The Confessional

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McBain

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I once was driving over to mates in North Avoca, a good 15-20 minute drive. I was borrowing my mum and dads car, a '95 Hyundai Sonata and probably the the best car they'd owned up until this point. I was 19 I reckon and Ive no idea why I wasnt at work but it was a week day so I must have been in between jobs. I was off to see Baldy, a lanky cockney mate who had moved in with a few mates from School.

I drove the back roads through Matcham and Holgate, which was windy up and down drive where the traffic is light and you can give the car a bit of stick. The lay out is of a ridge which reaches a point then meanders down to the coast through the shopping mecca of Erina and hanging a righty before you head toward Terrigal beach.

The car is an Auto, and about 5 minutes in I notice the temperature gauge is a little hotter than usual. Odd, I think to myself, but not uncommon Its summer and its a hot, still day; not a lick of wind and I'm giving her a bit of hollywood driving action through the bends. I'm through Erina now and I'm coming down the hill, having joined the main road and on a long meandering trek down to the coast. Theres roundabouts all along this road now but back then it was untouched by any encroaching neighbourhood.

I've gotten to the bottom, to turn right at the St John's Ambulance which backs onto the Terrigal FC home pitch (which I always remember I'd starred on by beating four players to set up the winner for the school team while heavily stoned the year before) and I fear something is horribly wrong. Its that lump in your throat, the sheen of sweat that's just sent a cold shiver up your spine and what I call the 'sudden impending horror syndrome' and its happening as I turn the corner.

The car is losing power. The Temperature gauge is gone and I mean that needle is dead. The car is spluttering and its not going to make it up the hill. I'm panicking slightly but I don't know whats going on.

It's the last turn that car ever made.

Losing power going up the hill and I'm starting to look frantically for a sign, something to tell me why the car had decided to commit suicide just when I've borrowed it, and then I see it. To my ultimate horror, I notice that the auto gear stick isnt in A.

Its in 2. I reef it up into A, but its too late.

Was I paying music so loud I could hear the engine over straining its little pistons out this whole time? That's when I notice bonnet. Theres a circular ring of death that's literally beginning to bubble in the center of it. The engine is on fire, has been for a couple of minutes and now the whole bonnet is starting to buckle and flame is shooting out of the front grill.

I jump out of the car. This thing is going to blow. I start stopping traffic behind me but they dont listen. They just drive past in slow motion. The smoke is just hanging round me and the car now. Theres no wind so the black smoke just hovers; I stop waving my arms and yelling and school kids having their lunch break line the fence opposite and laugh. 'Hey mister! Did you know your cars on fire?!!'

The fire brigade turn up and she's a write off. I call my Mum to tell her the bad news and I just know she's going to bring up the time on my first driving lesson when I managed to snap the drive shaft in half. I never ended up telling them about the gear it was in, but insurance took care of it.

Anything you want to confess?
 
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Well substitute 'I' for 'my mate' and it'll make it easier my son.

Okay...it was when I was in the RAF...the Squadron had just returned to the UK from an overseas deployment to Cyprus....Things were a little slow around the place, so I thought I'd liven things up a bit.

During daily servicing of the aircraft, the airframe riggers, propulsion and weapons engineers get real dirty, and we used to have these industrial size vats of swarfega that you dipped your hands into to clean off the grease.

Anyways, I got into the hangar early one morning and curled an enormous beauty down into one of the swarfega tins...put the lid back on and sneaked away giggling...

Well the rest you can guess for yourself....There was total outrage and pandemonium....A full Squadron enquiry was held, with formal interviews (interrogations) to try and find the phantom shitter, and it was the talk of the squadron for weeks...

There was even a copy-cat shitter...who popped up and curled a few snow-cones down in various places around the hangar!!

Anyway at the time it was a giggle, but I'm not proud of myself!
and if there's any Airframe Riggers or armourers on this forum from 51 Sqn who were at RAF Wyton in 93 then I'm sorrrrrryyyy!
 
A long time ago I shared a house with three others lads. It was a bit of a dive but we had a laugh living there. We were next door to a pub and enjoyed a drink or two at the weekend.

One night I got in from working late, it was about three in the morning. The lads were crashed out in the living room after what looked like a good night out. One of the guys was stretched out on the couch, dead to the world. There was a sewing kit out, one of the lads had been stitching a badge on his uniform after getting a promotion.

Suddenly an evil thought came into my head and the next thing I knew I was sewing my mate to the couch. He was well out of it. I took almost an hour to sew him to the couch. When I was done his jeans, shirt, even his socks had him locked in place. At this point I retired to my bed.

There was murder the next morning the lad couldn’t move, the other two were in tears laughing. Nobody wanted to release him, and as much as he struggled he couldn’t escape. He had a bad hangover and needed a pee. As good mates we left him there for another couple of hours before cutting him out. The other two convinced themselves that they had probably done it, and I didn’t put them right or a few days.
 
A long time ago I shared a house with three others lads. It was a bit of a dive but we had a laugh living there. We were next door to a pub and enjoyed a drink or two at the weekend.

One night I got in from working late, it was about three in the morning. The lads were crashed out in the living room after what looked like a good night out. One of the guys was stretched out on the couch, dead to the world. There was a sewing kit out, one of the lads had been stitching a badge on his uniform after getting a promotion.

Suddenly an evil thought came into my head and the next thing I knew I was sewing my mate to the couch. He was well out of it. I took almost an hour to sew him to the couch. When I was done his jeans, shirt, even his socks had him locked in place. At this point I retired to my bed.

There was murder the next morning the lad couldn’t move, the other two were in tears laughing. Nobody wanted to release him, and as much as he struggled he couldn’t escape. He had a bad hangover and needed a pee. As good mates we left him there for another couple of hours before cutting him out. The other two convinced themselves that they had probably done it, and I didn’t put them right or a few days.

Hallelujah, great story!
 
Okay...it was when I was in the RAF...the Squadron had just returned to the UK from an overseas deployment to Cyprus....Things were a little slow around the place, so I thought I'd liven things up a bit.

During daily servicing of the aircraft, the airframe riggers, propulsion and weapons engineers get real dirty, and we used to have these industrial size vats of swarfega that you dipped your hands into to clean off the grease.

Anyways, I got into the hangar early one morning and curled an enormous beauty down into one of the swarfega tins...put the lid back on and sneaked away giggling...

Well the rest you can guess for yourself....There was total outrage and pandemonium....A full Squadron enquiry was held, with formal interviews (interrogations) to try and find the phantom shitter, and it was the talk of the squadron for weeks...

There was even a copy-cat shitter...who popped up and curled a few snow-cones down in various places around the hangar!!

Anyway at the time it was a giggle, but I'm not proud of myself!
and if there's any Airframe Riggers or armourers on this forum from 51 Sqn who were at RAF Wyton in 93 then I'm sorrrrrryyyy!

Its good to get it out of your system, my son.
 
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