Friday 18th September 2015

Thursday

On this day, some 25 years ago, I went to a faceless blue office block opposite the old chocolate factory in Norwich to swear allegiance to HM the Q, and therefore take a shilling and therefore join the Royal Air Force. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. After the formalities were over, we were all allowed to return home, taking the travel warrant which we could exchange for a railway ticket to take us in the morning to Newark Westgate, where we would be assured that a coach would be waiting for us to take us to where basic training would begin.

So, Granddad and myself walked back to the railway station to catch the train back to Oulton Broad, and then home. IN fairness, being an ex-guardsman, he wanted me to join the Coldstreams, but for me, that was way too serious. So, the RAF it was for me. I packed, checked and re-packed. At half four, I walked to the Fighting Cocks pub in Kirkley, to meet my old friend, Scarecrow AKA Richard, for beers and playing pool. Even then it had not hit me what I was letting in for, just living for the moment, or the next pint.

At half nine, I walked home and took to my bed.

Next morning, the 18th, I caught an early train out of Lowestoft, laden with my kit, to Norwich where the other three who joined with me the previous day, so would board the train to Peterborough and then to Newark. I can remember having a bottle of orange juice on Norwich station, which I spill most of as I had the shakes from the night before. We board the train, me still full of the joys of spring, looking forward to this exciting new life. This lasted until we got to Newark, and after a few minutes an old bus came lumbering in, we were nervous as the IRA were still at large, and we could be targets, do we ask every bus if they are going to Swinderby.

We get on, I sit wanting to get going, and see where we would be spending the next seven weeks, thinking it all a great jolly jape. We waited for some more recruits, then the bus started and we trundled off through Newark and out into the countryside. Now, I enjoyed my time at Swinderby, once you get used to it, there are no worries, no stress, you don't have the time: everything is arranged for you, so you just go along with it. But, the first look as we turn off the main road, was a little like a prison, the dull weather did not help, looking all menacing and run down.

We get off and are met by a shouty, sweaty man with a stick, the SWO, who takes us to the Pardre's office. We wait. We are taken to get a shirt and jumper and tie, so we will be a mix of military and civvy for the rest of the day. Later in the day we were taken to our barrack block, something from the war, and unheated. The place was a mess; the outgoing course had trashed it, meaning we had much work to do in the next week.

And the day passed; waiting, jumping up when someone came into the room, then more waiting. But from early next morning, things would change, oh my word, yes. But then it was just for seven weeks, and that was with a week off in the middle. Six weeks of marching, PT, soldiering and the sch. Easy. And I got even fitter, made friends and so by the beginning of November was ready for the next stage; trade training.

And 15 years later, I left. I remember so looking forward to that day, and then it just passed. In the evening I drank whisky, and at midnight saluted the RAF and me being a civvy once again. But that meant that the Queen stopped paying me, something I would have to address. But until then, cheers.

That was ten years ago, of course. So, ten years out of the mob, ten years happy, ten years thinking for myself, deciding myself what and when I did things, and if they didn't suit, I said no. And the voice of doubt has lessened these past few years too. I have grown confident as a person, and I am happy. Happy with Jools. Happy in our house. Happy with the cats. Happy.

And now here I am, international playboy and quality expert, living the life of Reilly, travelling Europe, nay the world, doing quality stuff, and generally fooling people into thinking I know what I am talking about. And for the most part, over the last ten years, many of you have been with me, either through e mails, my and your photos or through these blog posts. And I think I can safely say it has been a riot at times, real fun, and I hope to meet each and everyone of you to say thanks and shake your hands. Because your feedback, your mails, have kept me sane at times. So, to you all, thank you!

That this double anniversary was spent at home, prepping for an important meeting is typical really. At least I was home and would be that night too.

Jools left me at home, I made coffee and braved the computer and the lurking inbox. And so the day began, I dealt with issues, and the day passed. I prepared for the big meeting, and spoke to people and eventually, I got things back under control, and felt fine.

Outside the sun was shining, and it was warm enough to sit on the patio. Needless to say work kept me inside until late in the afternoon, where I decided to go out for a walk. The autumn sun shone down, already apparently sinking low in the west, making the shadows lengthen in the golden sunshine. There were dozens of swallows in the sky, diving and swooping before they decide it is time to fly south. Along the track at the end of the road, the elders were so laden with berries that some of the branches were nearly touching the ground. I decide to forgo the walk and go back home to collect some plastic bags and return for some harvesting.