D PHONE FOR FIFTEEN F***ING MINUTES!!
I'VE JUST BEEN F***ING ROBBED!!"
The receptionist seemed to take a bit of notice and started to make urgent phone calls as I continued to rant.
Within minutes, The Gibraltar Crusher Division arrived and immediately arrested me for damage to public property. I complained bitterly, explaining that I had called THEM to report a f***ing robbery. They were having none of it. Ramming my arm up between my shoulder blades we all adjourned back to my hotel room. Taff - on seeing me plus two Killick Regulators sprang back from whatever drunken stupour he was in and started to throw shoes, light fittings and the kettle at my escorts. This got him arrested, and we almost got a night in cells when Gibraltar CID showed up.
They then demanded that we be turned over to them as the bitches in the room next door had accused us of breaking into their room and stealing a load of "jewellery".
The RN lost the argument and me and Taff ended up in Central Police station for two days and nights before our D.O. (whos father-in-law just happened to be the Governor of Gibraltar) got us sprung and confined to the boat for the duration of the stay.
The stupid whores next door eventually found their missing jewellery in a flip-flop in their shower. Me and Taff had spent 48 hours in nick, getting grilled. I broke up a bit of police station furniture during our stay and then we both got fined a load of dosh, before being allowed to return to Gibraltar Cop Shop to demand that our photographs, fingerprints and illegal statements be burned, shredded and ditched.
I f***ing HATED the Gibraltar CID from that day forward. They told me in no uncertain terms: "We do not care if you robbed them or not - but we WILL make sure that you go to prison because we DO NOT LIKE YOU PEOPLE" (I shall never forget what those two pricks said....ever).
Taff never-ever-ever forgot his first foreign run ashore either.

Bloody good run - that was.
 
#38
Re: Hope I don't sound like a spaz

I was watching a film on the box the other night about drug smuggling in Thailand, and it was showing quite a few scenes of matelots playing up in the bars.
I was with about half a dozen lads in a bar in Bangkok one night and we were well on the shitters trail. I was watching the "Ladies" dancing and remembered what a leading stoker had told me once in Pompey about what one did for entertainment in Thai bars.
So we did it. Yes I know its a common stunt before the we did it before brigade stand to attention, but a first for me.
I placed a ? baht coin on the top of one of the bottles that were strategically sited around the edge of the stages in the bar. Along comes lotus blossom or whatever, dancing stark naked of course, lowers herself down over the bottle and picks up the coin with her flaps. She smiles in appreciation drops the coin in her tips tin and thrusts her gash at my face to allow me a kiss as is customary.
Well I do this a few times and she does her routine and then we go in for the kill.
We hold the coin between two matches and hold it over a zippo for a long time, before placing it on the bottle. (Bastards ain't we?) she shuffles over picks it up with flaps and fucking hell she aint amused one bit.
However after a minute or two she resumes dancing. Now remember I have heard the dit from "stokes" in Pompey, the lads had not so I am on high alert for what I have been told could happen.
And happen it did just as she thought I had relaxed, she dances over twirling swirling and gyrating each and every way...
Until she turns her back to us as close to the stage edge as she can and bends forward, I dodge out the way and she ....pisses over most of the lads before one rams a bottle up her brown and dirty.
We get slung out , and everyone is gibbering, but I for once wasn't the bastard covered in Piss
 
#40
Let's kick this off again shall we?

Where was I?

So the Newcastle had just come home and I had just finished a tasty few weeks on leave. On returning to the ship, I found that the fire brigade had gone on strike and we were all going to be dicked to do their job. To be honest, I thought this was brilliant, I'd always fancied being a fireman and thought it would be a laugh. Names were drawn and I wasn't on the list. While everyone else deployed to a temporary fire station, I stayed onboard with a skeleton crew and did endless sets of WE rounds, alongside in Pompey for 6 weeks. After a while I got the hang of it and realised you could sign off 4 hours worth of rounds in a oner and then get your head down. Luckily I was never caught.

With most of my mates tearing up Guildford in Green Godesses, I was bored as fuck. I did manage to save a bit of cash though as I wasn't pissing up every night. One weekend I rode my moped to Pompey from my mum's house, this took me a whole day due to the bike being limited to 30mph. Having the bike meant I could expore more of the area and I came to the conclusion that Pompey really is a dump. I had a few temporary girlfriends and things were fairly uneventful for the next few months.

Eventually Op Fresco finished, the lads came back and I fucked off back to Collingwood for a year's worth of courses. I was in a room with some of my old oppos from Raleigh and much shenanigans were had. Due to a variety of drunken incidents, including some naked moped riding around the base and a broken window, I was labelled as a problem child and moved into a single man cabin, far away from my oppos. To be honest, this didn't help matters at all.

I was the only person on the top floor of the old Senior Rate's block (Vivian) and I spent much of the time acting the tit, using fire extinguishers to propel me down the corridors on my skateboard and generally vandalising the place. As I was on a drinking ban from my DO, I used most of my cash to buy random shit. As my cabin was well and truly off the rounds route, I filled it up with skateboards, guitars, a BMX and a desktop PC. It looked like student digs and I went a bit feral in those few months alone in Vivian block. After a while, other people started to move in, I got my shit in one sock and things began to return to normal.

After a year of what seemed like constant maths exams and shite duties at Collingwood, I went back to Raleigh for a seamanship course. It was pretty standard stuff and I felt like a god among the trainees, regailing them with my salty sea dits and depositing my sperm in a few wrens for good measure, a highlight was spending a few days on a small yacht and sailing around Plymouth getting pissed. After Raleigh I went to Dryad for some warfare courses, ops room stuff mainly. Amazingly I came top of my class, despite being adrift for one of the exams due to drunkeness. Due to my good exam scores they let me slap in for whatever ship I wanted (again). This time I chose Exeter as I knew a few lads onboard and it was rumoured to be doing a 9 month Far East trip the following year.

By now I'd passed my driving test and bought a car that was far to good for someone my age. It was a red Lancia Montecarlo and it looked like a mini Ferrari. I pulled up to the gangway of the Exeter feeling much more confident than when I joined the Newcastle. I joined the mess, 3P this time and got straight into the swing of things. The lads were well into a mighty piss up when I got down the ladder, so I cracked straight on and shot a few tins of John Smiths. This immediately caused me to projectile vomit into the middle of the mess square. For a second there was a pause and people looked at me in disgust, then there was a cheer and I was immediately accepted into the fold.

The next day we sailed to Guz for BOST.

TBC.
 

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