William Congreve, in The Mourning Bride, 1697: “Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d; Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d”… Sound General Quarters and batten all hatches! Yours Aye.
Obviously what follows via the live link does not apply to those still serving, as they who remain in service meet up with their ‘oppos – mates – chums – pals – buddies- muckers – friend’s (mentally delete where appropriate) on a daily basis, grabbing a beer or a night out when ever the wind blows. What I have found in civvie street is that some married mates require a signed pass from their missus (a cinderella pass is rarely granted), which also applies to some single mates who wear their girl-friends thumbprint on their forehead 24/7. To be a happy chap, see your pals twice a week: Men’s well-being depends on meeting up with friends and ‘doing stuff’
Quick dit. Several years back I received a call from an Ex Bootneck “I need you to come and drink some beer; it’s £1- a pint and the money goes to charity”. Before he had put the phone down on to its cradle I was walking in through the door of his pub. The place was packed with serving, and ex Bootneck’s alike, the charity was going to make some money from this mammoth session.
As it happened he had just taken over the pub from the previous landlord, which required him to clear the old liquid stock to make room for his own; the delivery of which was the following lunchtime. Such is the measure of the man that he decided on the charity night. At midnight he called every one to order and stated that he was locking the doors “those without a cinderella pass that need to go home should to do so in the next 15 minutes, those who stay and make it through to morning and remain standing, can have a full english breakfast on the house”! Standing meant standing, whether it be with eyes closed and a death grip on the brass leaning bar or not… The fallen who chose to adopt the sitting/prone position were shaken afterwards with a cup of tea; a booby prize on the house. I thoroughly enjoyed the full english breakfast, after which I took a taxi home, and slept like a baby until evening dinner. The hangover was absolutely free… Yours Aye.
Transport for London’s lost property office is made up entirely of items left behind on buses, trains and in taxis across the capital. All handed over by members of the public, and carefully categorised and stored by staff in the offices in Baker Street awaiting the return of their owners. But for many belongings sadly that never happens and the storage rooms are now home to hundreds of thousands of items – 246,241 were handed in last year alone. Umbrellas? We’ve had a few handed in, around about 12,000 or so! A long while back whilst attending a course in London, a colleague and I decided to walk around Covent Garden to grab a bite to eat. We sat outside of a cafe in the lee of a small wall to keep out of the blustery wind and small autumn shower. Just as a well attired elderly city gent walked around the corner with his umbrella up; the wind caught it and blew it inside out, then back down again. In doing so it pushed several spines through the material, his shoulders slumped as he took a seat next to us.
Safe to say I am not a lover of battery driven cars, not matter what propaganda is spouted out by the makers. I love to hear the growl and rumble of a turbo driven engine sat within the bodywork of a real muscle car, or a 4×4 beast. Batteries are for torches, watches, clocks, and what ever other device requires them, other than a vehicle. So when I caught the following article, I mused over it as I poured my mid morning cup of tea.
Shares in electric Tesla Motors fell more than 6 per cent on Wednesday after a video showed one of the firm’s electric Model S vehicles engulfed in flames in Seattle. The stock dropped after the initial reports, and then again when a spokesman confirmed the fire began in the battery compartment of the car. The Model S has previously been touted as the safest car in America and it received among the highest scores ever recorded from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) in August. In an incident report, officials wrote they thought the fire started in the car’s battery following a crash, not due to a fault. (The battery in any Hybrid vehicle requires to be replaced after so many charges, on average it works out to be roughly six years. The price of the battery is roughly one third of the price of the car when bought new; A new ‘Toyota Prius Plug-in-Hybrid’ is roughly £30,000, hence a new replacement battery will cost £10,000)!
