The Romper Room

Voltaire said:

‘I may disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.’

Well, I’m a firm believer that your blog is your blog and you should write what the hell you like on it. Of course if something is written that’s particularly inappropriate or abusive the author will end up being taken to task over it sooner or later anyway- either by the associated hit counter registering zero or getting a good shoeing late one night in a dark alley.

I also think that if readers take the time to comment on your posts their comment should remain live regardless of the criticism that might be directed toward the author.

Who cares about blog critics anyway? In another life I’ve had criticism directed toward me by individuals that do it rather well. Sammy Clarke, my old Troop Sergeant, was often critical. If his criticism got really animated (usually over some matter regarding discipline-fighting with police dogs and the like) he made you an offer: either march yourself up to see the Squadron Sergeant-Major or spend five minutes in his ‘Romper Room.’

The Romper Room was the troop cage, a room on the tank park created from welded steel mesh and covered in DPM scrim. If you opted for five minutes with Sammy you generally emerged with an imprint of his size ten boot on your face and urinated blood for a few days- distinctly better than being charged by the Squadron Sergeant Major, believe me!

I see old Sammy at the Regimental reunion every November. How we chuckle as we remember the sound of splintering ribs and cracking teeth!!

Anyway, back to blog critics- sometimes rather than criticise per se they may point out an error of fact. Take ‘Anonymous’ for example:

‘Not sure that's quite right as Thursday night you were spotted with two elder gents in The Slug in Clapham Junction consuming several pints of the black stuff followed by several whiskies ... not sure that's classed as Ribena!!’

I’m pretty sure I know who ‘Anonymous’ is-if it’s the attractive burger seller, you tinker!!! If it’s Paul Davis- you git!!!

‘Anonymous' is right, I was in the Slug and Lettuce in Clapham Junction later that night with my mucker Phil Emberson, a man who’s forgotten more about technical and specialist rescue that I will ever know, and Paul Davis (Daisy), a possible contender for ‘Anonymous.’ Both are elder gents in that they are a little more experienced than myself, but both are extremely young at heart.

But I never said in my post that I wasn’t out that night-just that my post earlier that evening was accompanied by Ribena and tea and my planned run the next day did not take place……ahem….that was because of the later consumption of ‘black stuff followed by several whiskies.’

Anyway, it’s time for me to skadoodle. Before I depart I’d just like to say that my own blood family have never been very close to me. I found brethren within Her Majesty’s Armed Forces and it hurts each time I read or hear of a brother ascending to the Green Fields in that hell-hole that is Afghanistan. I found brothers and sisters within the West Highland Way Race Family too and remark every day at how they have taken me to their bosom. It hurts also to lose one of them.

Here’s to you, my brother. You'll never be forgotten.