UNDERWATER SCREAMING EAGLES

Burnt into the musty brown ceiling with their silver Zippo lighters are the names of their boys: 196 Squadron. And some of our boys : Bert’s Boys. On the adjacent table next to some of their boys (beneath: 7 Eskadra lotnictwa taktycznego) Jean Claude Brunel, Swiss publicist, writer and reluctant language student on furlough in Cambridge (under Screaming Eagles 49th Airlift Squadron) in the guise of learning English is telling one of our boys (his teacher) he can’t believe what four Yanks (two of whom are leaning towards Patrol Squadron 26: We Hunt) are saying in this back bar room which Jean Claude thinks resembles the reading room in the military history section of a public library more than an authentic English pub. The teacher thinks (as he stares mindfully at 35th Flying Training Squadron) that this very much resembles the setting for a story, as long as he watches his P’s and Q’s and reins in his, and his student’s natural and exuberant, but according to another Times editorial, ultimately facile anti-Americanism. He might even allow himself the luxury of a couple of adjectives, in the opening draft at least. Or was that draught? Old and Speckled are suggested. Jean Claude forsakes Artois for something real as well. Turns out it was a neglected beat-up car (an old ’un) in the brewer’s yard that got speckled with paint. There was no poultry, free ranging, battery tortured, force fed or otherwise. Jean Claude despises Californication for having had the temerity to criminalize pâté de fois gras, which is not pâté but terrine! Stupid Americains…

Jean Claude who for six days and ten minutes has been insisting that his teacher should write every day - even if it is only one word a day - gives up doing so, so as to better focus on the young Californian blonde at the bar. His cultural resistance wanes. His libido, on the other hand, starts to wax lyrical. Less active these days, true, but legendary in the French-speaking part of Switzerland.

Then an American rises. Crew cut, teeth and neck muscle. Jean Claude is dumbstruck. He sits shaking his head as he takes notes in shorthand. He’ll use it in a story about an ex-US military dog that goes crazy and becomes the first serial killing domestic canine in best-selling fiction. He oozes the self-confidence borne of success. The teacher must never divulge the premise to anybody because it’s such a great idea (which he pronounces idee)that it is sure to be plagiarised.

- These dumb yanks think Spike in Tom & Jerry is genial. This will be something else. What on hearth… Phrr!, he says as the water bursts in.

They swim to the top of the bar. But the four Americans go on talking. Apparently they have mastered the art of underwater breathing. Making his way to health and safety through the first floor kitchen, Jean Claude goes on to release his dog serial killer thriller onto the general publique to general acclaim.

In a separate incident, the teacher dies out in a bizarre drowning escapade in the same back bar (but where the escape exit through the kitchen has been blocked off) after he was more than pleased to escape the following conversation:-

Two-week vacation? What d'ya do in a whole two weeks? You should visit me in Iran. I'll sponsor you. I'll take a rain check. Thanks pal. The price of gas had gone up 3:1. People who hate us passionately. Israeli nuclear. Hezbollah. Provoke Iran. Up to our eyeballs in this shit. To me that's unacceptable. Nothing's changed for 30 years. When I was in the middle East that's what I noticed. Exactly! It's a 14-lane highway with no white lines. No lanes depicted at all. He was a good guy. A Bahraini. He looked like Telly Savalas. We'd been flying over Iraq. They won't eat till the sun is below the horizon. Usually it's under US military control. The 51st state. How about that? We get 6%. Hydrogen pipeline. Hydrogen cars. Quiet efficient on time in St Louis. Why isn't New York like that? Politicians. I dunno. Maybe it was when I was getting drugs. No only kidding. The caffeine grabbed us and so we just had a blast. Once in a while. We pumped out all the oil. $ix dollars a gallon. I don't understand why. But they really hate us. Believe it or not. This French guy and this English dude start spluttering and coughing. True story. Couldn’t make it up I tell you.