True Phlegm

I know I'm not keeping up with the pace, but hey, sometimes I have stuff to do.

I had an exceptionally fine dinner last Thursday night for the Gurkhas in the New Club in Edinburgh, complete with regimental silver, generals, lords,kilts,trews,medals and an after dinner speech.

The speech was given by Professor David Purdie, who not only gave his services free but also donated the pre-dinner drinks. The reason was his 90 year old father-in-law had fought with the Gurkhas in Korea, and is ( possibly) the last surviving Gurkha officer from that period.

He gave an excellent speech, not so much for the content but for the delivery. It was replete with military stories of the great and good, none more so than the Brigadier in the Carlton Club which was blown up by the IRA in 1990.

He represented everything a British Brigadier is known for: shoes so shiny you could see your face in them; suit immaculately correct; regimental tie; and true phlegm.

The Brig was having his dinner when the bomb went off. He was eating his dessert, and as the building collapsed around him, a cone of plaster formed on his head - and on the spoon of pud that was making it's way to his mouth.

As he came to rest somewhere between the first floor and the basement, complete with table and chair and himself intact, he took stock of the situation with a mind honed from years of command.

In his own words :" As I dusted off the plaster from the spoon, and ate my pudding, my thought was that this was no ordinary kitchen mishap."

It became the quote of the year - and reminds me of Sid James in " Carry on Up the Khyber."