Les merdes volent en escadrilles
Thread Starter
Join Date: Jul 2002
Location: NSW Australia
Posts: 127
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Les merdes volent en escadrilles
Having been out of Pprune range for some months, I returned the other week to find not only the nudge by Uncle Pprune to contribute something and the marvellous thread by Cliffnemo about getting his wings in WW2, but also the above comment, written by my long suffering (54years so far) wife, on a sticky note attached to the computer screen! She had thoughtfully provide a translation 'Sh1t flies in formation'. Goodness me (or words to that effect) I thought to myself, at last she is letting me know what she really felt about my flying career!
I thought, could it be my year with the Rothmans team, when each weekend in the season was taken up with me helping to entertain the masses, and frightening myself f--tless, when I should have been worrying about son's escapades on new motor bike, teaching no1 daughter to drive, or taking no2 daughter to pony club, and other fatherly activities?
Or if translated as 'Sh1t flies in squadrons', was it my 25 years in the RAF, with courses, detachments, postings, moving house at least twice with every posting, flying lovely old aeroplanes at Duxford for what should have been six weeks but ended up six months for a certain film, or the mandatory male (mainly!) bonding sessions in the bar each Friday, stopping me from doing my domestic bit at home?
Or was it, and this is stretching the metaphor to it's absolute limit, was she thinking of 'les merdes hitting the fan' and the 15 years of flying a fan engined executive jet, where the well planned flying roster was very soon taken over by reality making it very difficult to plan anything?
So I asked her, in an abject sort of way, if that was what she really thought? Well yes, she replied, though there were good times too, we knew the Rothmans crowd of old, and she did do some helping out in their palatial office block, well shed, at Booker, which she enjoyed.
And as for the RAF, four years in Cyprus nearly made up for the intermidable Lincolnshire ones, and we did have some very good friends; but the bonding sessions in the bar may have been Happy Hour to you, more like Unhappy Six Hours to me.
Not much to say about the exec jet bit, more good friends, and one clandestine trip to Vienna which turned into a further unexpected night stop in Geneva where she was able to see for herself the tribulations we had to endure making sure our allowances covered the odd drink or three as well as the superb dinner and five star hotel! That after being fed endless Gs&T down the back by Pat, our lovely Irish stewardess. Hard life.
But then she said that she had read somewhere that the phrase was a favourite of the last French President for when problems kept piling up, and that she wanted to send it to our daughter who had moved to France with her family, and was having trouble with getting everything sorted out. Nothing to do with going over that old ground! That will teach me to jump to conclusions!!
And finally, I'm relieved I didn't go through the Cambridge grading school Cliffnemo refers to where if you couldn't hack it in 10 hours you were scrubbed. I spent 15 hours trying to land a Tiger Moth at Wittering in 1948 before being sent to Cranwell to learn how to use a knife and fork properly, where they had Prentices, which were much more forgiving. I would never have had 40 odd years of enjoyment, nor been able to bore you rigid with all this!
I thought, could it be my year with the Rothmans team, when each weekend in the season was taken up with me helping to entertain the masses, and frightening myself f--tless, when I should have been worrying about son's escapades on new motor bike, teaching no1 daughter to drive, or taking no2 daughter to pony club, and other fatherly activities?
Or if translated as 'Sh1t flies in squadrons', was it my 25 years in the RAF, with courses, detachments, postings, moving house at least twice with every posting, flying lovely old aeroplanes at Duxford for what should have been six weeks but ended up six months for a certain film, or the mandatory male (mainly!) bonding sessions in the bar each Friday, stopping me from doing my domestic bit at home?
Or was it, and this is stretching the metaphor to it's absolute limit, was she thinking of 'les merdes hitting the fan' and the 15 years of flying a fan engined executive jet, where the well planned flying roster was very soon taken over by reality making it very difficult to plan anything?
So I asked her, in an abject sort of way, if that was what she really thought? Well yes, she replied, though there were good times too, we knew the Rothmans crowd of old, and she did do some helping out in their palatial office block, well shed, at Booker, which she enjoyed.
And as for the RAF, four years in Cyprus nearly made up for the intermidable Lincolnshire ones, and we did have some very good friends; but the bonding sessions in the bar may have been Happy Hour to you, more like Unhappy Six Hours to me.
Not much to say about the exec jet bit, more good friends, and one clandestine trip to Vienna which turned into a further unexpected night stop in Geneva where she was able to see for herself the tribulations we had to endure making sure our allowances covered the odd drink or three as well as the superb dinner and five star hotel! That after being fed endless Gs&T down the back by Pat, our lovely Irish stewardess. Hard life.
But then she said that she had read somewhere that the phrase was a favourite of the last French President for when problems kept piling up, and that she wanted to send it to our daughter who had moved to France with her family, and was having trouble with getting everything sorted out. Nothing to do with going over that old ground! That will teach me to jump to conclusions!!
And finally, I'm relieved I didn't go through the Cambridge grading school Cliffnemo refers to where if you couldn't hack it in 10 hours you were scrubbed. I spent 15 hours trying to land a Tiger Moth at Wittering in 1948 before being sent to Cranwell to learn how to use a knife and fork properly, where they had Prentices, which were much more forgiving. I would never have had 40 odd years of enjoyment, nor been able to bore you rigid with all this!
Join Date: Apr 2000
Location: a galaxy far, far,away...
Posts: 554
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Next-door-but-one to you. For your lovely wife, as told to me by a former chef to Brigitte Bardot
la vie est dur
Les femmes sont chere
Les enfants sont faciles a faire!
A bientot!
ap
la vie est dur
Les femmes sont chere
Les enfants sont faciles a faire!
A bientot!
ap
Join Date: Jul 2006
Location: South of Old Warden
Age: 87
Posts: 1,375
Likes: 0
Received 1 Like
on
1 Post
I spent 15 hours trying to land a Tiger Moth at Wittering in 1948
I recall you telling Boss Dodds this when we saw one at Nairobi during our Malawi odyssey.
Mrs G treated me to a flight in one at Duxford for my 60th (many years ago) during which we circled over Kings College watching the tourists looking up taking pics. When the pilot gave me instructions to return to Duxford I swear the Tiggy behaved like an old dray horse returning to the brewery.
