In a few days I, along with my girlfriend/partner Clarissa
and my new family shall be entering a vehicle approximately 63 feet in length,
19 feet high, weighing around 774,000 pounds and capable of speeds in excess of
590 MPH. I am, of course talking about an aircraft. Were it a land based
vehicle, I might be less inclined to board it.
I have loved flying since I was a child. Holidays in the
Canary Islands called for extended flights and as such, that meant we travelled
on very large aircraft. I don’t mean large because I was all of 7 years old, I
mean large as in it had three seats on either side of the cabin, with a row of
5/6 seats in the middle. On trip home, we had almost the entire back cabin to
ourselves. Awesome.
I love flying since before these trips of course. I loved
flying since I first realised I in fact were capable of flight myself. I’d
dream that I stood on the top of a perfectly rounded, grassy hill top on the outskirts
of a cityscape, giant branch laden tree behind and would begin my run up. I’d
jog, then dash, then sprint and before I knew it, I was airborne. Arms
outstretched I would bank left and right, pull up and nose dive down. The
clouds were always far above. I could reach a mid-level and then I’d wake up.
To this day the dreams I had of flight as a child are still
steadfastly lodged in my memories. Memories that never happened…or did they?
On this occasion, I shall have to leave the flying to
someone I hope and trust is well trained and vastly experienced in the art of
aeroplane piloting. If for some reason he is unable to perform this duty, I
shall have to step up. Although, I’m not entirely sure how many people I can
fit on my wings.
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