There is an electric ‘Toyota Prius Plug-in-Hybrid’ that travels along the small, narrow, country lane that runs past my home into the small village. At lease three times each week it passes me as I take my walk, always without warning, because not once has it been running on petrol as it creeps along. Each time I almost drop from a heart attack as it glides silently past. In bygone years there would have been a bloke carrying a red flag walking in front of it, to warn pedestrians of impending doom. Yesterday I walked to the village to place a letter into the post box, only to catch the driver of the Toyota parked next to the box doing the same thing thing. In a courteous manner I spoke of the problems the cars silence brings, some thing he was aware of. We both agreed that Toyota should place some kind of artificial engine noise within the system as a warning device, after all, even a new peddle cycle has to be sold with a bell; as a requirement of law. Victor Meldrew shown, not the actual driver…
This morning as I returned from a short walk I was deep, deep, in thought about research I’m involved in. When all of a sudden, a savage wild boar let out a blood curdling scream, as it almost grabbed me; In fact it was a huge lion that let out a blood curdling roar that almost grabbed my leg; No, it was an echoing scream from Cerberus the mythical creature with three heads, on one body, with a long tail, and razor sharp talons, that almost grabbed my right leg.
In actual fact it was all three of those described, or it may as well have been. Because the idiot driving the Toyota Prius waited until he was right next to me, and (((honked))) his bloody horn to warn me he was there! Sitting on a branch in the safety of a tree I could feel my heart beating ten to the dozen, as I watched him raise a hand, and wave as he silently glided away along the country lane. Yours Aye.
Rather than brush this one under the carpet I thought I would try and read through to understand the story ‘proper-like’. I have failed, miserably… CAUTION Strategically pixelated; Topless equality transexual activist causes bust-up with neighbors after insisting on doing EVERYTHING – including barbecuing and bike-riding – half-naked I also feel that 38-year-old ’Stacey’ Schnee, the pre op (or) post op transexual who is a single Mom, was previously (presumably) a single Daddy at some point, who like most men would take off their shirts in summer to bask in the sun, without any one around taking offence.
Perhaps ‘Stacey’ Schnee has fallen into the transexual trap of keeping a psychological foot either side of the metaphorical door, caused through a chemical imbalance. Because lets face it, the position she is now in can only be attributed to the amount of chemicals pumped into her body daily.
Her quote also concerns me some what: “I’m topless and even nude in front of my kids all the time. ’For them it’s nothing. They don’t see it as anything strange at all. They just don’t care. ’This is just how our family is. It’s just a little different. Daddy has breasts and Daddy is now a girl. To them it’s completely normal.“ Normal is correct when used as an Antonym, certainly not when used as a Synonym. Dignity & respect sits in balance with age & gravity, there is a time in an adults life when covering up correctly in front of growing children is expected. Nature, just like the English language, is a wonderful thing, messing with each brings along its own problems.
Yours Aye, who lives in the real world.
For a variety of reasons I’ve had one of those weeks where the clock has barely moved its hands, then when its does it leaps forward through a wormhole in space taking me along with it. Working around irregular international hours is not recommended, occasionally I turn in at sunrise, more often not at all, as it is easier to crash in my reclining ‘eeeeasy’ chair (joined eventually by Nipper who squeezes in at the side comfortably). Yesterday having finished at 05:00 hrs, I patrolled the dogs, and then ablutioned ‘as a gentleman should’ after which I performed the ceremony of… ‘Friday morning breakfast’; scrambled eggs, grilled bacon, toasted bread, and a scalding hot pot of tea.
And there lay the error for the weekend. I had unwittingly prepared the ceremony on Thursday morning, my body clock was shot to bits. I had that great ‘Thank God its Friday’ feeling a full day early. For almost eight hours I was living a blissful lie. As the lie continued, so I lived through it, as I attended to the tedious chores required around the house (there is no Mrs. Ex Bootneck to assist, and as yet Nipper & Hannah can’t quite get to grips with the Dyson, or load the washer, etc, etc). Chores complete it was 10:00 hrs, the official hour for a mid-morning ‘stand-easy’.
