A merrie Christmas morning to all ye awaking kipper-noshing Brits, from ye last loyal colonial bastion of our glorious British Empire, New Zealand (fly to Melbourne, then take up a true track of 090 for 1,400 nm and you should sight me outside my humble sod hut, waving a Union Jack). I wish to thank the three known readers of my meandering ramblings and beseech ye to stick with me...I shall try to do better during ye 2009 (if the mighty Mav. does not Moderate me from the ether). We may be a primitive simple culture, but my chums in our Civil Aviation Authority have had the charity to concur with my pleading, grovelling and whining, and allowed our Douglas Dakotas to continue operating in the air transport category, even though, shock, horror, they are not fitted with escape slides to reach the ground three feet below the door-sill level. But I do hope ye Dame Fortune smiles down upon ye and yours during ye Northern Hemithingy 2009. And always remember, and never forget, to maintain thy ball in the centre and to lower ye nose a tad in ye turns. And, oh yes, it is ye power levers that make ye aeroplane elevate to ye higher FL (or clear ye trees); not ye dinky little stick thingy. But I must leave ye now to relish ye merrie yuletide day. God bless ye all...and Tiny Tim.
"Happiness is a sodding great P & W...supreme bliss is two on each wing!"
....and is there honey still for tea?