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.
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