So, a ride from Lincoln to Penang in a Beverley would be more comfortable than in an Albert, Beags? I don't think so Chief!
We often used to go off for exercises to those Class A airfields that weren't normally operational, just to make sure that everything worked. I had the dubious pleasure of trying to fly from Waddington to Macrihanish in a Bev for one of those. After being airborne for nearly four agonizing hours the skipper sent back a message that due to strong headwinds we hadn't reached Carlisle yet so he was turning back. Groans all round. Twenty minutes later the now transonic Bev arrived back at Waddington, turned upwind for the approach and accomplished a vertical landing [who needs a Harrier in a gale?] and we all staggered out. The trip was successfully accomplished a few days later when the gale stopped.
During that detachment, there were the usual succession of amusing incidents. We unloaded the fire engine that we had taken up there because there wasn't one available locally at the time. Then we found there wasn't enough water to fill it and all the foam mixture stored up there had 'gone off', so we put the useless object on static display near the tower. You can't extinguish a burning Vulcan anyway, so no harm done. Is it still there I wonder?
Perhaps the best bit of fun though was when Geoff Lowes (universally known as "Louse" due to a hilarious mis-pronunciation by the SWO on an AOC's parade) pulled a Glaswegian lass - with a bee-hive that would have made Marge Simpson jealous - in the White Hart at Campbelltown. We were all stood at the bar while Louse entertained his trophy at a table. Suddenly, the Glaswegian Lass leaped to her feet with " Ye can buy me beer arl neet, but yer no gettin MAR tw*t that easy!!!" and stomped out. He tried to rejoin us but of course we all denied knowing him...
At some point a homeless local tagged along and followed us back to Macrihanish for a free night's bed & breakfast. Next day the scrounger, expecting a free meal, decided to join us when we boarded the Beverley and so he ended up at Waddington - with no idea where he was or how to get back home. Being gentlemen we took him out to the main road, pointed out the way to Fulbeck, told him that was North and gave him a left over RAF packed lunch to help him on his way. I sure hope he's made it by now. Or maybe he reached Cranwell and scrounged a cadetship...
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Through difficulties to the cinema