Craic On

Flying has been a feature of my life. I cannot begin to calculate how many flights I have been on. Not all of them have begun in Luton.  There is one flight that could be described as a short haul flight that has turned into the longest haul flight in the history of flight. You might say it is a flight with teeth. If the Wright brothers could establish the principle of man and machine acting in perfect unity, how hard could it be for one small girl, propelled by billowing folds of only a brush nylon nighty, to also achieve flight? Take off went according to plan. Lack of depth perception meant that a wall I thought was somewhere over there, was in fact now in contact with my face and my days of independent flight had come to an undistinguished end. After my ten-year-old friends had picked themselves up off the ground and before they had stopped laughing, I retired wounded and humiliated to nurse my bleeding mouth. If only I had seen that wall. Pound for pound, that short flight has turned out to b