The last obstacle is known as the ‘Black Bog’, which, as its name implies, is full of thick black waist deep mud and peat.
I wonder (slightly hysterically at this point I’m ashamed to say) whether the muck would provide a good face pack – just before finding out first hand as I trip and fall face down.
After what feels like an eternity I am unceremoniously yanked up to the accompaniment of a disgusting sucking sound...
I now resemble a yeti.
I splutter and spit out the revolting black goo while fighting the urge to cry.
That’s it, I’m done. My callous, cold hearted team mates will just have to leave me here to rot away slowly and painfully starting with my extremities... (Thank God I never had my nails done.)
Suddenly, without warning Paula bends forward and heaves me out of the mud and throws me roughly over her right shoulder.
Wading forward, she carries me almost effortlessly (I must have lost weight) to the edge of the bog and plonks me unceremoniously into the hands of my surprisingly sympathetic team mates...
The final jog (or rather lurch on my part) to the finish line is a bit of a blur and I feel like I’ve just survived an episode of ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’...
Then it’s a team photo (not sure how I can avoid this one going into the Britannia Magazine...) and then back on the army truck to the best part of the day...
...a hot shower followed by a fortifying glass of wine.
Would I do it again?
Err, not a chance...!
Sunday 4 October
0900 Frankie has actually brought me tea and toast in bed – think she’s might have been a little worried last night when I got back – especially as she had to practically carry me up the stairs to the flat (to be fair, that might have been partly due to the 4th glass of wine I had in celebration – not that I have any intention of telling her; determined to milk this for all it’s worth).
0910 Just tried to get out of bed to go the toilet and had to resort to crawling on my hands and knees. Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol after all.
Think I’ll just stay in bed for the rest of the day with Nelson.
I go over yesterday in my mind and somehow it doesn’t seem so horrific anymore (apart from possible permanent muscle damage and two broken nails).
I’m actually quite proud of myself – at least I got to the finishing line without needing mouth to mouth.
I spend some time planning how I can avoid our team photo going into the College magazine. My text to Rob last night was a little sketchy on the truth...
Result: He still thinks I’m a bit of a fitness buff.
Think it might be better to let him down gently – he needs to get to know me a bit first...!
Chapter Five: The Prince and I
Week 6
Monday 12 October
1015 I can’t believe it’s been over a week since I completed the Commando Challenge and I’m only now losing the John Wayne walk...
Last week was pretty much a write off really apart from basking in the admiration of my colleagues who didn’t have the courageous spirit (ok, who weren’t pressured) to take on such a challenge.
Of course the pictures haven’t been made public yet.
I haven’t seen Rob for over a week – just when it seemed that things were hotting up between us. Apparently he’s away doing something with submarines. (Only just found out he’s a submariner which was a bit of a blow because I’ve always been told that hygiene is an afterthought with most of them. Ok so I haven’t got that up close and personal but not noticed any smelly armpits so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt...)
Anyway, it’s probably a good thing that I haven’t been otherwise distracted because this week I have to concentrate on THE ROYAL VISIT – woo hoo!
Prince Andrew is coming on Thursday and the College has been in a fever of anticipation for the last week.
We’ve not been given the timetable of his visit yet but I’ve been told that I’m still on for a meeting...
Just one small problem though, apparently the PTB (Powers That Be) think it would be a good idea if I take along a few of the Internationals to give the Prince a taste of the RN’s contribution towards the UK’s Defence Diplomacy.
Now in theory this is a good idea (apart from the fact that it will of course scotch any chance I have of flirting with the current fourth in line to the throne – not that I’m shallow as you know).
The problem is that given his connections (despite the fact that we’re still not supposed to be aware of them) our resident HRH will obviously expect to be one of the chosen few and although we are now in Week 6, he has so far shown no further improvement since pointing at Nelson and saying “dog” with an enormous grin on his face.
Likeable he is bless him; fluent he still certainly is not and as such is not really a terribly good advertisement for our teaching skills...
Still, no sense in worrying until I’m forced to give out names (maybe I should just put them in a hat).
Think it’s time for Stand Easy.
Now this is going to take even longer than usual because The Corridor has been polished to within an inch of its life in preparation for ‘The Visit’ (think they’re banking on the fact that as Prince Andrew was in the RN, he actually trained at BRNC so should be up to speed with the lethal nature of the flooring...)
Hopefully the number of casualties won’t run into double figures.
1105 Have just to come back to the office to find that the PTB have moved International Day from this Wednesday to Thursday to tie in with The Visit.
International Day is held once a term on the Quarterdeck and it’s generally a great opportunity for all the Internationals training at the College to show and talk about their respective countries and cultures.
The good news is that it means I won’t have to nominate students to meet with the Prince.
The bad news? Lots more opportunities for embarrassing faux pas (otherwise known as f*ck ups).
Still, not my problem. I’ll call a meeting with the teachers after the lessons today so that we can discuss the contributions of the English Language students and nominate volunteers (yeah right).
