A new reader!

Welcome to my dear friend and new reader who is availing herself of my wisdom and vacuous scribblings.

Let it be sung by the angels that she is a most delightful and fragrant individual!

Nothing to see here, dearest! Move along!

International Chappism (again)

In the words of many a GI heard in the 70's - I'm gonna get me some R 'n' R!

Or in other words sample the fragrant delights of my old home soon...... chickens feet, boiled rat and rampant unfettered capitalism.

Joy.

UPDATE:
No scotty - this is Hong Kong, not New York. Prole.

More Uncle Chap

Dear Uncle chap

I have recently been meddling in the very fabric of the universe and have acquired knowledge that clearly man was not meant to know. As a result of playing god and meddling with forces beyond my control, I now have need of an army of robot slaves. My problem is this after my space station is fully operational what is to stop them turning on me in some form of cyber-rebellion? Should I build a more mobile battle station? Perhaps a cross between a star ship and a battle station? What should I call this?

Dear reader,

I share your woes - as it is nigh on impossible to acquire half decent staff. Your solution is elegant and noble - robot slaves do not complain about health and safety, demand workers' rights or vote Labour.
I was however concerned by one or two of your points. You are guilty, I'm afraid, of lethal hubris. If you are going to embark on plans of global domination then one should at least keep one's feet on the ground.
Any recently apprehended global evil genius will tell you that Space Stations, Death Stars (tm) or Orbital Laser platforms are very prone to invasion by misguidedly honest forces of some Intelligence services hell bent on 'liberating' the world from your boundless munificence.
In addition, it is a proven fact that radiation released while raining 'god's cleansing fire' on the cities of the world scramble the brains of these robot slaves leading them to rise up, burn the sky and generally enslave us.

My advice is simple - your base and therefore plans should be based around either a volcano and some scheme to cause the major powers to waste their missiles on one another, leaving the world yours - or something in the sub-aqua line. That will combine great views with excellent facilities for torturing special agents, detaining world leaders and capturing rogue ballistic missile submarines.

In the meantime - one should consider the appropriate accessories for yourself to carry off the look with panache. White cats and Chairman Mao suits are very last century. The modern super villain should really only be seen in either a well cut Saville Row suit with a lining hewn from the skin of Japanese virgins or a traditional suit of golden armour.

Your tinfoil hat is entirely optional - but it may ruin your credibility when on the video phone to the U.N.

T'North - again...again!

I have been in the frozen wastes of the North a lot of late. By north I mean above the 53rd parallel.
Imagine my surprise in finding one or two natives friendly. Very friendly.

I may be spending a while up here until she realises the ugly truth.

Delight!

There is something uniquely chappy about devouring a plate of sauteed lamb's kidneys with toast, a shoulder of said lamb, fondant potatoes, kale and the most unctuous apple crumble I have ever tasted with light frothed custard - and then finding oneself so egg-bound from the custard that one is resorting to double-dropping senokot and a fibre tablets all washed down with a glass of fybogel to get it all moving again.

Thank god I have been laying off the Joy of Figs today as well.

I feel sorry for the Scot, who ate 10 eggs in a fish pie and is challenging the fellow who ate a box of dairy fudge with a bottle of cream soda for stickiness quotient.

More Chappy advice....

Dear Uncle Chap,
My husband has been taken away on business overseas for an extended period of time. The house is cold & lonely without a masterful male presence, could you provide a solution? (Your favourite …. apple crumble (with custard) is being prepared by cook as we speak.)
H

The problem dear girl, is that in your rampant and thrusting desire for status and external validation you have clearly neglected the fact that the epicurianism in matters digestif and sexual have been neglected.

If you have paid proper attention to one's onanistic methods - such as 'The hedgehog' then you would feel neither cold nor lonely ever again. Under normal circumstances I would only be to delighted to administer the discipline you require, indeed, and the masterful direction you so clearly require! Does not a woman such as you blossom under the smack of a firm hand?

However, the fact you require cook (Or in Your case what you really mean is Mr. Mark and Mr Spencer) to prepare your custard simply reveals the paucity of your spirit and the barrenness of your desire. Go back to Chiswick and hang your head in shame!

As a consequence I am no longer available to listen to you crow about the price of what some estate agent thinks your rabbit hutch in the garden is now worth. Apple Crumble or not, old girl. My head has been turned by a fragrant young beauty - or rather one who hasn't said no yet.

