Category: Random ramblings

Any scribbles not directly related to gyroplanes

Random ramblings, Uncategorized

The annual Christmas conundrum

oddballgyronaut

It’s December 24th , or Christmas eve should you follow Christian folklore. I used to love it as a kid. Firelight glinting off the fragile baubles on the tree: a four-year-old me perched on top of my parents’ big wooden radiogram, looking up at the night sky in hope of flying reindeer. The dreaded embarrassment of school nativity with its discordant shrieking of carols – I believed all the stories back then. Our pleasures were simple in those days: people worked hard to earn what little they had, and appreciated it all the more for it. Sadly there’s not much left of that world since rampant greed and commercialism swallowed it whole. Christmas is just another day for me now. I’ve long stepped away from all the hype and hypocrisy, watching the annual festive frenzy and shaking my head in despair at the madness of it all.

We’re told that the Earth is around 6 billion years old. Back in the mists of time, someone wrote that a god-like being created this beautiful planet in 6 days. Arthur C. Clarke wrote as good an explanation as any in his book, 2001. No one made a religion out of that…

Who decided that Jesus should be born on December 25th? That’s blatantly untrue! Winter Solstice is the original celebration, hijacked by the church to control the masses through superstition. God created man? Other way around, methinks. Religion is about control, especially for the intolerant still stuck in the Middle Ages, using ‘faith’ as an excuse for violence, cruelty and murder. Not very holy is it? Or take the vast wealth and priceless works of art accumulated by the Vatican – isn’t that the very antithesis of what Jesus was supposed to preach? Religion’s weakness lies in the seven deadly sins of imperfect human nature, a rotten core hidden beneath a pious cloak of respectability. Faith should be a personal choice, not imposed by others. Many people take great comfort from their beliefs, while many more are oppressed because of it. Respect each other and do as you would be done by, that’s all it would take, yet Humanity remains incapable.

Then we have Peace on Earth and goodwill to all men: that’s going well, as usual. A handful of thuggish dictators and heartless terrorists create misery for millions across the globe. God alone (pick the one you favour) knows what’s going on amidst the endless violence of the Middle East. The coward Putin still knocking hell out of Ukraine, raining death and destruction for nothing more than his own warped ego. The rapacious Chinese threaten all who don’t kowtow to their oppressive regime, sabre rattling over the sovereign state of tiny Taiwan. Then we have the North Korean Dr Evil wannabe, hitching his wagon to any passing tyrant. Nothing but bullies, every single one of them. They all want more nukes and bigger nukes than anyone else, when in all probability there’s already more than enough destructive capability stockpiled to wipe out life on the entire planet. Press the button and enjoy the rest of your lives comrades, sealed deep inside the tomb of your underground bunkers, never again to see the sky and feel the warmth of the sun. Reap what you sow. Morons.

Imagine all the good that could be done with the huge amount of money being wasted on weapons! Clean up the oceans and reduce pollution; find better ways to recycle; discover new medicines; preserve fragile eco-systems and protect endangered species. We could develop alternative energies so that maybe one day, we really could just stop oil – but not yet – we need it to run the generators and charge all those electric cars that nobody wants. Out of interest, has anybody thought how to they’re going to tackle the impending toxic tons of lithium car batteries once they’ve expired? Nah, course not. Fiendish weapons are far more fun! Destruction trumps preservation in the global game of rock-paper-scissors.

Notice how all the eco-idiots have disappeared now that winter is upon us? Their thirst for 15 minutes of virtue-signalling fame evaporates in the cold and wet, along with their penchant for gluing themselves to the tarmac. Good riddance, we say: maybe provide some answers or solutions instead of repeating petulant demands. Oh wait, it’s Christmas – hold the ‘climate change’ hysteria! Suddenly it’s imperative to import massive containers of glittery plastic landfill from China, and string up 50 feet of blazing coloured lights to outshine the neighbours. Imagine how dark it would be if we ‘just’ stopped oil. Ooh, and don’t forget the essential 10 foot inflatable snowman to put on the lawn, just to make it really tacky! But look at us, we’re all being sooo sustainable… Don’t worry, Nature knows what she’s doing. She’s been doing it for 6 billion years, long before we came along. Everything is finite, including us.

