NCO our type, darling

This is 2009, not 1955, you know!

Readers of this occasional august blog concerning matters WRC related will no doubt be amused to note that social apartheid is alive and well, and flourishing in the Soverign Base Area on that far flung outpost of Empire otherwise known as Cyprus. This does not manifest itself in anything so crude as Officer classes paying the local indigenous Cypriots a bowl of Greek salad a week folk to scrub their verandas and to mow the one blade of grass that the sun has this far managed not to kill in their extensive gardens. Oh no. Nothing so crude. It manifests itself, you might be amused to read, by the children of the Officers travelling to school in luxury air conditioned coaches, whilst the children of the other ranks travel in a somewhat less auspicious fashion, emerging from their charabancs red faced and panting as a result of in-bus temperatures of over 50 degrees, one can only surmise. You therefore wonders whether or not a Rosa Parks moment is only sunny day away in the isle that is home to the Campo’s for the next two years. Then again, probably not, but just imagine the Secretary shouting down the bus “you’re not allowed on here, Dwane, your daddy’s only ground crew!” You could sell tickets for that, couldn’t you?