| Subject: Show me the way to go home...................... |
Author:
Dave P.
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Date Posted: 17:46:46 06/07/05 Tue
The second leave I had from Lippstadt begat the hangover of all hangovers and the longest trip home I have ever undertaken. The night before we were due to fly home, a bunch of us decided to go out and get rat-arsed (as you do, thereby getting a head start on your leave). Anyway, the phenomena, well known to most squaddies, struck and by the wee small hours of the morning, despite drinking everything in sight, including a couple of bottles of 'duty free' that we were taking home, we were still stone cold sober! After a couple of hours kip and awaking with a mouth like a Turks arse hole, I went into the bogs and drank a pint of cold water where upon I, miraculously, became legless!
Most of what is to follow I have no real memory of. I can only relate the story as was pieced together by various eye witness accounts and dark, flashes of, at times, what seems like very frightening dreams. On with the story! On arrival at Gutterslow (spelling?) myself and one other are refused boarding rights to our aircraft due to inebriation. The rest of our friends decide, "bugger waiting for at least another day, possibly two, for another flight, we'll get the ferry". So we all troop off to Calais (I think?) and the ferry to Dover. I have fleeting memories of trains and lots of booze, a big boat and lots of booze and another train to London. On arrival in the Capitol City (only my second ever visit!) I remember being put on another train at Euston for Birmingham. Some nine hours later, I arrive in Brum having been to Manchester (woken up and put on the train for B'ham), Derby (woken up and put on the train for B'ham), Manchester (again, woken up and put on the train for B'ham), Watford (woken up and put on the train for B'ham). It is now 2:30am and I am staggering through the city, dragging a battered and stained (Eyuw!) army suitcase looking all the worse for wear. I'm stopped by the 'old bill' and made to empty out my case, there and then on the street, and explain myself and the state I'm in, which initiated a torrent of meaningless drivel that the officers had no chance of understanding and so I was told to shut up.
The policemen, both gentlemen and scholars, duly bundle me into squad car and take me home (which was nice of them don't you think?) and deliver me to the arms of a frantic mother who was expecting me home on leave two days earlier! By the time I had recovered enough to start believing that I hadn't died and could enjoy my leave, I had LOST the best part of three days of my life and swore I would NEVER, EVER do that again, and I never did............................................for at least a week!
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