1450 Just found out that the formal invitations to Saudi Arabia have arrived at the College. My visa’s also come back (the photograph really is bad) I’m accompanying Commander NTE, and (wait for it...)
We’re flying FIRST CLASS...
I can hardly contain my excitement. The nearest I’ve ever got to going first class anywhere was a free upgrade with British Rail (and the best that can be said about that was the fact that the dry sandwiches and luke warm coffee were free).
I resist the impulse to dance around the room and decide instead to treat myself and Nelson to a donut from the Naafi - will start the diet again tomorrow…
Life is GOOD.
1530 Scratch that. Life is not good. I’ve just been informed that they want me to do a speech on the Quarterdeck about the importance of International Training in Defence Diplomacy.
IN FRONT OF PRINCE ANDREW.
Bugger, bugger, bugger.
Why on earth do they want me to do it?
I’ve only got 2 days to put it together and the possibility of making a complete tit of myself in front of Royalty makes me feel sick.
Whose bloody idea was this...?
I wonder if there’s any way out of it and decide to make a few frantic phone calls.
1600 Apparently there’s not a cat in hells chance – the directive has come from the Commodore and for some reason he wants a civvie to make the speech (some viper definitely gave him the idea of me being the proverbial lamb to the slaughter though and when I find out who...)
1830 Already on my second glass of wine. I really need to get a grip. I’ve never spoken in front of Royalty before...
What am I going to say?
Oh God, what am I going to wear?
Tuesday 13 October
0815 I’ve been awak
e all night and now sitting at my desk with my pen poised over a completely empty piece of paper...
Nelson is staring at me expectantly – he knows my stressed out look generally results in something sweet coming his way.
Ok, where to start...
1035 Finally managed to put together an initial draft for my speech so not feeling quite so desperate. In fact I’m even starting to warm to the idea. It really is a good opportunity to blow the International cadets’ trumpets to the British cadets who are not always particularly sympathetic to their mostly Middle Eastern oppos (I wonder how many of the British YOs could complete the RNYOC in Arabic).
Actually beginning to look forward to it...
1245 Don’t know where the morning’s gone. Decide to check my emails before I head down to the Wardroom for lunch.
Despite the fact that there are already about 50, one from VSO jumps out at me. Yey, an email from Rob. He must be back at the College.
And the subject line: ‘Lunch?’
Expecting him to be simply checking whether I’m going down to the Wardroom today, I’m totally blindsided by his request to take me out for lunch tomorrow...!
Is this a date?
Impulsively I decide against going down to the Wardroom and take Nelson out for walk instead (in the interest of keeping him in suspense so to speak) (Rob that is, Nelson couldn’t give a carrot who I eat with as long as his stomach is amply catered for).
I’ll answer the email when I get back – gives me time to decide whether to accept or not (who am I kidding?)
1400 Back sitting in front of the computer working out how to reply to Rob’s email. As always, don’t want to appear too eager but don’t want to seem too stand offish either. Obviously in addition to really getting to know him, this is also an ideal opportunity to assess any potential BO issues without actually asking him outright. (“So, Rob, how often do you wash on average?” Not exactly an ideal subject for small talk…)
Bloody hell, this dating lark is hard work. Could really do with another donut to help bring out my wittiness and sparkle but I’ve already had my quota this week (trying very hard to hang on to the image of ‘gorgeous sophisticated glamorous woman in her prime’).
1421 20 minutes later and my imaginative yet deceptively simple reply is...
Sounds Good (Should really have succumbed to the donut!)
His response is gratifyingly quick leading me to the warming conclusion that he had been waiting with baited breath for my reply (or he was in the process of checking his emails).
Will pick you up in the car park at 1230 tomorrow if that suits. Know a lovely village pub a couple of miles away.
Rob x
And just like that, all worries about Royalty go completely out of my head...
It will of course necessitate an extra long lunch but that’s not a problem as I’ll just stay later tomorrow night and put the finishing touches to my admittedly short but nevertheless impassioned speech.
1715 We’ve managed to organise the International English Language cadets in their preparations for International Day. They have been told of the impending Royal Visit and the importance of putting on a good show.
Just wish I could rid myself of this slightly nauseous feeling of impending doom...
An hour in the ferry queue ought to do it…
Wednesday 14 October
0915 Feel as though I’ve done a day’s work already. I couldn’t sleep last night – I’m actually a little nervous (it’s not that long since I had a date – is it?) so decided to get up at 6 this morning to wash my hair etc. Got in to work at 0730 (already making up for extra extra long lunch – hopefully).
I’m wearing a black pencil skirt (new – bought it over the weekend) which fits me like a glove. I’ve teamed it with a black and white striped shirt (again fitted of course – and with no gaping boob gaps) which has touches of red at the collar and cuffs. Then I’ve finished the whole ensemble with red court shoes...
I’ve put my hair back in a French plait (sexy and business like).
God I look good – if he doesn’t fancy me in this get up, he’s gay!
