Mrs Bloggs 'At Home' Etiquette/Protocols
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Surely, if one wishes to address one's servants, one does so via one's butler.
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Well spotted the gypsy - it was white, looked liquid, the bottle was clear, and it made her violently ill
If only I had introduced Le Pinot Grigio to the chatterers - would now be retired in some overgrown vineyard, with Mrs Maxred a recovering wine sponge
If only I had introduced Le Pinot Grigio to the chatterers - would now be retired in some overgrown vineyard, with Mrs Maxred a recovering wine sponge
goudie, perhaps when droit de seigneur is involved....???
Sounds like normal reaction to a 'vintage*' St Panteleimon or Aphrodite White...
*in this context, more than a couple of days old....
...it was white, looked liquid, the bottle was clear, and it made her violently ill...
*in this context, more than a couple of days old....
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Re "vintage wines"
On a visit to the Farmers Wine Factory in Malta ( Marsovin was the posh plonk) - the chap greeted my party order with a big smile and said "Ah signor, you are very lucky man, these are fresh wine - feel the bottle - is still warm" !
As for doit or doigt - reminds me of a tale told by one of our "coastal" brethren, Shacks at Ballykelly
Our Coastal Hero strikes gold and takes local Fair Maid for a late evening drive in his car. Pulls into a leafy glade and , as matters start to get steamy, and CH pops a button or two on FM's blouse:
FM: "you must be an officer then"
CH: "yes, but how can you tell"
FM: "Ah you've started at the top, the NCOs always start at the bottom"
On a visit to the Farmers Wine Factory in Malta ( Marsovin was the posh plonk) - the chap greeted my party order with a big smile and said "Ah signor, you are very lucky man, these are fresh wine - feel the bottle - is still warm" !
As for doit or doigt - reminds me of a tale told by one of our "coastal" brethren, Shacks at Ballykelly
Our Coastal Hero strikes gold and takes local Fair Maid for a late evening drive in his car. Pulls into a leafy glade and , as matters start to get steamy, and CH pops a button or two on FM's blouse:
FM: "you must be an officer then"
CH: "yes, but how can you tell"
FM: "Ah you've started at the top, the NCOs always start at the bottom"
Last edited by chopd95; 10th Dec 2010 at 19:04. Reason: spilling
Ah yes, chopd95, a typical kipper fleet encounter. Or so I'm told....
Wasn't Ballykelly the place where the plastic sergeants used to 'fraternise' with the locals from some shirt factory; once they'd 'met' every individual fabric cutter, they'd call "SHIRT!".
Marsovin, yes, a particularly delicate little number...not! I recall my first encounter in Sliema with that alleged wine. A crew meal at the Pasta House, where the lasagne had the temperature of thermonuclear plasma! So a huge gulp of Marsovin to put out the fire....mistake - big mistake! I could hardly see for the tears. Then a few Jaegermeisters with Richard at the City Gem, before the bus back to Luqa. Fortunately we weren't flying the next day!
Innocent fun, happy days..... When Once We Had an Air Force.
Wasn't Ballykelly the place where the plastic sergeants used to 'fraternise' with the locals from some shirt factory; once they'd 'met' every individual fabric cutter, they'd call "SHIRT!".
Marsovin, yes, a particularly delicate little number...not! I recall my first encounter in Sliema with that alleged wine. A crew meal at the Pasta House, where the lasagne had the temperature of thermonuclear plasma! So a huge gulp of Marsovin to put out the fire....mistake - big mistake! I could hardly see for the tears. Then a few Jaegermeisters with Richard at the City Gem, before the bus back to Luqa. Fortunately we weren't flying the next day!
Innocent fun, happy days..... When Once We Had an Air Force.
I don't own this space under my name. I should have leased it while I still could
The establishment where "Shirt" was played was the Maiden City Bar in Londonderry, frequented by crews on the JASSEX at H.M.S. Sea Eagle. I imagine the "Maiden" bit was entirely fictional. I believe the shout was not "Crew", but "Shack", though I never went there myself, of course.
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I recall my first trip into Hong Kong as one of the crew of "Fat Albert". The "Staish" was the Captain of our crew and that he'd been sidelined for an evening out with OC RAF Kai Tak.
Meanwhile, our "Co" had arranged our own night-out by inviting a few nurses from the Military Hospital to accompany the remainder of the crew for dinner.
"Smart casual" was the order of dress for the evening; which wasn't too difficult, because the "Staish" had ordered us all to pack lounge-suits for the stop-over in Columbo where we were all invited to dinner at the Gall Face Hotel... that's a different story; however, back to HKG.
