Dear Betters,

On the evening of the 22nd, at approximately 20.00 hours, I was sitting in the mess in my usual seat at the golf club enjoying a whisky and soda and thinking about having some tiffin, when a motley crew of other ranks came marching through the clubhouse wearing strange garments and muddy shoes and shouting "On On" or some other mumbo-jumbo. Some of them were women who actually tried to enter the rnen's latrines. By Gad! I was so shaken that I had to have a double!

Some time later these wallahs appeared in the bar, looking cleaner but still improperly dressed (no jackets or ties). I was just making a mental note to complain to the committee when this frightful bounder appeared dressed in pinstripe jacket, T-shirt, bow tie, bermuda shorts, trainers and a fez ( I mean to say, wearing a hat indoors is pretty bad form, what?). I was so shaken I had to have another double!

Eventually they went in for their meal, and things quietened down in the bar - but not for long. It seems it was a late, late, Christmas do and some wally, sorry wallah, started to dish out gifts - and very strange gifts they were too. One Memsahib received some babys' nappies and her husband (I assume it was her husband, but with these people one wonders), started pouring water over one (I assume it was water, but with these people you never know). Someone else actually got some rubber johnnies and tried to
put one over his head. One hears of these perverts, but to see one in the Golf Club! I was so shaken I had to have another double! Things have never been the same since they put those magazines in the gents' toilets.

I had returned to my vantage point in the telephone booth, where I had stationed myself for a better view of the proceedings for my report to the committee, when horror of horrors, a male stripper appeared from the ladies' lounge, by Gad!, and stood on the table dressed only in his underpants (and pretty brief ones they were too, not pretty, brief you understand, but pretty brief), and gyrated his hips in a very suggestive manner. At this point I had to go and have another double, and when I returned the fellow had his pants on his head - 'nuff said!

Things really started to hot up now and my glasses steamed up. A group of young gels were prancing around dressed in skimpy gym-slips and stockings and singing 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles' ............... well all I can say is - lucky old Bubbles! At this point I had to go to the toilet as I had wet myself - weak bIadder, don't you know.
The worst thing about the whole sordid business was that one of those weirdos was actually a member of the Golf Club - what a blackguard. The bounder should be court-martialled and shot at dawn - but before he is, I must get the names of those
two fillies on the end ----- and then I can have a real double!

As Ever,


Blimpers

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