A Bassett History

As some of you may know. flying is in my heart and in my blood. Why, young Icarus Bassett was the first person to fly to the Sun (apart from Rupert Murdoch)  although, sadly, his test shots for Page 5 were rejected after his pectoral implants melted under the studio lights.

The Bassettier Brothers, following a night at the local curry emporium and several very silly schoolboy japes involving a condom and a disposable lighter, hit upon the idea of balloon flight and became the first humans to fly from one side of the river Dresser in Poland to the other. Since that momentous occasion, Bassetts have been renowned as cross-Dressers.

Wilbur and Orville Bassett's efforts were overshadowed by events at Kittyhawk. They were busy on the sands of Shitehawk where they experimented with rockets. However, they found that over a longer period, wings were much safer and thus developed the aircraft as we know it. Their first attempt was actually much longer than the Wright Brothers although, sadly, we know not how long as steering was not high on their priorities and they were last seen heading out into the Atlantic.

WW1 saw the first airborne fighting Bassett, whose wits were pitted against the scourge of the Royal Flying Corps - The Red Baron! Percival Bassett, or the Yellow Count (at least, I think that's what the German fliers used to shout at him) took part in many dogfights with the Baron. Dogfights were all very well but Percival soon tired of Binkie, his beloved Yorkshire terrier being savaged by Von Richtofen's dobermann, Beckenbauer, so he took to the skies to give battle instead. The sun glinted off his goggles as he flew through the clouds. He peeled them off and wished that the squadron hadn't been scrambled whilst he was at the swimming pool as it was getting a bit chilly in his khaki Speedos.

He looked down and saw a glint of red. Hmm, chlorine rash could be a terrible thing.

Suddenly he saw a line of bullet holes across the fabric of his Sopwith Camel - the Fokker was attacking! He realised he was doomed and decided to bale out whilst he still could. It was as he plummeted through the air that he realised it was still to be several more years before aircraft were equipped with parachutes. Damn this bloody war.

Between the wars, young Biggles Bassett was at University where he studied Integrated Modular Avionics and Looking Grimly Determined. The 1939 hostilities saw him undergoing the selection course at RAF Cranwell where his slightly below par performance resulted in a posting to HM Submarines at Portsmouth. By a combination of determination and a rather smudged photograph of the Air Chief Marshall and a young Turkish lad, Bassett finally undertook pilot training at RAF Nether Wallop where he passed out...... several times. Eventually though, he got over his fear of heights and the time came for his first solo. Up into the skies he soared; a young gladiator, charged with the responsibility of saving his homeland, alone, several thousand feet up in the air, half an inch of wood and canvas between him and certain death, lost ........alone ........frightened.

He felt something jettison from beneath him (which made him feel a whole lot better) and his jaw tightened as the integral Bassett hero chromosome kicked in. He cast a glance across the horizon as he climbed, ever faster, and wondered at the green and brown of the sky and how it contrasted with the light blue of the ground far below. Ah, he could never get that bit right .............. He was buried, with full military honours, in a matchbox. Incidentally, the military honours were on behalf of the Imperial Japanese Airforce, after his cousin Bassimoto heard of his action and this inspired a completely new way of attacking enemy shipping.

I, of course, follow in the footsteps (wingprints?) of these illustrious forebears. No doubt I shall prove as competent as my predecessors.

Tally ho!

Incidentally, here's another little video for your pleasure - hope you like it :)