It was twenty years ago today

In fact, today is a double anniversary, as is every 17th September, as your service in the MOD/RAF is based on your enlistment dats, so I joined 35 years ago, served 15 years, and was demobbed twenty years ago.

I had always planned to do 22 years, which was a full pensionable engagement. But beyond 15 years, you had to be invited by the MOD either by promotion to Corporal, or be offered an extension of service.

In January 2003, Myself and Barking Mad Dave Boxhall were selected to be part of the advance party for what was to become the Invasion of Iraq. First day back from Christmas leave, we were told to report to stores for our war kitting.

There was almost no war kitting left, but we were promised it would "be in theatre when we arrived".

Anyway, whilst this was happening, it was annual assessment time, and my SNCO promised me he would look after me with it, and just concentrate on the (war) job in hand.

A year later, my colleagues from our fitters course were being picked up by the promotion board, and I asked where I was on the list. The SNCO was surprised I had asked. He checked and I wasn't on the list. Due to he low assessments he himself had given me.

I can't remember his exact words, but it was something like I would have to put the effort in.

What he had done was give me average grades, not bad enough to be able to appeal, but bad enough to kill my career. I tried to appeal, and my CO remarked he thought I had been over assessed as it was.

It was the first time he had spoken to me.

The upshot of all this was that I had 18 months notice I would be leaving the RAF.

I had a house, with a tennant. So I had to begin the process for her to move out, then move in myself.

For the last year of service, I commuted from Oulton Broad to Coltishall in my nearly brand new VW Passat four wheel drive monster.

The military put the onus on the serviceperson to arrange resettlement. There are grants, classes and experts to guide you, but its all just a gamble and faff. I did an HGV C+E course, which I enjoyed, but the examiner failed me for a minor error, and with no appeal, that was that.

I used the rest of my resettlement time and grants to fund a trip to the US in prospect of moving to Arkansas. Along with my annual and terminal leave, I had 12 weeks off during the summer of 2005.

The trip to America I have posted on here before, so I won't repeat that now. But I returned home in early September to my final RAF pay cheque, my savings. And my house.

In a few weeks I got a cat.

But work wasn't something I stressed about.

I spent a month writing up my time in America, watched sports, drank coffee and beer and whisky.

Christmas came and went, and I still wan't working.

I grew concerned, so I stopped opening official mail from the DWP, the Bank and local Council.

I had been living the high life, but in early summer there was insufficient funds in my account to pay the mortgage, and had Mum not bailed me out, I could have lost it all.

I got a job hauling chemicals out of a shitty yard in Great Yarmouth, until they had the cheek to sack me.

First day looking for a job, I fell into the deep sea survey industry. Had an interview for a job I did not understand or have knowledge of, and got it.

I was soon earning more money than I knew what to do with.

Paid Mum back.

Saved up for our wedding and honeymoon.

Travelled the world.

And went to Hull and Grimsby.

But it all went well, and I ended up here. retired. House paid for. Happy.