You want rice with that??

On my first Military Holiday in Belfast I discovered that night flying was second nature to me and enjoyed it immensely. One particular night remains vividly in my memory. The lunatics of both sides were kicking hell out of each other, they would have periodic rest breaks, during one of these breaks the bus station became a target of hatred and was burned down, destroying 23 double deckers in the process The eejits did “borrow” a couple and used them as barricades at Kelly’s Bar at the Turf Lodge. If you have never seen a bus burn have a gander on Youtube, it’s impressive, now imagine 20+ in one huge pyre. 

Yoblets bore easily, their attention span lasts as long as a hit of their drug of choice. The spare buses were used to block the Whiterock Road roundabout, During this illegal bit of unsophisticated terrorism a bunch of jolly saddos left the main group. Armed with pieces of wire and a matchstick they moved to the local garage, activated all the pumps and wired the handles on. Petrol flowed freely into the drains. Before running away the one with the matchstick flung it at the petrol………fool, you have to strike it first. A lighter was deployed and a huge sheet of flame erupted with a rather loud bang, the freshwater sewage drain covers were flung into the sky; and here, pale and trembling reader, I must warn you of harrowing consequences, or quincequonces as Spike Milligan has it. The phools, not being the brightest of bulbs on the Christmas tree, had forgotten that day at school in their one and only physics lesson. The powerful force of the petrol exploding in a confined sewerage system, was directed towards their own blocks of flats, or hovels. Every window blew out. The owner of the garage, merely shut off his pumps.

You dear tax payer were responsible for the replacement of those windows. Council owned, council paid, Government supported. The busses were deliberately targeted so that the black London taxis, from which the IRA, under the leadership of that kind psychopath Mr Adams, received so much funding, remained the only mode of local transport. 

Now, to important matters. Seven and a half hours later I was exhausted, my mascara was ruined, I came back with red-rimmed eyes. A plan was concocted in my tiny ridiculous mind. The next day, I removed the only table tennis ball from the Sergeants Mess; drew veins and red pupils, then cut it in half. Many of my passengers were so excited by the noise, whirling blades and the process of strapping in, that they never noticed me remove the ‘eyes’ from my shirt pocket and place them over my eyes. It was only when I turned to the passenger and asked, “Where do you want to go?” That they had a screaming fit. 

Even cretins have a sense of humour; somebody sprayed "Sectarianism Kills" on the pub wall. 

You must maintain a sense of humour, especially when the world around you is troubled.