I do not wish to trivialise
Boudreaux Bob's inputs ... they are indeed a sad indictment of the way things have gone since I first put on a uniform in '63.
My Father was in conversation with a colleague shortly after I joined the RAF, and apprised him of the fact. The response was, "Ah, The Drinking Service". OK, I was a Ground Pounder, but it was fairly endemic everywhere I went ... and was undoubtedly was a factor in a one-sided interview (along with others) after a small toilet-roll fire in the Officers Mess Bar ceiling fans in 1968.
Do I blame the RAF for my predilection for alcohol? Was it too cheap? Was it the "Culture"? Am I weak, and easily led down the path of depravity? Probably all of the above, actually ... but there were only a few other minor, unrecorded/unknown incidents of "Stupid Boy" over the subsequent 3 decades.
I did my job well, got promoted often enough to satisfy me, and seemed to survive my occasional excesses. Of course, it's a different world these days.
Excuse me ... I need to refill my glass.