We were all booted and spurred to meet said nurses within a local, but very smart, bar in Kowloon. Our Co-Pilot knew his muse for the evening swaree and that the other three quickly paired-off with the remainder of the crew; the Nav, Loadie, and myself (Eng).
My partner was wearing a most delightful clingy silk cocktail dress; which left nothing to the immagination. All was going well until the Nav opened-up a packet of fags and offered them around the table (everyone smoked in those days). Not long after I'd lit-up I managed to graze my fag-end against that silky dress that my partner was wearing and that, being silk, it immediately melted a hole in it... bugger!
Our Co-Pilot was first to comment; saying that I should take the poor girl to a local tailor and have another one made to measure for picking-up later. Good call; however, he then went on to say (in well intentioned good humour)... Typical "Enlisted $hit"; can't be trusted with anything but a spanner! Her reply was... "You mean; you're not commissioned"? Err, no... exit said nurse.
After a short altercation with said Co-Pilot... exit Eng. Eng found solace in a bar just around the corner. Half an hour later... in came my three colleagues (without nurses); the Co-Pilot offering huge appologies; besides which... I had the kitty!
Not surprisingly, I can't remember much else about that evening.
Happy days...
Meanwhile, our "Co" had arranged our own night-out by inviting a few nurses from the Military Hospital to accompany the remainder of the crew for dinner.
"Smart casual" was the order of dress for the evening; which wasn't too difficult, because the "Staish" had ordered us all to pack lounge-suits for the stop-over in Columbo where we were all invited to dinner at the Gall Face Hotel... that's a different story; however, back to HKG.
We were all booted and spurred to meet said nurses within a local, but very smart, bar in Kowloon. Our Co-Pilot knew his muse for the evening swaree and that the other three quickly paired-off with the remainder of the crew; the Nav, Loadie, and myself (Eng).
My partner was wearing a most delightful clingy silk cocktail dress; which left nothing to the immagination. All was going well until the Nav opened-up a packet of fags and offered them around the table (everyone smoked in those days). Not long after I'd lit-up I managed to graze my fag-end against that silky dress that my partner was wearing and that, being silk, it immediately melted a hole in it... bugger!
Our Co-Pilot was first to comment; saying that I should take the poor girl to a local tailor and have another one made to measure for picking-up later. Good call; however, he then went on to say (in well intentioned good humour)... Typical "Enlisted $hit"; can't be trusted with anything but a spanner! Her reply was... "You mean; you're not commissioned"? Err, no... exit said nurse.
After a short altercation with said Co-Pilot... exit Eng. Eng found solace in a bar just around the corner. Half an hour later... in came my three colleagues (without nurses); the Co-Pilot offering huge appologies; besides which... I had the kitty!
Not surprisingly, I can't remember much else about that evening.
Happy days...
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During one the Britannia Dets to Kai Tak in the early '70's our young Eng Off gets himself invited to a party, laid on by some Brit female teachers. He pairs off with one, gets lucky and is invited back to her place.
When they arrive at her high rise apartment he realises he's run out of ciggies (Yes, everyone did smoke in those days). She tells him there's an all night corner shop 5 mins walk from the block. Off he trots, purchases ciggies, and makes his way back to the apartment block.
The Sikh security guard lets him in and he makes his way up to the 9th? floor to apartment number 37? Sh!t! He realises he's forgotten her apart. and floor number. Well he's had a few drinks!
After several trips to the ground floor, to start again, the Sikh guard asks him who he's trying to find. He then realises he doesn't know her surname either. The guard eventually asks him to leave, which he reluctantly does.
When he related this story to me over a few beers he said, ''and do you know what really bugs me, it's that she probably thought I'd chickened out and done a runner.'' We left Hong Kong a day later, so he never had chance to explain. Probably haunts him still to this day.
When they arrive at her high rise apartment he realises he's run out of ciggies (Yes, everyone did smoke in those days). She tells him there's an all night corner shop 5 mins walk from the block. Off he trots, purchases ciggies, and makes his way back to the apartment block.
The Sikh security guard lets him in and he makes his way up to the 9th? floor to apartment number 37? Sh!t! He realises he's forgotten her apart. and floor number. Well he's had a few drinks!
After several trips to the ground floor, to start again, the Sikh guard asks him who he's trying to find. He then realises he doesn't know her surname either. The guard eventually asks him to leave, which he reluctantly does.
When he related this story to me over a few beers he said, ''and do you know what really bugs me, it's that she probably thought I'd chickened out and done a runner.'' We left Hong Kong a day later, so he never had chance to explain. Probably haunts him still to this day.
Londonderry was a great place...
...for single lads. Shirt was as often conducted in the Diamond Ballroom which as tad couther than the previusly metioned bar.
