Celtic Illumination, part 197, On the count of three.
Sorry about this but I’m going to have to go off topic for a few moments. The Celtic Illumination Blog has received another award, ‘The Versatile Blogger’ award. The more alert of you Illuminati will, or might, say “Ah, well done, award number three,” and you would be correct, except it is number four, as I never bothered to mention number three, ‘The Liebster Award.’ So before you all go looking for a length of rope and a suitable tree, please hear me out. To have someone comment or nominate you for an award, or even present you with an award, is a great honour. It means that they have read the Blog and have liked it enough to place a marker on it, and I really do thank you for that. And what is a Blog if it doesn’t have readers?
Unfortunately there is an established etiquette that goes along with getting an award for your Blog. Firstly I have to display the badge on my page, which I don’t really know how to do, which is why I was keeping quiet about number three, but I realised I would be letting my readers, you, the Illuminati, down. I am supposed to put a back link in to the Blog that recommended me, something I am not really sure how to do, but will try. The request from the latest award, The versatile Blogger, from DESTROY ALL FANBOYS, http://fanboydestroy.com/ (I hope that is the correct way to put a link in) was to display the award on my Blog, not sure how to, but will try. Announce your nomination and thank the Blogger, done. Present 15 deserving Bloggers with the award. Might have a slight problem with the links but will try. Link your nominees in the post and let them know of their nomination with a comment, I think I’ve covered this with my problem with links. The final request is that I post seven interesting things about myself. Only seven?
A quick glance at the file where I keep my Blog archive, shows that to date I have produced two hundred and thirty thousand words, equivalent to approximately eight hundred and fifty pages, if it were a book, and all about me, me, me. Is it not interesting enough that I am the world’s leading Master Candle Maker, the high Chief of The Clan O Neill and the true King of Ireland? Is it not interesting enough that I am an international criminal, have the loveliest legs in Ireland and once thought I was Jesus? Is it not interesting enough for me to say that by being born with six fingers on my left hand was not a disfigurement but a mark of God? So this little side track is to thank all those who have taken the time to select me for awards, to explain that I really do appreciate them and do want to respond correctly to them but am technically, a little behind the drag curve, shall we say. My attempts to change the look of the Blog so that I can show these award badges might result in a few hiccups, so please bear with me. Otherwise as we can now officially acknowledge and celebrate award number four, let’s have a party.
And believe it or not it was party time in Cyprus. (Hope you liked what I did there.) It was time for the detachment squadron party which was to be held at the sailing club. There were three coach loads of us who descended on the sailing club. The first two coach loads had arrived and the guys were trying to consume all the free food before the aircrew came. It really was a lovely setting and a very warm night. John Zammo and myself were stood standing at the bar, as you do, when we heard a coach pull up behind the bar. We informed the others that the aircrew had arrived and there was a certain hush that descended on the atmosphere. It didn’t dampen the mood, we were just curious as to how they would present themselves.
We could hear the odd cackle and laugh coming from them but no one had appeared around the corner and we were wondering what was going on when we heard someone shouting. It was military flavoured shouting and was someone bringing men to attention. We all listened with great interest and were rewarded by seeing J R march all the aircrew around the side of the bar and onto the beach. As they passed the bar, Squadron Leader Keith Mac Burney, broke ranks and ran over to John and myself, where he slapped his wallet on the bar counter, in front of us, and as he left to return to the marching column of men, shouted. “Get me a brandy sour and get yourselves a drink too.”
John and I didn’t need much persuading and delved in to his wallet, but kept watching J R and the aircrew wondering what on earth they were up to. J R marched the guys right into the sea, up to about waist height, ordered them to about turn and brought them out of the water. It was quite a giggle and as Keith Mac Burney dripped and squelched his way up to the bar and his waiting brandy sour, he informed us that most of the aircrew knew that they would have been thrown into the sea at some time during the evening, so they thought they might as well get it over with and enjoy the evening, free from worry.
It was a cracker of an evening. John and I stole, sorry, borrowed, one of the buses and went for a spin around Akrotiri. It was great fun; I was driving and John was operating the lights. Well; when I say he was operating the lights, he was flicking all the switches trying to get the headlights to work but he couldn’t, so we settled for the inside lights of the bus. At the end of the evening it was so warm that the guys decided that they would not sit inside the coaches as the air conditioning was non-existent so they all sat on top of the coaches. The only person worried was the driver. The first stop was the air crew accommodation and John and myself were invited to stay for a small sherry. Well; Keith Mac Burney said. “Oi! Get your arse of the bus and come and have a drink with us.” Which I think correctly followed all the required etiquette and procedure.
A fire was lit outside their accommodation and we all sat around drinking brandy. It was one of those sessions where you just simple pass out or fall asleep. All I knew was that I had woke up in my own bed with a right sore head. This wasn’t the sort of injury you can get from improper use of a pillow and can be incorrectly known as a hangover. This was more along the lines of a physical issue and I wondered just how much my pillow actually hated me. I knew I would have to complete much more detailed research into pillow abuse.
It was the Monday morning when it was all explained to me by Colin Malcolm. Colin had been the orderly officer the night of the squadron party and had been stone cold sober throughout the evening. He explained what had happened and I was slightly embarrassed as he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he explained what had gone on. I had passed out. Standard squadron operating procedure for consuming too much brandy. Keith Mac Burney had decided that he would ensure that John, who hadn’t passed out but who was trying to crawl in to the embers of the bonfire to keep warm. Keith decided that he would ensure that John and myself would be escorted safely back to our accommodation. He asked Colin Malcolm to bring the minibus around and he then organised the remaining aircrew to help get John and I into the back of the vehicle.
I was lifted, by four fighter pilots, one on each hand and one on each leg and under the supervision of Keith Mac Burney was taken over to the rear of the minibus. Keith decided that by employing a swinging motion they could sort of chuck me into the rear of the vehicle. Keith was coordinating and suggested that on the count of three, maximum effort would be employed, and I would sail into the rear of the waiting vehicle. The first attempt failed, as did the second and the third. By this point in the recounting of the story, Colin Malcolm looks as if he is about to wet himself with laughter and Keith Mac Burney is just as interested in the story as I am. Colin continues to explain that he had to step in and help. The reason the guys couldn’t get me into the rear of the vehicle was because they hadn’t opened the fecking doors, and every time Keith Mac Burney shouted “Three!” they swung me forward and my head slammed in to the closed rear doors of the minibus.