Ah, Taranto night. When the brave (read 'suicidal') pilots from the Fleet Air Arm took off in their trusty buckets of pooh (Swordfish) and laid waste to the Italian Fleet (!!??) at Taranto. Presumably the Italians, like every other matelot in their own home port, were in town, on the lash, trying to square away anything in a skirt - thus making the job of the trusty WAFUs that much easier. A frankly feeble excuse for a knees-up but who needs excuses. Made all the more exciting (at Yeovilton) by wondering which part of the wardroom Schwab would try to blow up - back int he days when you were allowed to do that sort of thing in the mess (ie, have character)