Settling down with my cup of tea and biscuits I listened to the news in the background, and perused my Pad for the morning mail. The dogs were dozing on their couch-at the time of morning when the sun pops through the large glazed doors to cover them in a golden blanket of rays. The three amigos slowly blinked their eyes as they started to sink, Nipper yawned, Hannah yawned Joss yawned, which triggered my yawn as I stretched my limbs. Out of the blue a ‘weary’ hit me, the ‘eeeeasy’ chair was whispering my name like a siren from the shore calling a ship on to its rocks; the ship heard the call and responded. Off I went to steal a pair of hours in the near horizontal position; just as I started to sink into the abyss I heard the pitter patter of tiny feet, Nipper had followed and jumped up effortlessly to lay across my chest. My late morning snooze was soon to end, rudely.
After a long seven day patrol we reached the Lie Up Position close to the Landing Zone, it was still as black as pitch, dawn would start breaking within the hour. The LUP was perfect, it was on a high feature covered in large boulders, thick bush and scattered pine trees. It offered cover from view, as well as winters elements; it would be easy to defend if required. We could also watch and cover the relief patrol as they de-bussed onto the LZ, who in turn would role reverse and watch us en-buss. I loved this part, as it offered a chance few minutes to hurl abusive banter as we passed each other fleetingly. (Below) LUP on Slieve Gullion’s western slope, looking towards the village of Forkhill, South Armagh The evolution would have to happen twice to complete the change-over, the Lynx (above pic) could only bring in nine Marines with their heavy bergan’s to effect the switch.
Eight hours to push on Slieve Gullion before the first flight arrived. After first light broke I stood fifty percent of the patrol down for breakfast. My headset crackled as a metallic voice used my call sign; it was the Op’s room asking for a radio check-as well as asking a question I didn’t want to hear “what is your visibility to my location“? I could see straight across the valleyed landscape, to the little dot ten miles away that was our Security Base in the village of Forkhill (where mail, hot showers, hot food and clean bedding awaited). “I have you clear and visual“? Said I, firmly. Once again the reply was not what I wanted to hear “Buzzard reports his location as being heavily clagged in-with no foreseeable change for the next twenty-four hours; Sun-ray at my location has ordered you to go firm for a further twenty-four“! Such is life in a green beret, another night out under the moon and stars. The message was quickly passed throughout the patrol; each Marine went through their time practiced admin routine, with minimum movement, and no one breaking cover.
My relief stood-to as I settled into a small grassy hollow where I started to doze, my rifle lay across my chest, and with my belly full of boil in the bag breakfast, I was absolutely content with life. In the far distance I thought I could faintly hear chopper blades beating the air, then silence, then another faint beat, followed by silence, then a steady beat that grew louder, and louder; oh bugger… The buzzards were obviously clear and flying!Buzzard flight Op’s had a long history of canceling flight programs due to thick swirling fog, only to reappoint it when it cleared, without informing anyone. I tightened my grip on my rifle ready to call the whole patrol to stand-to-and prepare to move. Nipper growled? What was Nipper doing on this patrol? My rifle wasn’t a rifle? It was Nipper laying across my chest; I had my left hand under his chin with my right hand on the outside of his right hip, which meant my trigger finger was under the small of his belly, which meant there wasn’t a trigger guard, which meant my trigger finger was on ‘his’ trigger; Owahhhh!!! He continued to growl at some thing, and I could definitely hear the beat of of heavy military chopper blades. I looked outside of my office window from the comfort of my recliner, to see two Merlin choppers heading straight for me at tree top level. At two hundred metres they split, port & starboard of my home, the down wash from their rotors (supplied by six powerful Rolls-Royce Turbomeca RTM 322 turbines) rippled the inch thick pan-tiles on the roof, making them plink and tinkle like the ivories on an old pub piano. Fortunately for each Merlin and its crew the office windows were closed, as Nipper would have launched himself out and brought at least one of them down… The aerial display went on for at least twenty minutes, contour flying through the valley, one low, one high giving top cover, each time using my place as a marker point for turning. Grrrrrrrr…! I was totally confused? Why have the military changed their flying routines, it has always been; Mixture Monday (Fast jets morning, Trainer turbo afternoon) – Trainer turbo Tuesday – Wish list Wednesday (variety of every thing, including C-130K SF Herc’s) – Chopper thrashing Thursday – Fast jet Friday! So why on earth was the military flying its choppers on a Fast jet Friday… The solution was to make a pot of tea (having washed my hands first), then let the dogs out to stretch their legs.
