Published at 13:22, Thursday, 27 March 2008

THEY are made of stern stuff, members of our armed services.

Never mind the blazing-eyed fanatics of the Taliban, or the burka’d bombers of Basra – I know one matelot who was confronted by something infinitely more scary the other day, and manfully stood his ground.

This Jolly Jack tar did whimper a bit, and turn a little ashen, but I suppose anyone would when a little fat man clad only in inadequate underpants turns up and starts bustling purposefully around one’s bedroom.

Lest anyone should run away with the notion that I make a habit of dropping in unannounced on the boudoirs of sailors on shore leave, perhaps I should explain.

Hextol Junior is a serving member of the Royal Navy, as was his grandfather before him, so rum and the lash run through his veins.

He was home on leave the other week, and announced he was meeting up with a shipmate for a tour of the more interesting cultural attractions of Newcastle.

Later that night, Mrs Hextol and I had long been in bed, when we were rudely awakened by the return of the fourth born, asking if it would be OK for his chum to bunk down at Hextol Towers for the night.

No problem, we chorused, but then Mrs Hextol remembered the only available bed was buried under several layers of intimate apparel she had no intentions of being viewed by a sailor.

I was despatched to remove same before our young house guest clambered his unsteady way up the stairs, at such haste that I was not even allowed to conduct my morning search for my spectacles.

I dashed into the bedroom, and saw my son standing in the corner, as I scooped up armsful of clothing.

It was only when he spoke that I realised this was not my son at all, but his companion at arms – so I gave as courtly a bow as I could muster, and fled.

Over the years, I have developed something of a habit of making unfortunate public appearances when less than fully clad.

I hasten to add it has always been accidental, unlike that old sea dog my father, who used to delight in standing in front of the living room fire clad only in socks and underpants, warming the whole of his body.

The public footpath ran only five yards outside the window, and should some passing person happen to glance in, they would be treated to a wink, and the sight of the pater slapping his considerable paunch like Guy the Gorilla from London Zoo.

When admonished by my mother, he would declare forcefully: “It’s my bloody house and I’ll do what I like in it. I can have a pony in the grate if I’ve a mind; they shouldn’t be looking in!”

As far as I know, no-one ever reported him to the council or the police for unseemly behaviour, but it would have made a great court case if they had!

My own appearances in the altogether have been unfortunate rather than deliberate, and I blame the nurse at the Freeman Hospital for a recent one.

I had to go in for a scan, and was issued with one of those operating theatre gowns in readiness for the procedure.

“Everything off, Mr Hextol – you only need to wear the gown,” said the Hattie Jacques in charge. “Once you’ve got it on, come outside and wait.”

Well, I got it on, having considerable difficulty with the bows, and stood outside feeling extremely over-exposed, and attracting a lot of admiring glances.

I’d been there for 10 minutes before a red-faced Hattie returned, and ordered me back into my cubicle, hissing “The opening should be at the back!”

It’s also my habit to bring Mrs Hextol coffee in bed each morning, and, as Hextol Towers is surrounded by a high hedge, feel no need to dress for the occasion.

I was stirring the Maxwell House one morning when a sixth sense warned me I was not alone.

Peering transfixed through the conservatory window was my son’s absolutely mortified girlfriend.

I toyed with the idea of pretending I had not seen her, but in the end, covering myself up the best I could, I had to let her in, amidst a flood of profuse apologies.

The poor girl was understandably lost for words, but finally managed to mutter: “I see you’ve kept your tan ….”

Published by http://www.hexhamcourant.co.uk