Lt Eales and his hardened desperados wait to mount a wessy.
Mick Summersbee, overseen by Local acting unpaid Lance Corporal Ashby, disputes the last line call of our deck hockey match, and gives the lads rocks for wearing shorts and trainers to play the stokers, who all arrived in ovies, steaming bats and headsets.
Having arrived at our chosen destination 'Nottalottabars' on a meditterranean isthmus we entered into the spirit of things and went for a nosey round.
En-route to our hotel and pool. I was afforded passage with troop HQ because i told Butch Farley I'd make him look real rugsy in the phots.
The view from our accommodation when we went off to play.
Arriving home in Malta, Grand Harbour Valletta, we were encouraged to wait for the ships detachment to take us shoreside. Dhisos could not carry many fully kitted and spurred bootnecks, intent on getting home. The attitude of the ships det, being 'F*** You, it's lunch', did not endear them to the maddened horde. Bloody LC Rates, think they own the chuffing boats; I swear Archibald was around.
Nice one El Prez,Its nice to know that you appreciated the efforts of the LC branch (boats) shudder the more refined care to call em Craft!,what do you expect of a Heli jockey or parafin pigeon,anyway me old son nice set of pics.Aye JR 
SMOKING
