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[w3526602]

Hi,

Following on from my OT mention about the RAF always picking on me (Trailer fire pump).

When I was at RAF Weeton (Blackpool), I was sent out with a Bedford RL, to deliver rations to an RAF Mountain Rescue team looking for the pilot of a crashed jet fighter, in Cumberland. By the time I arrived, they had found the pilot ... he'd ejected over the Irish Sea.

When I was at RAF Sharjah (Dubai), I was sent out into the Buraimi (sp?) Mountains, again in a Bedford RL, to deliver a new tail to an aircraft that had flipped over when landing. About 65 miles of very soft sand, hard "washboard", and rock, going like stink in a Trucial Omen Scouts convoy. Visulise  a dozen trucks doing 50mph, line abreast, each being chased by a long "rooster tail" of sand.

While I'm not objecting, in fact I enjoyed both trips, I have wondered why they picked on me? These were driving jobs, i was a mechanic/fitter.

602

[w3526602]

Hi,

For those with a weaker disposition and a strong imagination, do not continue reading this. Everybody else can smile.

Buraimi Mountains. Time for my "daily". Nobody for miles, but even so, I positioned myself where I was surrounded by dunes.

Drive spade into the sand, place bog-roll within reach. remove shorts (it wasn't a state occasion so I was "going comando" anyway) squat down, using the spade to help me keep my balance. You've got the picture?

"Good morning Johnny" said this passing Arab, leading a donkey.

 

602

Okay ... you didn't want to know that. Sorry!