Above us the skies

OK not often I post before I fly - but time for a spot of seriousness.

Serious instability in the airmass tomorrow. Will over-develop into showers in the afternoon - but the models are suggesting the best day of the year so far. Cumulus developing hard from 3-4000 feet. Streeting all the way to the north-west.

Got my toy booked. Aerotow ready. Girl arriving later to hear tales of my aviating. With any luck will get the chance to climb aboard and take her to heaven and back too.

Fuck I love this sport.

Question

Am I the only one who uses the buttons on the steering wheel of the car as 'forward firing machine guns'?

'Shit, too close Mav! Switch to guns...'

Fleeing the continent

I've have been in Switzerland. Not filing the Swastikas of the ingots - but some tedious workshop with a squad of over eager antipodeans and Americans in a nauseating internationalist display of team work.

Two things amused me during my return to Blighty. And it is these I share with you.

One.
I was awaiting my train at a non-major Swiss railway station. I was suddenly struck by a sense of familiarity.
The low level platform.
Clock ticking.
A few uniformed conductor types pacing the platform.
Blond man in hat reading a paper seeming familiar but refusing to make eye contact.
Some people speaking German.
I could swear the chap in the hat reading the paper appeared to look like Ilya Kuryakin from the Men from Uncle.
A sense of unbearable tension. A few more types in hats looking nervous waiting for the train.

Yep. I was in The Great Escape.

Two.
Squeazy-Jet flight ex Geneva to Gatwick. French Crew serving over priced drinks and demonstrating kiddy-kraft dinghies.

I had a few Swiss Francs in my wallet and wanted to get rid of them.

The crew worked the aisles. A woman who looked like she had woken up from 1985 from her hairstyle alone - and two French waiter types serving with with aplomb, flair, style and flagrant homosexuality.

Monsieur?
I eyed the contents of my wallet.
'What can I get for Ten Francs?'

A shrug only a Frenchman could achieve.

Ze Stewardess Monsieur?

Have you got any change?

Asking chap again....

Dear Uncle Chap, following on my hangover the other day I have been lured into a bizarre form of copro-sexual experimentation. Having shaven my head with a grade 4 hangover there was nothing else to do but embark on this voyage of discovery. Essentially I have been subsisting on a diet of immodium and boiled eggs for two weeks now. I must admit the swollen, full sensation in my abdomen is very satisfying. However a week ago for a dare i added banana and senokot to the diet coupled with 6 bowls of all bran all washed down with ducolax. So combined with the delightfull almost pregnant feeling of hyper-constipation i am now feeling the pressure of a week of crapulesence enhancing chemicals. My quandary - when do i break the seal? I have a chocolate teddy's arm that is likely to split my gusset assunder and since it has been brewing for two weeks must weigh about a stone. Your advice?

Dear Anonypoo,

I cannot decide if you have been watching '2girls1cup' (I wouldn't google it at work readers) or you are suffering from some Munchhausen version of Uvula Thrax - the disease of bran addiction ending with the sufferer living in the loo. (Nasty)
Few can deny the joy of a thundering good cable lay on a Saturday morning whilst you plough through Liddle Britain in your Speccie while the mistress hops up and down outside the facilities her back teeth swimming after all the fizz you have plied her with to get the Morning Service without too much fuss.
If the circumstances were true, then said Red October would slip out like an otter off the bank disappear requiring nothing more than a glory wipe.

I would therefore await said timing as above, take your Telegraph, Speccie a roll of freshly chilled quilted, a mug of Old Spoon stander and await the pile-popping glory.

Wedding dancing

The only times a chap ought to be seen to dance is when he is in such a state as he cannot be aware of it (Booze, lust or extremely strong drugs).

Exception of course where you are best man at another chap's wedding.

I am pleased to report that at only one of those categories was unfulfilled.

Those of us who are familiar with Wally Lopez's sets at DC-10 and Space or his performances in general will be aware of a certain thing everyone does on the dance floor. (It's Ibiza, BTW)

I must report that to my shame and horror, photographs exist of me with the Groom's family doing the 'kneeling down' thing do a breakdown in a tune I knew (I did help the tuneage programming with the Groom after all).

