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Two more weeks
The waiter asked me what I should have to drink today, "Gin Tonic" was all I could say, after a few long days on Atag and YouTube catching up on big 50.
He referred me to the table farthest away from the toilet, while he muted something about the smell´s reminded him of north Africa and a plummer called "two finger charlie" from Tobruk handling the drink to me, didn't dare to ask into it and walked to the back corner table
Fire in a stick, while the gaze fell upon the rest of the clientele and this was where it struck me, a pilot in the RAF is not for me, drinking all night and killing all day long.
The neighbor's table was ruled out populated with young beautiful girls who undoubtedly enjoyed the sight of the self-confident pilots who stood at the bar, loud about their common expectations of (50) and can confidently appoint a few by name, such a patience is otherwise not something you attach to a selfish young pilot because they been very patience.
In the door came now the person whom I had hoped for would show up, the waiter welcomes him with a "Guzzer our Buzzer" i think probably it was, not to hear our think in this noise, the young studs, most of them Americans and polish at the bar now went into self-swing over Buzz/Guzz hitting the bell with a envelope signed TFS 50 in big black in his hand
"drinks for everybody and i have here the new orders for you young bastards" you can surely imagine the sound of cows jumping on to grass after a long winter in the stable.
"Open the gate" and again "Open the gate" beer hitting the ceiling and old Rich sitting on his usual space and of course he soiled himself of joy.
One of the young longhorns ask for a date of departure after the trail of soiled happiness was cleaned up, " we are not far from going, just around two more weeks"
Can´t wait for big 50 and all the new toys:recon:
