Remember standing beside one of her Majesty's finest nozzly jets and having a lady of a certain vintage approach me. She had the full mad, old woman kit - long floral skirt with wasteband dissappearing under an unfeasably pendulous bosom which was heading towards her knees, a beard like a rhodedendron bush and a faint Eau de Cat. In a perfect margaret Rutherford voice, she proceeded to tell me how the jet had changed in the days since she had been OC IV Sqn! Mad as a bucket of frogs but not strictly a walt.