I'm sure it's quite a kick for doctors when somebody shouts, "IS ANYONE HERE A DOCTOR!?" They (the doctors) look up and calmly, but sternly, declare "Yes [pause], I am a doctor." They will deny it, but secretly all doctors WAIT FOR and LOVE those moments. It's quite obvious why. Why do you think The Good Doctor gets so much action?
Whilst these emergencies can happen on the ground, I think we're all pretty much thinking the same thing - it's got to be on a Boeing 747, over the ocean, preferably in a hijack situation. Someone is having a heart-attack and the little Virgin Atlantic tart is sick with love, as she gazes at you - THE DOCTOR - as you save the day! Using one stone, you will find yourself killing two birds that day, as you subsequently join the Mile High Club. You become her "Cape Town guy" as she promises she's not boning anyone at the other end of her regular Frankfurt/Cape Town route. You don't really care - after all, your mates are using CAPAB off-cuts for their role playing games with their birds, whilst YOUR angel has a genuine air hostess kit.
[I think it would be inappropriate at this stage to mention anything about The Hooker and The SchoolMusic Teacher and ANYTHING to do with role playing games using schoolgirls' uniforms from her school's second-hand shop. In particular, anything to do with any "naughty-schoolgirl-goes-to-headmaster's-office-for-a-spanking" games. So I'll do the right thing and not say anything.]
Back to being a doctor and saving the day on a Boeing 747. I did a quick reality check the other day and realised that a full decade of studying just so that I could save THAT day, would go against all the basic principles of logic. There has to be another way to save the day, using a rare-ish skill.
Don't panic, there is one.
I remembered that there was another scenario where one could save the day. Again, we're in a hijack situation, but this time our boys have been a little over-excited and killed the pilot (point-blank range, hollow point, to the head). The blood-splattered Virgin Atlantic tart comes SPRINTING in, shouting, "DOES ANYONE KNOW HOW TO FLY A PLANE!!!"
I can happily say that the last week (five days, Monday to Friday), has given me the necessary skills to be the guy that looks up, scotch in hand, and says, a la Kurt Russel in Executive Decision, "Yeah, I fly. What seems to be the problem, gorgeous?" I'll go in, kick the pilot's limp frame out the seat and save the day. The best part of it is I will be able to do it with a drink in my hand AND I'll get better action than the doctor got.
Five days vs 10 years. I'll take the five days. Ta.
Courtesy of South Africa's first and only credit-card online prepaid airtime service, BIG TIME AIRTIME, The Kitesurfer (my wingman) and I spent the last week at The Cape Gliding Club airbase in Worcester (now dubbed "Miramar"), an hour out of Cape Town. We joined seven other naval aviators and, for five days, abused all air within 7,500 ft above the metropolis of Rawsonville and surrounding Worcester. We were basically INSIDE the so-called "internet".
A glider
We obviously referred to this one as the "F-14 Tomcat"
With enough flies and mosquitoes to kill a civilian, we braved 35 degree heat in the day and a military-style dorm at night (including the obligatory 6am wake up calls). It was like something out of a movie - with quality resident characters who live on, and refuse to leave, the base.
Tom - the Irishman - out of a story book
Post-flight debriefing with Fast Ed
The first night provided an opportunity for immediate departure when someone informed the oldest member of the club that The Kitesurfer and I had experience with radio controlled wind-gliders. He scoffed and asked if we could tell him about the effects of "adverse yaw".
Oh...kay....
Tough crowd, but you need those characters to add life and colour to the experience - this unique peek into another world. By day three everyone had warmed to each other and, apart from The P.A. having to drive up to secretly bring the spare car key (mine was stored in the boot at this stage), everything went ahead beautifully. Interestingly enough, evening joints (thank you, Tony) and bottles of port had no effect on the next day's flying... I might even propose that it helped.
Lieutenant Rotherham
A pig. In shit.
AKA The Kitesurfer.
It took five days and cost five grand. By Friday I could take-off behind a tow-plane (video further down), fly and land the 40 year-old bird. I will be following-up at some stage with more hours and a full solo license, but for now I am certainly ready to save the day on a distressed airliner and take receipt of the subsequent blow-job. I also won't be shy to take an angel up in the twin-seater with a bottle of bubbles and standby for the grab-around somewhere in the hot-box. (This paragraph contains immense penis action. We should slow down to a gentle roar.)
Ghost rider requesting a flyby
It's an hour out of Cape Town, for God's sake! It is so accessible! Do yourselves a favour and realise how easy it is to do something you've always thought about.
"I've never thought about it. I have no desire to fly."
Cool. I'll go below the hard-deck and show you a "loser" sign, as you continue your obsession with terra firma.
There is another training week in September. We're probably going again to clock up some hours. I suggest you do the same.
I am finished now. The Princess changed the plans tonight and I have had no option but to destroy myself with a birthday gift in the form of Chivas Regal. I leave you with contact details, pics and videos.
Thanks to everyone at the Cape Gliding Club. You're special.
Miramar Top Gun flying academy, Worcester branch
I thought you would enjoy a bit of video action. This first vid shows a glider being towed out by a "tug plane" (flown by the gorgeous (no spice) Nina).
The Kitesurfer's glider takes off - towed behind a tug plane.
The Kitesurfer lands. Quietly. On earth.
Competition to be "the best of the best" is fierce