The next evolution after "Shirt" was the "grimmy contest". All chip into the pot and the aim was to dance with the most unprepossing young lady in the room, as judged by the "judging panel" at the bar and the winner used the pot to buy the next round of drinks. A certain naval lieutenant from 819 at BKY was waltzing (proper dancing was done in those days) his chosen past the bar area and the beady eyes of the panel.
The Lass says in a loud voice;
"Youse all are havin' a grimmy contest aren't ye?"
"No no not at all I asked you to dance because I I I...." and then realised the perilous path he was going down and stopped.
"Well" she said " if youse aren't , we are, and I've just won. Now **** off!"
The Ancient Mariner
The next evolution after "Shirt" was the "grimmy contest". All chip into the pot and the aim was to dance with the most unprepossing young lady in the room, as judged by the "judging panel" at the bar and the winner used the pot to buy the next round of drinks. A certain naval lieutenant from 819 at BKY was waltzing (proper dancing was done in those days) his chosen past the bar area and the beady eyes of the panel.
The Lass says in a loud voice;
"Youse all are havin' a grimmy contest aren't ye?"
"No no not at all I asked you to dance because I I I...." and then realised the perilous path he was going down and stopped.
"Well" she said " if youse aren't , we are, and I've just won. Now **** off!"
The Ancient Mariner
The 'grimmy contest' later developed into the 'pig pot'. Similar rules, but , shall we say, it involved an act rather more intimate than dancing...
On one occasion (it might have been during the SAC Bomb/Nav contest at Ellsworth AFB, Rapid City?), it seems that the 'pig pot' had risen to several hundred dollars, yet no-one had summoned up sufficient courage to brave a...'liaison' with the spectacularly obvious potential target, later to be known as 'Mrs Doubtfire'...
Eventually one of the AEOs (it had to be, really) sidled up to the obnoxious mound of blubber and said "Look, K****, why don't we just say that we did the deed - and I'll split the pot with you 50/50?".....
I gather that she was less than impressed - but as for the eventual fate of the 'pig pot' in question, of that I am unaware.
On one occasion (it might have been during the SAC Bomb/Nav contest at Ellsworth AFB, Rapid City?), it seems that the 'pig pot' had risen to several hundred dollars, yet no-one had summoned up sufficient courage to brave a...'liaison' with the spectacularly obvious potential target, later to be known as 'Mrs Doubtfire'...
Eventually one of the AEOs (it had to be, really) sidled up to the obnoxious mound of blubber and said "Look, K****, why don't we just say that we did the deed - and I'll split the pot with you 50/50?".....
I gather that she was less than impressed - but as for the eventual fate of the 'pig pot' in question, of that I am unaware.
Sounds like normal reaction to a 'vintage*' St Panteleimon or Aphrodite White.
Ah BEags.... so many fond memories of tinctures emanating from that powerhouse of the exploitation of resin...
December 31st 1999. Around the world, rich men and women paid tens of thousands to attend the most lavish "turn-of-the-century" parties. Me? With comrades from Dhekelia CJATC, we drove to the mountains and in a little village the name of which I can't remember, we joined the locals for a three course meal with free beer, wine and brandy (from said Keo brewery) for about CY17.50. After dinner, the local girls (truly beautiful as they were under thirty and hence in their pre "Mae-West" condition) started to perform traditional dances. Having consumed considerable amounts of the aforementioned alcohol, in return, we treated them to our little tableau. And so, it came to pass that in a small hillside village in Cyprus, the locals now understand that New Year is celebrated in England with a rendition of that famous call-to-arms "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" complete with rather detailed arm, hand and finger movements.
To return to the thread, possibly not appropriate as an encore to an evening with Mrs Blogs...unless of course, she's a game old bird.
Ah BEags.... so many fond memories of tinctures emanating from that powerhouse of the exploitation of resin...
December 31st 1999. Around the world, rich men and women paid tens of thousands to attend the most lavish "turn-of-the-century" parties. Me? With comrades from Dhekelia CJATC, we drove to the mountains and in a little village the name of which I can't remember, we joined the locals for a three course meal with free beer, wine and brandy (from said Keo brewery) for about CY17.50. After dinner, the local girls (truly beautiful as they were under thirty and hence in their pre "Mae-West" condition) started to perform traditional dances. Having consumed considerable amounts of the aforementioned alcohol, in return, we treated them to our little tableau. And so, it came to pass that in a small hillside village in Cyprus, the locals now understand that New Year is celebrated in England with a rendition of that famous call-to-arms "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" complete with rather detailed arm, hand and finger movements.
To return to the thread, possibly not appropriate as an encore to an evening with Mrs Blogs...unless of course, she's a game old bird.