Sister-in-Law phoned to discuss Will, Trust etc and then asked how tall I was. Does anyone do coffins for Christmas gifts? Have I been looking "off peak"?

Could be buying you some skis? It's serious when they ask what is your favourite wood and have you got a decent suit.

Sod that David. You hang on for your telegram from the Queen Shipmate.

That, Sir W, might well be an unwanted bridge crossing. I will be surprised should I get there (or even to the card from HE which comes at 90). Far worse is to get there and be unaware. Hemlock. Gripe and hemlock while one can still carry out a sane and sentient decision.

As for the suit. I am keeping my uniform for that ceremony. Might need a gusset or several - either me or the barathea. What, I wonder, do the woolly pulley brigade intend to wear for the occasion? I suppose I will have to keep a shirt with a collar for the bloody tie - looks exceedingly silly when worn with a plain round job. Not that that stopped The East India Club making me wear one from their flea ridden porter's box when calling for lunch. That is another establishment I will avoid. Appallingly drunk is, rather like GD, OK. Tieless is not, sandals are not. Any suggestions that GD should adopt any such stupidity will mean an immediate cessation to Gripe production!

When I eventually make it to the big shipyard in the sky I will be attired in my greasiest oil stained and tattered boiler suit. The diverse mixture of carbon based residue should ensure a good blaze and trouble free ignition.

As for the final music as I depart to the nether regions what better than "Blaze Away" ?

For you Tmac a wooly pulley would be an improvement. If you a going to go up the flu like that then it will certainly not be a green departure unless done at very high temperature (that's why dead plasticos have to be put over the side - dioxin danger if you just bang 'em in the baby boiler).

Reminds of the occasion of the funeral of my last surviving Aunt. When I arrived at the Crematorium, I was surprised and a little puzzled to see a Fire Appliance in the car park. Perhaps there ought to be one arranged to attend for our Chief. Who knows how violent the conflagration would be when his boiler suit reaches the temperature of combustion? :eek:

See, Varley? Not everyone waits till the right time.

I trust you mean "who survived the longest" if she was surviving when you put a torch to her blue bombazine I suggest it would be a police appliance that should have been waiting.

A feisty and delightful old and single friend of mine who died at ninety following a fire in her flat went to "chariots of fire". She had driven the Dutch Royal family in London during the war and when I was helping her niece clear out the fire damaged flat we found in her bedside cabinet drawer a set of knuckle dusters.

Oh! You mean it's a "Come as you are" party? (Sorry --- I mean wake! :pint::pint::pint:

By coincidence, my aunt who survived the longest, was the last to go, popped her clogs after all her sisters, brothers, and in-laws, served in the Admiralty Charts Offices in WWII. I think it was in or near Bristol, and she was a Wren. I don't think she actually drew the charts, but was involved in getting them to the various convoy conferences as well as sending correction notices out to the Fleet. She would have been perfectly at ease in the chartroom on GDII, I'm certain of that. (Actually, she also had a very penetrating voice, and so would have been an invaluable asset if our foghorn ever failed at a critical moment! :jester:)

It's too bad we can't call your Aunt back to duty (I mean we're good, but not that good) Perhaps she would have had the ability to remove all the rum, coffee, tea, and other such deleterious stains from our charts, so we could actually see where we were going. Talking about rum, evening piss-up on the Garden Deck. :pint:

Ship inspection at 11:00 tomorrow morning. :)

Good thinking Tom. She was very house proud, and also highly skilled at making marmalade. So although the charts would indeed have been kept relatively pristine, they may have exhibited a few sticky finger prints. :big_tongue:

Perhaps the dear lady could have darned the burnholes? The dry cleaning repair service did a creditable job on Pa's dinner Jacket - peppered as it was with the lining showing through where our pipe dottle had scored direct hits (consecutively of course we did not share the garment). Mind you I don't know that a dinner jacket is recognised as an aid to navigation. My experience is that when I am in it it is normally in need of that service.

Indeed, a dinner jacket is an aid to navigation ----- when the buttons are in the front, one is operating in "ahead" configuration, whereas ----- when the buttons are in the back, one is operating "astern" which demands three short blasts on the tooter. :bounce:

And once one has dined, one can hoist "not under command" from the back of the collar.

By golly you are right, however can one exhibit one's balls vertically at the same time as wearing a Zulu hoist?

I am not sure the dry cleaners could deal with the result of tooting and when taking to the floor (and where that architecture remains under the keel rather than along it) there would be a lot of sound signals required, what with all backing and forthing required of the terpsichorean navigationals.

My late Aunt was, as it so happens, a skilled seamstress as well. So good in fact, that she made her own gymslip and skirts to the official pattern when she attended Ilford County High School for Girls in the 1930's. She also made blouses for my Mum and other sister too. So a few scorch marks as well as rips and tears to any item of clothing, uniform or off duty wear, could have been dealt with skilfully and swiftly so that all would be presentable for Admiral's Rounds on Sunday mornings. :supercool:

I wonder then if we should not encourage a sew-sew girl or two (of, like your good lady aunt, high breeding) to join the staff of our chief plastico? Smalls mended, barathea repaired, elbows pached (only when needed never for fashionable effect), charts rejuvenated etc. Perhaps even tailoring (but then I can do that. Turn a long sleeved shirt into short? A doddle providing one can find the garden shears).

DS you seem to be rather knowledgeable about seamstresing, could you please arrange for one dozen Big Girls Blouses to be delivered to our Bridge, Deck Articles for the use off. Could they have shoulder tabs for epaulettes as BB and FJ are sticklers for rank. Lecky V would be grateful for inset gussets Port and Stbd.
I often lie in my day-bed after a Lunchtime O'Booze and dream of Ilford County High School for Girls, a little more information would be treasured. Say no more.

I have to say the two white ones I have been using for my genteel welding afternoons this year have tended to display more of the V than is perhaps polite in the company of my welding mate's hereditary mother if, as on occasion one did, accepting her offers of a post-MIG cup of tea (or glass of something, even). That, however is because of the lamentable holdfast of the 'popper' fasteners. Had the thing had buttons I would have been entirely decent with out the need for gussets, self tensioning belt winches or other paraphernalia of naval relief.

I have had, on one or two occasions, to suffer the indignity of being asked "was that your knee?" as the poppers reacted in unison to an energetic movement.

I am sure I have met one of the O'Boozes but Lunchtime doesn't sound Irish, is it a nickname? I am sure he'll be welcome enough onboard to have his own bunk.

Rank? Sticklebacks? Me?

And I only wear the blouses for the fit of the thing.

I enjoyed the inspection, we found all sorts of things that we thought were lost.

My, my. You boaster. Your thing has to have its own blouses. Does it have its own seat in the saloon too?

I tended to avoid pupils from Ilford County High School for Girls. They were often quite rowdy, and some of the larger girls always carried hockey sticks. Whether they were intended for defensive or offensive operations I never dared to find out. The girls from Beal Grammar were much more approachable, although the girls from Mayfield Secondary Modern were the best lookers, and wore the shortest uniform skirts, it has to be said.:shock:

Holy mackerel i'm spoilt for choice, as you must have been.