Blog Block !

To those stalwart few that follow the meanderings of my oft-confused mind, you may well be aware of my aspirations in the Biggles dept.

Like Paul on the road to Damascus, I have reached my moment of transmogrification and have suddenly found that I can actually fly. More importantly, I can land!

My flying log book now shows hours on executive Lear jets, Boeing 737s, A300 AirBus, Bell JetRanger helicopters and a number of smaller piston-engined aircraft and I have zoomed around Hawaii, Italy, Sweden, the UK and the USA.

The Garmin G1000 cockpit, VFR, PFD, MFD and ILS are no longer a foreign language to me and my parachute is firmly packed in the hold.

OK, so it's all a bit geeky and probably sounds quite sad but it really exemplifies the extremes of limit to which software now aspires. The software plus scenery takes up over 50Gb of memory and I can now quite literally overfly my town and land in the pub car park (in a microlight). For those GoogleEarth aficionados amongst you, the scenery is on a par and the realism is quite frightening. One even gets all the flight announcements on the aircraft about unfastening seatbelts and serving refreshments so it's really quite easy to get involved in it all.

As you may have gathered, the old blog block has kicked in hence the above.

I shall venture into my archives and find something I wrote when I was going through one of my more 'down' periods. The patients at the clinic I was in were asked to write something about their depression and me (of course) couldn't really take it seriously. Rebel? Moi?

Well, if you're gonna be depressed, you might as well enjoy it!

In days of old, when men were men and women were scarce, there ruled a nobleman, Lord de Lawdy. He ruled his serfdom from the Castle Ticehurst and was feared and revered by all.

Life was not easy in his lands, for an ague had fallen upon the crops and the peasants were starving and their voices loud in despair (for, as we know, empty vassals make the most noise).

The Lord turned to his knights and gazed proudly upon them. For reference, they were as follows:-

Sir Cumcize - a cut above the rest.
Sir Pentine - a snake in the grass.
Sir Gay - a Russian knight of dubious sexuality.
Sir Bo Croat - his Czech mate.
Sir Cumference of A’Circle - a good man in a roundabout sort of way.
Sir Tif A’Cate - a most learned knight,
and finally,
Sir Mon on the Mount - religious advisor to the gathering.

Also present was his slovenly, stupid but faithful servant, Manic.

“The food situation has reached crisis proportions.” said the Lord. “We have failed to harvest the ……………” he hesitated.
“Crop, my Lord?” ventured Manic.
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” rebuked his master.

He continued,
“As I was saying, all the cattle are dying. All that survive are the ………….” Again he hesitated.
“Bullocks, my Lord?” Manic again suggested.
“I’m warning you, Manic. Just once more!! If I may continue, we must embark on a crusade to resolve our problems. As you all know, there is a dark shadow on our land. The evil Duke Ivor de Pression and his minions are poised to assail us and our lives will be changed forever. Now, all who are with me raise their hands!”
“Aye.” chorused the throng.
“No, hands I said, not eyes.” retorted the Lord, rolling his own heavenwards.

Pausing only to lock the Acme Combination SuperStrong Chastity Belt (with Teflon) upon his beloved wife, the Lady Izza Tramp and telling her not to wait lunch, the band rode forth to do battle.

Lord de Lawdy felt full of power as he sat on his ass (all the horses having been eaten). Echoes of the old war gods came flooding into his memory. Brandishing his sword, he cried aloud in a stentorian voice “I’m Thor!”

“That’th because you forgot your thaddle, thilly!” Sir Gay told him helpfully just before the sword landed squarely on his helm.

NB. The sword was, as you would expect from an environmentally conscious person, made from recycled steel. Specifically, from what used to be non-alcoholic lager cans. It’s name was Ex-Kaliber.

Anyway, back to the plot.

At the borders of the lands of Ticehurst, the evil Duke Ivor, was astride his beloved Steed.

“When are you going to get a horse, Sire? enquired Steed, “This doesn’t half make my back ache.”

Duke Ivor gazed towards the castle and smiled contentedly. He patted the small bunch of herbs in his hip pocket, knowing he had thyme on his side.

Meanwhile, Lord de Lawdy was explaining his plan to beat De Pression.

“In order to succeed, we require three basic criteria:-
First, I must produce a child to ensure continuity of my reign.
Second, we need a preacher. For surely, De Pression is the spawn of the Devil.
Thirdly, we need magic food produced by the small, enchanted, forest folk.”

He turned to his men. “What do we need to beat De Pression?” he demanded.

“Fresh heir, exorcise and Elfy food.” they chorused in return.

Oh, happy days!