Tango

When I was in the first year of my apprenticeship we were in the training school, which was an old building in what they called the mill on Trundley's Road in Deptford, south London. At lunchtime we would shoot over to the works canteen in the main factory and bolt our dinner down and then head to a small park nearby to kick a football around. Some of the older guys from the main factory also used to get over the park for a game of footie, so it wasn't long before we were involved in daily matches of the apprentices v the guys from the various other departments. One of the guys, Ken, was the senior shop steward for the site. Everyone called him Hippo, but he was pretty light on his feet for a big guy. He was pretty fearsome too and the management at the factory hated dealing with him, because most were scared of him. Anyway, after one lunchtime footie match, we got back to the training school a little late. Shortly after we got back the training manager stormed into our training room and started ranting about how he'd seen us get back late. So he told us that from then on we would have to clock-out at the clocking station when we went to lunch and clock back in when we got back. We did this for a day or 2, when at one of our lunchtime footie matches we suddenly grabbed our stuff and said we had to get back. Hippo said "come on lads, let's finish the game. There's no rush" But we said that we had to get back to clock-in after lunch. "You fuckin' what?!!!" he said. We then explained what had happened a couple of days earlier. "OK lads, leave that with me" That afternoon we saw Hippo and a couple of the other shop stewards heading towards the training school. A while later we heard shouting from the training manager's office. It eventually went quiet and the door of our training room opened and in walked Hippo. "You don't need to clock- out at lunchtime any more, Lads, and if that cunt tries anything like that again let me know" We didn't see the training manager again for a few days after that, but he was very sheepish when we did see him!

This is my great-uncle Albert, my nan's youngest brother who was killed near St Valery-en- Caux during the BEF retreat to Dunkirk in 1940. His grave is in the commonwealth graveyard there, which is another place that I want to visit.

Excellent report, Pedro. I think that the history lesson is interesting and gives context to the photos, so keep it going.

Even more poignant for you then, Pete.

Awesome report, MooN. My ambition one day is to visit the D-Day beaches.

September can get very wet, Pete. I keep getting adverts on Facebook from the government giving advice on what to do and how to prepare for flooding, so I'm guessing that we're in for some pretty wild weather coming up.

Went to the beach today, but unfortunately no bikes involved. Weather is looking a bit shit for the next week or so, so runs on the bike may be limited then too!

Love me a bit of Motorhead.

It works!!!!!! Had a message from my Independent Financial Adviser this morning to say that he has been informed that the transfer of my pension funds is going ahead! So, the power of this thread is not to be underestimated!

There was a lad that I did my apprenticeship with called Micky. His knickname was Desperate, after Desperate Dan the comic character who ate cow pies. So, Milky was a big lad, 6'3" at least and probably around 18 stone. On the rare occasions that he shaved before work he'd have a really dark 6 o'clock shadow by lunchtime. He also had the thickest NHS glasses that I'd ever seen and his eyesight was still shocking. He used to ride a CZ 250. Anyway, he went on holiday from Kent, where he lived, to Norfolk broads with his mum and brother. Because his mum's car was a bit small for them all to fit into along with their luggage Micky volunteered to follow his mum's car up there on his bike. When they got to Dartford tunnel his mum stopped at the toll barrier to pay, but Micky didn't and ran straight into the back of the car and ended up on the roof! They had hired a boat on the broads for a week, but because of his shocking eyesight, he hit a bridge and took all the windows out down one side of it within a couple of days. I think that Micky's CZ had the forks bent more often than they were straight!

I had to use the toilet on a transatlantic flight one time for a shit. I flushed the toilet and the little flap dropped down and there were the usual sucking and whooshing noises ( you'll know what I mean if you've used an airplane bog) and the flap swung back up with my turd still firmly attached! I tried a couple more flushes, but it wasn't letting go! In the end I had to wrap some bog roll around my hand and give it a nudge whilst flushing, which did the trick, but by this time there was a reasonable queue outside waiting to use the bog. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone as I made my way back to my seat!

Another thing about Frank that used to make us laugh was that every now and then he'd get sent to a job in Essex. So Frank would drive up from his home and through the Dartford tunnel to get to the job. That was all ok, but on the way back he'd drive into London and go through Blackwall tunnel to get home, which was the long way back. Frank was an ex paratrooper, but he was afraid of heights, so he wouldn't drive back over the QEII bridge at Dartford because it was too high!

Quality!

Agreed, not a bad song on the album.

I was thinking earlier about some of the characters that I've worked with over the years and some of the things they've done or we've done. One story that I remembered had me laughing to myself: In my last company there was an engineer that was originally from South London, but he now lives on the south coast. Frank was in the paratroopers for a while before he had a career change. He was a couple of years older than me. Frank isn't that tall, but he is as broad as he is tall and there doesn't seem to be a discernible neck attaching his shaved head to his body! Anyway, Frank used to occasionally get sent from his home at the seaside to jobs in London, which he absolutely hated. He'd get the train up to the city, get the job done as quickly as possible and head back to his haven. One day he had a job in St Thomas' Hospital on the South Bank, opposite the houses of Parliament. It didn't go well and he was there all day and into the evening. When he left the hospital he was in an absolutely foul mood and tramped back towards Waterloo Station to get the train home. On the walk back he was approached by a young guy who pulled a knife and demanded Frank's wallet. Frank squared up to the youth, glowering at him and snarled "do I look like a fucking victim to you?!!" The lad stared at Frank for a second, with his mouth open, then turned around and ran away! Frank was a lovely guy, but you didn't want to get on the wrong side of him!

So as not to keep hijacking Yen's Stories thread I thought that I'd start a kind of parallel thread for people's funny stories. Many of us have been around for a good long time and seen and heard all sorts of funny stuff. So, to lighten the mood, let's hear your stories and anecdotes.

What phone mount are you using and would you recommend it?

I've used yahoo mail for years and had no bother with it.........so far!

Awesome.

The late, great Terry Pratchett.