Had this strange feeling all week that 28th August rang a bell somewhere in the back of my mind? It struck me the other day over lunch. 28th August 1991 I became one AC Matador. As I entered her Majesty’s Royal Air force and basic training facilities at RAF Swinderby. I guess it is fair to say that it is at that point that I stood up on my very own two feet for the first time.
It was the first time I had left home for any period of time. I waved goodbye to the family on very overcast day not really knowing what the hell to expect or what I was really doing. All I knew is from that day on things would be different.
I really enjoyed my time in the RAF. It had its moment. I do sometimes miss it but like most people I think that it is period of time I can look back with fondness but to be honest going back over it I know there were crap times.
Today I am still in touch with a number of friends from those days and I really enjoy going back for the odd function. It does however seem like a life time ago. Nine years doesn’t seem long. It was event filled and the otherwise boring tedium of day to day operations was interjected with pulsating adrenalin fuelled excitement. Playing cards on Red Days ( = weather is shite) or 5 emergencies in 30 minutes I enjoyed at Honington, The tragedy of lost colleagues (see Mull of Kintyre) or the thrill of being involved in something that hits the news.
I left for various reasons. I really wasn’t cut out to be a full blow Air Traffic controller (the next step). I really wanted a settled life. I was really pissed off with how we were treated when C was born. So I decided not to sign on and join the real world………………..28th August 2000
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