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Loose rivets
4th Mar 2006, 07:30
I have just had a quick peep at the agony aunt forum. It's not the sort of thread that one would normally poke one's nose into, but I found the topic of dating aircrew.....somewhat memory stimulating. This one must be one of thousands...of mine, and millions of others.

The trouble with old blokes is that they have to take anti-anecdotal pills before reminis....er, rambling.

BUT...back in the days when I would be guilty of climbing into ‘my girls' windows in the dead of night, I had thought that this is what I was supposed to do...part of the pilot's licence tests. One clearly remembers the grapevine pulling the mortar out of the walls as I fell backwards into the arbor. It was the rather effeminate scream that I let out that ruined my chances for that particular night. Malta in the sixties.

Then there was the quay-side incident.

When the mini was new, it was expected of one to do handbrake turns...wherever you were. My pal did one indoors on Walton Pier in Essex...he didn't mean to, but it was the 45 mph in reverse that caused things to go a little pear-shaped. People were inordinately impressed, especially those who had jumped onto the still and dark rides to get out of the way. It was the way they hugged at the carved horse-heads that set their expressions off. Their flared nostrils, (the people, not the horses.) completed the picture. One could impress a pretty girl with a good handbrake turn in those days.

Back to Malta.

I was taking my Wren back to @$^^^& @$^@^ at some unearthly hour (can't say what we really called the Navy building. ) I managed to get 66 mph out f the rental car--just about the time that I applied full lock and full hand-brake. Fine...everything normal. When the tire smoke had dispersed, my companion said. "That was clever of you to park so near the water's edge." I thought. WHAT WATER????????? But kept my mouth shut.

It was expected of one to be a gentleman in those days. Opening the car door was a prerequisite to nooky. (Thesaurus tells me that I have been mis-using that word for 40 years. Oo...errrr) anyway, by hooking my fingertips into the gutter-rail of the mini, I was able to not fall backwards into the abyss. Battle ships make such water rather black and shiny...and it was some 15 feet below the quay-side. She slid across the car and left me developing ways of looking demure, while hooking my teeth into the roof to get a better grip.:}

I suppose the uniform had something to do with it, even I carried more gold than an Admiral in those days, and it certainly wasn't my youthful complexion. Even my spots had spots, and when I got a sun-tan, it just gave the spots better definition. I talked hyper-bollox...on a good day, and expected the girls to pay their way by buying dinner........and drinks.......and petrol. But I did fall in love.:hmm:

One night when I was alone, I found myself in a rather nice restaurant. A nice band, a nice waiter, and wonderful smell. (It was the waiter, but that's another story, ) After a few drinks, I was asked to go upstairs, as there were no tables on the ground floor. I climbed the creaky wooden stairs and sat at a small table, almost opposite two people that looked like the parents of the plump, but pretty young lady with them. She was at that age when plumpness is a gift...all the bulges are in the right places, and her broad cheeks and full lips could support the large quantity of butter that she had spread on them. Dark spots of pepper allowed my searching gaze to focus on the glistening surfaces. She was eating sweetcorn off the cob, and she was beautiful.

Her father was clearly a lathe operator, and had instructed his daughter–from a young age–to use her bottom teeth as a chisel. With a good rotational speed on the cob, she could strip the corn off at a frightening rate, and be reaching for the next one before I had time to lean back onto the window-sill; to admire her from a relaxed, and thus cool, position.:cool: This proved to be a mistake.

Perhaps it was my falsetto voice again, or perhaps it was the fuss that the waiters made that caused the family to leave rather suddenly. ( I have always told myself that it was simply that she did not ever eat a main course, and had finished all the cobs...but I'll never know.) However, I can imagine how off-putting the image of a pair of uniform shoes, banging against the heads of the waiters–waiters that were trying to save my life--might be.

Not only had there not been a windowsill, there was no window...or wall...or posts holding the roof up. In fact, it was the clear image of the stars that I gained, now that I was upside down, that gave me the first clue of the fact that I was, or had been, on a roof garden.

It's strange the things one remembers, but they seemed to be tugging at me in time to the music.

It's so difficult to remain dignified when one has been partly de-bagged, especially when one has to appear grateful for a life saving effort undertaken by people, that, by now, know they are not going to get a tip.

I raced to the car park, but the family was leaving, their eleven hundred engine racing to the point of valve bounce. It had been part of my planning that I got a date with someone that owned a car, but now that seemed secondary to those beautiful eyes that had been staring into the candlelight. For a moment, I thought I saw the sheen of her buttery cheeks turn for a last look at me, but it was just a solitary street lamp reflecting on the glass.:{

I wonder who she was, she lingered in my heart for ages...in fact the entire time that it took me to walk the four miles home, and back to the Hotel Phoenicia to see who was about.:E

acbus1
4th Mar 2006, 11:24
Tis a shame that this brilliant piece is of a nature which doesn't permit of responses, mainly because no-one can "follow that"!

Great stuff, oh Loose one! :ok: :}

Anyway, this hoiks it up to the top again. :)

G-CPTN
4th Mar 2006, 12:38
Perhaps there should be a thread for similar stories.
I was in the habit of driving myself and some friends into the nearby city to attend a 'night club'. Said establishment was split into age-groups on different floors, and one of my passengers that night (the daughter of a local BIG businessman) was MEANT to make her own way home with her peers from the 'young set', but had 'met a boy' so pleaded that I should ferry her home when we (seniors) returned to the sticks. We arrived at the Manor, and I cut the engine and lights as I coasted down the drive into the stable-yard. Jane got out quietly and made her way to the back door, which suddenly opened, revealing father, complete with shotgun. Soon after, the passenger door was wrenched-open, the barrel thrust into my face and the words "I don't know who the hell you are, but if I ever see you here again I'll blow your bloody head off!" were uttered, nay expleted.
Problem was, that innocent as I was, indeed a shining knight if the truth were known, Jane had arranged a pre-race meeting (Point to point) 'drinkies' at hers for the following 11am! I wondered if I should 'no show', but Jane assured me (on the 'phone) that Father had an appalling memory, and he'd been 'well-oiled' anyway. It was, indeed, OK, though I kept my distance and kept my escape options in mind until we left for the races. Phew!

What Jane's father didn't know, was that I'd spent many a night alone (and with others) with Jane in a seaside caravan (though always innocently - well ALMOST, though we never 'did it'). It was with Jane that I'd discovered the detrimental effect of sand on adult games . . .

Loose rivets
4th Mar 2006, 17:49
Wow, sounds like the kind of girl that is worth getting shot for...well, perhaps not.

When I came into my den this AM (to clear the bottles and other debris, I noticed that I had forgotten to take the aforementioned anti-anecdotal pill. But yes, the idea was of course to get more of these tales from fellow ppruners.

We have had a "most embarrassing" thread in the past, but tales of sheer daftness is perhaps what I'm getting at. Like me making a temporary anchor by filling a ten gallon plastic container with water, heaving it to the edge, then lowering it to the sea bed...or at least trying to poke it to the sea bed. I was calculating s.g. s all day long when I was at work, what was I thinking? The young Mrs R was in the cabin, so perhaps that could be used in my defense.

These ppruning days are certainly bringing some very old memories to the fore. Most times I just groan..... "Oh God, I didn't do that did I?" But most times I had.

In fact, falling over the wall was the stuff of Inspector Clouseau, but it was in fact quite painful. Fortunately, scrabbling at walls had become second nature to me by then.

G-CPTN
4th Mar 2006, 18:26
Should've used heavy water!

kookabat
5th Mar 2006, 00:27
...boom tish!