Not pretty behaving like a caner in Ibiza with a group of bods in their late 60s - who are all copying you, jumping in the air when the music starts again with you and cheering and whistling just like it was Monday afternoon in DC-10.

Ask Uncle Chap....again

Dear Uncle Chap,

while languishing in a bath over flowing with bubbles, I reached over to grasp a glass of Louis Roederer Cristal 1990 Krug; only to find that my toe is such in the tap.

Could you please outline a 5 stage rescue plan to come & save me. The bath water is now getting cold

Sincerely, H



Dear Miss H
What?! The drinking of such indicates that you are one of such that we call the particularly vulgar type of 'nouveau riche' - for whom the mentioning of brands as such some how validates your status - but merely serves to display your insecurity when faced with breeding or even the attendance at a decent public school. It indicates a soul wedded to the crudest form of mercantilism and a mindset unfitting for polite company. I shall give you no advice, for there you should stay.

If you had become stuck as you had been sniffing the tile adhesive in a futile attempt to get high or had fallen and broken something whilst servicing yourself with the power-shower head, my sympathy would be entirely with you. As such you are fit only for the pillory and in this case, prune-skin.

Keynes would have been proud

I was delighted to hear this piece this morning on the way to the hamster wheel. Confirmed my suspicion that the goons running this nut house have actually returned to the 'post-war' consensus - or Keynesian idiocy as it ought to be known.

I'm sure they would call it investing - but like a sub-prime debt speculation - one thinks this doesn't really add value at all.

Last year 2.5 Million holes were dug, one for every couple of hundred yards of road - and yet the backlog is longer than these idiots have been in power.

Staggering.

Spending your tax pound wisely.

The Few - Crab-day

Those readers with a keen eye will recognise my avatar. His name Is Group Captain Lionel Mandrake - and he locked horns with a Colonel 'Bat' Guano, and subsequently recalled most of the B52s in 'Doctor Strangelove' - one of the towering genius that is Kubrick's greatest movies.

Now - truth be told my leanings are somewhat nautical rather than one of the Spitfire johnnies. Those of us in the know realise that whilst the credit of the 'Battle of Britain' went to the RAF - Goering was quoted as saying that even without the RAF - trying to cross the channel - even with air supremacy in the face of the World's most powerful navy - would be 'sailing into a mincing machine'.

However - it is their day. The RAF was founded 90 years ago.

Gawd bless 'em.

Ironic that it is their birthday on April Fools' day.

Well known fact: If you learn to fly with the RAF - and then join the Fleet Air Arm - it is said you need to learn all over again. At least over land you have roads to follow to get you home.

Now, this chap both flies and sails - both of which he enjoys -but truth be told, whilst the Navy has traditions, the Army (Pongos) have standards, while the RAF (crabs) have bad habits.

However - interservice rivalry aside - faced with a decrepit and failing Marxist regime in this country we ought to stand by the RAF. They are starved of funds, decent aircraft and kit - like the Army and the Senior Service.

I know they all go home for their dinner - unlike all the other services. I know they spent 92% of every conflict they claim credit for - sitting in deck-chairs or playing footie at their dispersal -and I know that they got all the girls in the last big show - and have a reputation for outrageous facial hair - but we are all in the same pond.

Until such a time as we have a proper amphibious and littoral forces, we will have to rely on them. They have to make do with an aircraft designed by an Italian committee and leftover Comets. Just as the socialists have cut back on the Typhoon, 'leased' the tankers, denied them decent bombers, AWACS and the like - the chances of us ever getting the JSF for the raptor plus proper fleet carriers with catapults are pretty slim - while this lot have to keep employing 5-a-day fruit and vegetable coordinators to prop up their client votes.

So, despite the fact they are one tenth of the age of the Navy and one fifth of that of the Army - they are just about growing up.

Well done chaps. Remember - treat your woman like you treat your 'Kite' - jump in her seven times a day and take her to heaven and back - and no, not the Gay Club.

PS: Only the most craven knicker wetting liberal or self hating Marxist poltroon would not be stirred by the sight of the Red Arrows or the Battle of Britain Historic flight - I have flown alongside the Lanc in my glider - he waggled his wings at me and I nearly wept.

UPDATE

It will upset a RAF officer to a point of apoplexy by suggesting the New Typhoon is a Copy of a Mirage 2.