My recent stories relating to the SAS (Special Air Service) puts me in mind of my other dealings with them – I have several stories for any given subject.

Firstly, I’m not one of those twats who claims to be one of them or linked directly to them. All of my stories, probably half a dozen in all, are at arm’s length. However, one is, now, possibly historically significant.

I was working on a project of which we must never speak. Senior to me was a softly spoken gentleman named ‘Derek’.

Derek, it transpired, was part of the SAS when it was formed during the Second World War. An officer, he had volunteered to join the fledgling band of men which, then, were basically a commando unit serving behind the fluid enemy lines of the desert.

Back to me. I’ve never been a fighter. I’m more of a lover. Equally, I’m shit at cards. At that point in my life, I seemed to be getting into numerous scrapes with twats, usually in pubs. Ergo, I approached Derek for some advice.

Derek was about my size and build – not some sort of Rambo type. Yet, it is these unassuming types which are often the most dangerous. He instructed me on how to win a bar fight – every single time. The instructions are too bloody & horrific to mention here but will guarantee victory.

He then showed me how to kill someone with a single movement requiring little physical effort. To demonstrate, he applied pressure to a certain area about my person whereupon I promptly fainted.

Like most men I talk shit about fights, how great I am and who I claim to know. Only on a few occasions will one ever meet someone like Derek, the irony is you’d never even know what he really was. Equally, one could never be like him.

Derek’s lasting effect on me: I use my verbal skills to avoid physical confrontation – usually successfully. I am always willing to back down and apologise for anything I have done to cause the problem in the first place – it’s usually something I’ve said or done anyway. However, and this has been a problem, when all else fails I remember what Derek taught me.

The SAS in WWII – they, as now, need to get themselves down the barbers


I’m not trying to say anything here – I’m just telling my story of Derek who is now in Valhalla with all the warriors of old.


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