Golf in the Gulf!

CLASSIFIED: FRIENDLY EYES ONLY

What ho!

Well, I say...

Following on from the still mainly secret excitement of my previous mission, as recorded in this honest to goodness statement http://royalairfarce.blogspot.com/2011/12/top-secret-all-terrain-flying-boat.html on this 'ere covert blog, where I uncovered this hostile monstrosity in an unnamed (for security purposes, don't y'know) desert location ...

... Our Hi-tech Ministry of Defence Signals Command,

here in our Top Secret Nuclear Bunker, Biggin Hill, Great Britain, Europe,

translated an invitation from a friendly Sand-Jockey Rag Head, Sheik Yermonie, to play a round of golf upon his rather ostentatious, and obviously very select, mobile private golf club...

somewhere in the Arabian sea.

Apparently, he needs to keep on the move to prevent over exposure to assassins.

(Who are mainly his own cousins! But there you go, one supposes it's always best to keep it in the family...)

Anyhow, Her Majesty's Government urged me to accept his kind offer.

And, by gad, ordered me to surreptitiously lose the game!

But that's the handicap one must carry being an International Super Hero and Cunning Diplomat.

The officially unofficial reasons behind this most unsporting decision lie in the straits which dominate the shipping channels in this most sensitive oil drenched region.

You see, Her Majesty's Royal Navy, God bless 'em, need to keep our very importantly strategic Naval Base (nestled at the furthest tip of his remotest sand duned coast) to maintain our vital, in not quite magnificent, Arabian fleet,

so that it's ready, as ever, to assist our gallant American allies at their nearby U.S. Navy outpost a few miles further down the coast...

...in their aggressive peace keeping. And, quite frankly, who can blame them for keeping a sizeable piece of any baddie country we defeat?

So I clambered aboard my trusty Royal Air Farce Bristol Belvedere chopper,

As piloted by me lovely Top Gun; Captain Carstairs.

And crewed by a beautiful bevy of me favourite Royal Air Farce Hostesses, to keep me, ahem, entertained, during the long flight.

However, due to the extreme distance, which I'm terribly sorry but the official secrets act will not allow me to divulge, but lets just say for now it was deep in international waters, we had to transfer to a patrolling leviathan of a U.S. Navy Carrier for the onward journey.

Well aware of my reputation and insatiable appetites, the Yank Wrens aboard made me very welcome indeed...


After plenty of me lovely tea 'n' tiffing (oh, that tiffing!) I was ready for the orf to the Sheik's Golf (Gulf?) Carrier, but was somewhat aghast at the transport the U.S. Navy Air Arm offered...



An ancient Sikorsky Dragonfly!

Apparently the Carrier's cigar chomping Admiral thought it would be rather a hoot to transport one old war icon in another!

Fortunately, he had the good taste to order some rather fetching modifications with my good self in mind...

So pleasing in fact, were the helios improvements, his randy Number One attempted to join us!

His ship mates promptly tugged him orf, and Fairfax swung my chopper over the ocean to the Sheik's playship so we could have our little game.

Between me and thee, I enjoyed his specially laid on 19th hole the best!

Must say, I've become somewhat addicted to the this ol' golf nonsense now. Ttfn, I'm orf to play around with me lovely Carrauthers, Fairfax and Carstairs!

Toddle-pip!