Having once again checked my Pad for mail, I realised my error… It was Thursday! ‘Chopper thrashing Thursday’. Which means we are now reading this on ‘Fast jet Friday’, which also means I have had that great ’Thank God its Friday’ feeling for two days running, as well as performed the ceremony of Friday morning breakfast, again. Even better news; there was no need for the tedious chores, as I cracked them all yesterday. Yours Aye.
A bear walks into a bar, sits down and orders a beer. The bartender Ariel Svetlik-McCarthy is stunned and amazed that the bear can actually talk, Even so, she serves him a beer. The bear says, “What do I owe you”? The bartender thinks to her self “Even though this bear is smart, he probably hasn’t been in many bars before“. She replies, “That’ll be ten dollars.“ The bear shrugs, opens his wallet and hands over the money and starts drinking his beer. After a few minutes, the bartender can’t restrain her curiosity any longer, so she walks back over to the bear and strikes up a conversation. “You know, we don’t get many bears in this bar“ The bear looks up from his beer and says, “Well, at ten bucks a beer, I’m not surprised“… Yours Aye.
Prior to leaving the Corps attending a meeting was a simple affair, either a salute was required, or a good firm handshake, in most cases both were required one after the other. Civvie street certainly has an eclectic mix all of its own; the clammy wet fish, the limp freemason, the double hander, the shake and hold; while they use their left hand to grab the elbow of the same arm (aka the Clinton stroke, which oozes insecurity). As used by others of an insecure nature!
Over the years I have always given a good firm handshake, never brutal in the way that pops the other persons knuckles and cartilage out of joint, though there are those of a certain stature who try to impress with a caveman grasp at an initial meeting. When offered such a hand vice grip of introduction they are saying ‘although I am smaller than you I make up for it with my hidden strength’ On receiving their message I tend to reply in kind with a compound force compressor that states ‘take this to the sick bay’! (I always leave a bit in reserve for the goodbye shake in case they haven’t learned from their initial lesson).
Never, ever, under any circumstances do I partake in the French/Italian way of ‘meet-greet & peck on the cheek’ Under such circumstances my body language speaks in volumes, and fires a warning shot across the forw’d bow of the continental type as they approach. I’m bloody English, harrumph! Yours Aye.
‘My names Danger, Carlos Danger’. A ‘tie in’ for the next Mexican James Bond? Anthony Weiner’s loss in last week’s New York City Democratic mayoral primary has not squelched the world’s endless supply of Carlos Danger jokes, the newest of which was announced on Wednesday. Anthony Weiner’s ‘Carlos Danger’ alter-ego is commemorated with a line of $69 ties Weiner’s infamous sexting persona has now provided seeds of artistic influence to Vittorio J tie designer, Jesse Chao; a 33-year-old New Jersey resident, has trumpeted a plan to commemorate Danger’s scorned behavior with a special line of ‘ties so sexy you don’t need a shirt’! Well done Jesse Chao, you may be onto a ‘weiner’ with this range. Yours Aye.
