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Volume 40 No 4 Aug-Sept 1989.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

Volume 40 No 4 Aug-Sept 1989.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

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WAY OFF TRACK<br />

Full-blown breakfast.<br />

, u<br />

. "<br />

",J '0<br />

the flight. Then I felt and was immediately<br />

alarmed by a hot sensation in my chest which<br />

clearly went beyond the gastric heartburn ,<br />

sometimes suffer after a full-blown breakfas!. "Is<br />

this a heart attack" I asked myself with some<br />

foreboding, beginning a hurried descent when<br />

awareness dawned.<br />

But Idigress. What have these things to dowith<br />

peeing or, more, important, with not having immediately<br />

to pee Just that tucked down beneath<br />

one's harness buckle, in the approximate region<br />

of the waterworks - at least, their approximate<br />

location in my physiological conformation, what<br />

about yours - the effect of warmth on a chilled<br />

and shrunken bladder at altitude is quite wondrous<br />

relief.<br />

You're good for at least another 2000-3000ft<br />

and perhaps another hour in flight and can make<br />

an unhurried descent to pee in comfort - and<br />

the John.<br />

Whew! The tone of S&G is on the up and up.<br />

Please note Ii've got to the end of this discourse<br />

without once vsing the words "wet knickers."<br />

The second time also had a catch. It was in<br />

Limerick, where aboul 150 01 the region's great<br />

and good were hosting a party of jovmalists and<br />

broadcasting "celebrities" from Ihe wild north.<br />

Only seconds before my dessert plate was<br />

aboulto offer nothing but its, glaze, IleameQ the<br />

catch. "You're on in tWQ minutes. You're to:do the<br />

vote of thanks," whispered Herself, seated at<br />

my side.<br />

By the grace 01 God, as I l10undered lamely<br />

towards the end, to a sea of faces as unmoved as<br />

any sea of Irish faces ever can be, I recalled a<br />

gliding incident that had happened some years<br />

before, when I quite shamelessly hijacked a jest<br />

that I had read in one of Rhoda Partridge's<br />

articles· in S&G.<br />

Hijacked a jest.<br />

I had had an immensely long and tiring journey,<br />

solo, towing a gliderfrom Belfast through the Irish<br />

Midlands, where the roads have more twists and<br />

turns thana belly dancer's lower bowel. But I was<br />

happily nearing my destination - the Dublin/<br />

Ulster GCs' autumn safari to Co Kerry - then at<br />

Farranfore Airport but now flown from several<br />

beaches further west.<br />

in England to win races by 8 long neck.<br />

"We're over here cleaning up at all Ihe Irish<br />

meetings," I added in a qvick-fire embellishment<br />

of my own.<br />

Despite Ihe fact that the tired' jokes the English,<br />

in their arrogant dimness, tell about Ihe Irish are<br />

first told by !Dubliners about Kerrymen, he was<br />

smarter still. "Sorry I asked," he fired back<br />

instanlly.<br />

"Should've been obvious. The English have<br />

been sticking Iheir bloody necks out in this coun­<br />

·try for 800 years, so why shouldn't their<br />

horses too"<br />

Wllen they heard an Englishman recounting<br />

this, with a warning to his northern colleagues nOt<br />

to attempt to be a smart-arse down in the west of<br />

Ireland because the locals were likely to prove<br />

smarter tharil they, Ihe faces of Ihe

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