Post by nutstrangler on Feb 13, 2009 21:11:30 GMT
What happened to Armourer John Berry from Bury? I bunked with him in Fally. He was built like a brick shit house and wore black framed, milk bottle bottom specs. When he invariably asked me for a small loan to tide him over the weekend, if I refused him, he would pick me up and shake me around, upside down, like a rag doll, until any cash I was carrying was strewn across the floor! The twat then took the notes and left me the coins!! Strangely. as I was then skint for the weekend he would buy my beer til the cash ran out and he always paid me back. A bit weird but I suppose I benefitted from the Arrangement and, at the time, being from a strict Catholic background, I assumed it was a normal Male Bonding thing!.
We had a night out in Saltau, the Ex Bar I believe and I was standing having a slash next to a local when Big John entered, pissed as a bastard, and as he passed on his way to the cubicles for a dump, he swayed and bumped the other guy who started to gesticulate wildly at the piss on his trousers and mouth obsceneties such as "Fikken zie auf" " Pimmel Kopfe" and other crudities. John ignored this diatribe, partly because of his magnaminous nature and partly because of his alcohol induced mellowness but mainly I believe because he was too thick to understand what the Kraut was saying!
After a few final bumps of his magnificently protruding belly to show the unfortunate wet guy that he was not a man to be messed with lightly he continued on his way to the bog, blissfully oblivious of the chain of events which he had set in motion!
The sour Kraut glowered at me and I gave him what was, I assumed, a Gallic shrug indicating non-complicity and he left the loo in high dudgeon.
Two minutes later a veritable posse of big hairy Germans entered , the most articulate of whom asked me where the fat britisher bastard was! As I was in a small room with only one other door apart from the one by which they had entered I thought the question superfluous but nodded toward the obvious cubicle at which point they all huddled out through the narrow doorway.
"John" I called. "Someone wishes to speak to you outside!"
I heard the rustle of izal on arse then the flush of the toilet and he appeared in his full magnificence, staggering drunkenly through the door trying unsuccessfully to fasten his fly as he lumbered meaningfully toward the outer door. I followed him in awe as he stuck out his chest in best military fashion and charged insanely through the flimsy barricade of the toilet door into the madness of the Ex Bar where Xenophobic passion and insanely loud English Heavy Metal Music had both reached a pinnacle of unbearable intensity! There was a whirlwind of total confusion and the next thing I remember was recovering from an unconscious state, on my back, minus my contact lenses, outside the Ex Bar. John lay beside me on the cold tarmac, his glasses askew, snoring like a bastard!!
The next weekend we stayed in the REME Bar!!
We had a night out in Saltau, the Ex Bar I believe and I was standing having a slash next to a local when Big John entered, pissed as a bastard, and as he passed on his way to the cubicles for a dump, he swayed and bumped the other guy who started to gesticulate wildly at the piss on his trousers and mouth obsceneties such as "Fikken zie auf" " Pimmel Kopfe" and other crudities. John ignored this diatribe, partly because of his magnaminous nature and partly because of his alcohol induced mellowness but mainly I believe because he was too thick to understand what the Kraut was saying!
After a few final bumps of his magnificently protruding belly to show the unfortunate wet guy that he was not a man to be messed with lightly he continued on his way to the bog, blissfully oblivious of the chain of events which he had set in motion!
The sour Kraut glowered at me and I gave him what was, I assumed, a Gallic shrug indicating non-complicity and he left the loo in high dudgeon.
Two minutes later a veritable posse of big hairy Germans entered , the most articulate of whom asked me where the fat britisher bastard was! As I was in a small room with only one other door apart from the one by which they had entered I thought the question superfluous but nodded toward the obvious cubicle at which point they all huddled out through the narrow doorway.
"John" I called. "Someone wishes to speak to you outside!"
I heard the rustle of izal on arse then the flush of the toilet and he appeared in his full magnificence, staggering drunkenly through the door trying unsuccessfully to fasten his fly as he lumbered meaningfully toward the outer door. I followed him in awe as he stuck out his chest in best military fashion and charged insanely through the flimsy barricade of the toilet door into the madness of the Ex Bar where Xenophobic passion and insanely loud English Heavy Metal Music had both reached a pinnacle of unbearable intensity! There was a whirlwind of total confusion and the next thing I remember was recovering from an unconscious state, on my back, minus my contact lenses, outside the Ex Bar. John lay beside me on the cold tarmac, his glasses askew, snoring like a bastard!!
The next weekend we stayed in the REME Bar!!
