Once upon a time, there was a young flying officer on 1 Sqn flying Hunters from West Raynham. This dashing young aviator and all of his other dashing young mates were in the bar getting ever so slightly happy one Sunday evening, when an old(er) chap in a suit came in and started drinking. He then joined in the chat and - after about half an hour - we steely-eyed killers decided that this chap was a complete prat and was continuously talking bollocks.
Summoning up all of his tact and diplomacy, the young dasher said to this chap (who as yet had not introduced himself), "if all you're goiing to do is stand there talking cr@p and pissing us off with your complete and utter obviously know sod all bollocks, if it's all the same to you we'd rather you fu(&ed off to bed and left us sane people alone to talk sense to each other". Said chap duly fu(&ed off!!!
Walking to Met Brief next morning, the dashing young killer met this same chap going into SHQ, wearing gold braid on his cap. He was the new Stn Cdr!!!
My career's never looked back since (or is that forward?).