Nipper’s joint heritage is unquestionably part Staffordshire Bull Terrier, part Jack Russell Terrier. As a young puppy he has settled in well with Joss the elder, as well as Hannah the younger, all three are now inseparable though he knows his place within the pecking order. But we do have a slight problem! It would appear that Nipper has the acoustic hearing system similar to that found on a hunter class submarine, combined with the skills of a Ninja, who also owns a black silk cloak of invisibility. Allow me to elaborate…
Two nights back I crashed out on my bed exhausted, having securely closed the lower half of the split bedroom door, leaving the canines out on the landing in their large bed. Within minutes of listening to the small Westminster clock ticking at the side of my bed I fell into a deep sleep. Some time later I awoke, some thing had happened, some thing that I was unaccustomed to. It happened again, (a second time, I must be dreaming)? The bright light of an ‘almost’ full moon was pouring in through a gap in the curtains, I laid motionless staring at the ceiling. It happened again (a third time, I now know it’s not a dream)… A cold wet thing had touched my ear in a room that only I was in. Turning my head slowly on the pillow I saw Nipper lying right next to me; he licked my nose for good measure “How in the name of Aunt Fanny did you get in here”? A reply was not expected, he hasn’t mastered the english language—Yet!Groggily I turned the quarter lamp on, and scooped him up to place him back outside the half-door to the bedroom ‘that was still secure‘? How the flipping heck did he get passed a four-foot high half-door, without making any noise… How did he get on to the bed without waking me… And why are all three now sat staring at me? The large downstairs Westminster clock chimed 05:00, my head was spinning with unanswered questions, and I was wide awake. With sleep no longer an option, I led the way downstairs and put the kettle on, allowing the trio outside into the piddle enclosure, clumsily dressing as I went. Nipper grabbed a sock out of my hand and took off at full pelt; the day would be a long one, of that I was sure. Dawn was breaking as I settled into my office chair to listen to the news, suddenly ‘acoustics joe’ leaped up onto the window sill and started his familiar ‘heads-up-warning-growl’. There in the far distance at the base of the lone tree, was a group of pheasants grazing and beating their wings, he heard it through closed double glazed windows over a distance of 150 metres, over the noise of the TV! That same day’s evening, having worked past, and well beyond midnight into the wee hours of the morning; I once again turned in exhausted, and hit the pillow where I immediately slipped into a deep dark abyss. Just as the ships klaxon sounded ‘action stations/general quarters’ (once heard never forgotten). In actual fact it was part of a dream, triggered by the real source of noise coming from Nipper, whose high-pitched screaming bark set of Hannah & Joss. This was no drill, this was the real thing, we definitely had an intruder as Joss would never react in such a way. Rigged and ready in seconds, with my heavy-duty ‘six-battery-mag-lite’ at my side, I went through my time practiced security procedure (which has to remain my little secret). After ten minutes I declared the incident a false alarm, and stood the dogs down, the home defence system worked perfectly. We all returned to the top stairs landing to settle down once again.
However, Nipper was adamant I had missed some thing. Grumpy Joss put his brass ear-trumpet back under his bedding, and got his head down, followed by Hannah who sought the warmest part of the bed near the radiator… But not Nipper, who stared at the window growling with his hackles up. I gently eased the curtain back to see the drive lit up by the bright hunters moon, just as a large Barn owl dropped and swooped from the top branch of a tree, followed by its shrill cry, which set Nipper off once again, followed by Hannah. Joss stepped back from this one, and continued pushing out zzzZZZZ’s on behalf of all of us. The large Westminster chimed gently on the half hour of ‘daft-o-clock’, as I closed the curtain and walked back into my bedroom, to find Nipper curled up on my pillow…
Having gently deposited the little blighter back into his own bed I closed and secured the whole bedroom door, he would have to be a shape shifter to gain further access. My next task in life is to find and confiscate both sets of his rubber soled ninja sandals, as well as his silk invisibility cloak. God help us if he has a set of Ninja throwing stars hidden as well.