I’ve gone over my speech a few times (while looking at myself in the mirror to make sure that I’m standing up straight and holding my stomach in just in case they take any photos).
I sound pretty good, definitely on a role.
Today is going to be awesome…
1230 Oh. My. God.
He has a Lotus
A bloody Lotus!
I look down and part my legs experimentally – there is a potential gap of about 18 inches...
How the hell am I going to get in it?
I’m beginning to sweat as Rob drives up waving.
I plaster a smile on my face as I walk up to the passenger’s side just as Rob leans over and opens the door. “Hop in,” He says with a grin.
In fact he doesn’t open the door. It’s actually just a window. There is a ledge that I’m supposed to ‘hop’ over.
I stand helplessly for a second wondering if I should just tell him I’ll drive myself.
“It’s much easier if you slide in backwards.” Comes Rob’s accommodating response to my hesitation.
I want to hit him.
I look around to see if anybody’s watching but for once (thank you God) the car park is deserted. Then throwing caution to the winds and my handbag into the foot well, I tentatively place my bottom onto the ledge and slide backwards.
Result? I’m stuck with my legs hanging out of the window and my head in Rob’s lap.
I glare at his obvious enjoyment of the situation and resist the impulse to ask what a grown man is doing with a bright yellow dinky toy.
Using my hands to lever myself up and with Rob’s help pushing my shoulders, I manage to swing my legs through the window and lever myself into a sitting position.
I am never ever going to be able to get out...
My face is now sweating profusely and I can practically feel my foundation starting to slide (think I’m going to have to invest in some tinted moisturiser for situations calling for a slightly lighter touch – like this one). Luckily my French plait has got so much hairspray in it that it doesn’t move an inch!
Taking a couple of deep breaths, I buckle up the seat belt. I daren’t look over at Rob in case I start crying.
First he goes out with a bimbo and next he has a ridiculous car.
I’m beginning to think it’s not going to work out...
As Rob manoeuvres the car on to the main road, I take a few deep breaths and begin to relax a little; I’m even starting to feel a slight thrill at the feel of the powerful engine picking up speed (I’m obviously no more immune to fast cars than the next person – which is good because I might well be spending the rest of the day in it.)
Rob glances over at me. “I know, pretty impractical isn’t it?” He says with a grin that makes him look 12 years old.
“Boys and their toys.” I shrug and smile back, still trying to work out how I’m going to get out of the damn thing without sliding over the ledge head first.
“It was a present to me from me after the separation. Everything had been so shit and I needed something to make me feel good about myself again.”
Now that I can identify with. I went a bit mad and had a tattoo after my divorce came through (mind you, it cost a bit less and I was restrained enough to have it where it can only be seen by a very select few...)
“And I just love driving it,” He continues, “Makes me feel less of a crusty old submariner and of course my son Jack thinks it’s cool.
“Not to mention the fact that it annoys the hell out of my ex-wife!”
I laugh, understanding all those reasons perfectly.
The mention of his main job in the RN reminds me of my secondary purpose in accepting Rob’s luncheon date...
“Why did you become a submariner?” I ask, genuinely interested in why anyone would want to spend entire months in a big black tin can.
&nbs
p; “My dad was in the Submarine Service and he took me on board when I was 11. Since then it’s always been my ambition to drive a submarine.”
I fight the urge to break into a rendition of ‘Stingraaay, Stingray...’ and nod sagely as though I understand perfectly.
“What’s it like being in one?” (I’m thinking this might lead to jokey comments about washing – sneaky or what...?”
Rob spends the rest of the drive regaling me with tales of life under the ocean wave but doesn’t unfortunately mention hygiene (or more importantly lack of it).
All too soon we arrive at our destination. A small but quaint village pub called the Green Dragon.
As Rob expertly manoeuvres himself out of the driver’s seat, my heart begins to thud in my chest. I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to get out.
He opens the passenger door with a flourish and looks at me expectantly.
I look helplessly back. “Er, I’m not sure how to do this...” I really hate the way my voice comes out all helpless and whiney.
Rob advises me to lean back and lift my legs over the sill, then to give him my hands and he will pull me out (a bit like a cork out of a wine bottle).
This would be ok except that I’m wearing hold ups which will give him a bird’s eye view of my knickers.
I slide backwards on the seat and swing my legs round making an effort to keep them together (not that difficult given that my skirt is akin to wearing a large Smartie tube). As Rob bends forward to grab my hands, I resist the urge to kick him in the chin ‘accidentally’ with the tip of my stiletto (where did this propensity for violence come from...?)
A couple of seconds later he heaves me (thank God I’ve lost a few pounds!) through the window and I land on my feet with a resounding thump.
He’s standing very close to me and his hands are still holding mine.
My heart begins to thump for a slightly different reason and all of a sudden I don’t care about bright yellow dinky toys. I breathe in the scent of him and it’s all wholesome male with an undertone of delicious cologne.
Not a smelly armpit in sight.
An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted: A Romantic Comedy Page 9