As any dog owner will tell you, choosing the correct name for your canine is quite important. Not to do so can cause embarrassment later in the day! Take for instance the lady who called her dog Yelp, who walked with him through thick woodland constantly calling his name. Unfortunately, other dog walkers only heard the frantic muffled call of a female in distress, as she shouted for “HELP” After they alerted the emergency services, Police sent a specialist dog handler and a team of officers to investigate, while mountain rescue teams were also called in to assist in a search that lasted eight hours.True Dit: An early summers morning. A Troop of thirty Marines waiting to set off in groups of five, to head off on a timed twenty mile map march across the rugged terrain of Dartmoor. A couple appeared from woodland behind Ringmoor cottage suffering from ‘lost dog syndrome’ they were both emotional to say the least, in fact the lady was on the verge of hysterics and collapse. My Boss, a young one-pip Sub-Lieutenant (a week out of the box) looked at me for support; the Nav-Ex had been planned for some while and it was a requisite tick in the box. I asked the pertinent questions of where, when last seen, what type, what colour, etc… As luck had it, their home, as well as the last sighting, was around the area we were about to move across. I left ‘young sir’ to finalise his first ever major military PR evolution with the civvie couple, as I quickly briefed the lads on a slight change of plan. The couple drove off along the country lanes heading for home in the hope their canine was there waiting for them; I spoke again to ‘young sir’
“Boss, can you quickly give the lads a full brief on the dogs description, as well as a reminder on the mornings procedure-we need to get cracking” He stepped forth onto a small boulder and gathered the Marines around him like Moses summoning the masses. “Men, we have been asked to keep our eye open for a lost dog, a large St Bernard bitch, light brown & white in colour“; on went the description and the final brief, until I gave him the sign to wind it down and move on. “Are their any questions” a voice from the gathering called out “What colour eyes has she got“? This was met with a burst of laughter, followed by a genuine ask of “What’s the dog called“? Without any hesitation, and with a sincere voice, the Boss answered… “Mummy, the dogs name is Mummy“… That was it, I had thirty old sweat Marines on their backs, arms and legs flailing like dying flies, laughing at the Boss’s sincerity and compassion as he said the dogs name. All good banter….
I set the first group off, and released the remainder in five minute intervals. The Boss and I set off to follow the rear group, after a few minutes silence he said “I really hope they find her” I agreed with him “If they do it will be through a sighting in the far distance, I cant see any hairy arsed Bootneck calling out ‘Mummy’ every five minutes hoping for a response” The penny dropped as he realised the folly of his earlier sincerity. Mummy was actually found by the lead group, and returned to an eternally grateful couple, which created a slight dogs leg detour from their original compass bearing. The Boss received a BZ from the couple via the Colonel of our Cdo Unit, along with a bottle of Port. Yours Aye.
Vice President Joe Biden has sparked rumors of presidential aspirations by delivering a campaign-style speech in Iowa, the first voting state in the presidential primary process. Most Democrats are watching former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton for hints about her 2016 plans, but Biden has neither confirmed nor denied his intentions to run. Joe Biden sparks presidential campaign rumors at Iowa fund raising appearance A simple musing from this side of the pond, how about the Democrats pushing for Joe Biden for President, and Hillary Clinton for Vice President Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton’s proposed ‘joint’ theme tune for the run up to the 2016 Presidency election Yours Aye.
Well sort of…A Royal Air Force ‘Hawk T1′ jet taking part in a training exercise crashed after hitting a goose The Jet, carrying an instructor and student pilot, was practicing a forced touchdown when it ran into the path of the unlucky bird.
The Hawk overshot the runway and smashed into a barrier, before landing in a safety net. The Goose was cooked, and the Hawk had its feathers ruffled. Both instructor and student pilot were reported as fine, after a double dose of Imodium Plus! Yours Aye.
To put you in the correct frame of mind, I would ask that you play the following link before you read on. It is safe for home, as well as work; Entry Of The Gladiators – Julius Fucik
The head clown of the European—> Union, Herman Van Rompuy’ has issued ‘orders’ to muzzle auditors who have refused to sign off the E.U. bureaucrats’ accounts for the last 18 years, telling them to tone down criticism as it ‘erodes trust’. Who on earth trusts the European Union?
In all honesty, how do they expect to be taken serious when they spout hogwash about their white wash… Herman Van Rumpy-Pumpy’s official car and his driver José Manuel Durão Barroso, ‘not‘ parked anywhere near the banana republic of Brussels Yours Aye.
Past history in most forms has always fascinated me, this piece is no different. ‘Women trouble’, immorality and post traumatic stress from fighting in the civil war: The reasons patients were admitted to a West Virginia lunatic asylum in the 1800s Having browsed the Reasons For Admission, I can see at least a dozen or more that would have ‘Carlos Danger’ incarcerated, as well as almost every politician both sides of the pond, which includes current leaders… I personally will admit to two only; ‘Woman Trouble’ & ‘Bad Company’, the good viewers of this blog being no way related to the later. There may well be more that apply, but my lips here forth, are sealed. Yours Aye.