Well that’s been brewing for a good few years! I’d like to think there’s still some fundamental good in us as a species, despite all evidence to the contrary. So regardless of religion, nation, colour or creed – Happy December 25th – and peace on Earth for us all. We can but hope…

Random ramblings

Vive la différence

oddballgyronaut

Driving down through the back roads of France, I never fail to be struck by just how massive a country it is. You can go for miles (or kilomètres) and not see a soul. Tiny communities appear without warning, widely scattered in the vast rural countryside. Narrow streets deserted, tightly bordered by higgledy-piggledy houses with windows invariably shuttered to the outside world. Fields stretch as far as the eye can see, a rich palette of colours packed full with nature’s bounty. The bright scarlet of wild poppies enhance pale golden swathes of cereal, a timeless memorial to the blood spilled for this now peaceful land. The vine-covered slopes display every verdant hue, and the vibrant yellow of hemp and sunflower adds a joyous touch against a wide canvas of the bluest sky. And everywhere you look, be it growing or grazing – there’s food. How different to my tiny sceptred isle, bursting at the seams with a population it can no longer sustain. It’s said that any society is only a few meals away from anarchy, but while the proud and volatile French never shy from protesting their rights, they have no fear of starvation in this abundant land.

So when a scrawny 48 kilo anglais arrives in their midst, chaos naturally ensues. Not programmed to eat multiple-course meals at set hours, I (like many Brits) graze on the hoof when prompted by a demanding stomach. Not hungry, don’t eat. This causes total bewilderment to my French friends (and I love them dearly!), but when time is as limited as mine always is down there, I don’t want to waste it sitting around eating, especially if I’m still stuffed to the gills from the previous meal. There’s no such thing as a quick snack!

This is actual heresy. Twice I was rounded up from the flight line where I was happily filling my camera with unique and wonderful rotorcraft, and herded protesting to the dining table to fill my poor tum instead. Five courses halfway through the day when temperatures were hovering around the high end of the twenties was more than I could – er – stomach. Consequently when corralled for the evening meal, I just couldn’t manage another morsel. Quelle horreur! This was beyond all comprehension bless them, they just didn’t understand. Was I ill? Did I not like what was on offer? Would I prefer to have something else cooked? Some cheese then? Perhaps a slice of apple tart? I absolutely know they meant well, but it was relentless. It was mealtime – how could I possibly not want to eat?

The last day of my stay before heading north coincided with a large family function, a feast to which I was also kindly invited. Not wishing to intrude and having been under their feet for two weeks already, I thought to slip away early and leave them in peace while I spent the precious final day with my gyroplane. Caught in the act of escape that morning, I was actually pursued down the length of the driveway by a frowning countenance scolding me not only for missing breakfast, but declining to take half the contents of the fridge with me for lunch! Munching a snack with one hand while engaging in something more useful with the other is a totally alien concept to my friends, and I – their only experience of a captive anglais – am disturbingly alien at times.

I never hoped to find the same camaraderie and grass roots gyroplane enthusiasm again after St Merryn was stolen, but the lovely folk of Bois de la Pierre have accepted us unconditionally which I find extremely touching. It’s an absolute privilege to be with them.

And never fear – they always get their own back!

Random ramblings

Enjoying the moment

oddballgyronaut

Another one from the archives…

Sitting here on a deserted Cornish airfield, I feel totally at peace; deeply connected to those who have gone before, their echoes never leave. The sky above is deep blue, gently fading to paler shades towards the horizon, decorated by a few feathery wisps and blobs of cloud. The faded windsock barely stirs in the warm breath of air and hangs limply from its pole like a wilted flower. Directly overhead, the sun is briefly filtered by a passing cloud, a fierce white orb burning through the depths of downy fleece. All is quiet except for the drone of insects going about their business, the cheerful twitterings of skylarks feeding on the wing and crickets chirping in the grass. Hay bales dot the fields between the runways, silent sentinels waiting patiently for collection. Rabbits creep into vision from burrows deep inside the bramble thickets, cropping the sun-browned grass ever shorter. The brambles that shield their homes are heavy with ripening blackberries, almost covering the blockwork of the old air raid shelter in front of me.

Delta-J is parked beside me, her bright red pod a splash of colour amid the late summers day. Her tank is full and she’s all checked out ready to go, but I’m in no rush to fly, happy just to be here in the place I love beyond all other, enjoying the solitude. The old tower building which houses our hangar stands tall behind me, empty sightless windows gazing out into the infinite blue. The wind turbines on the hill overlooking the airfield turn half heartedly like unwound clocks, each one pointing in a random direction as if uncertain of which way to go. The huge blades move lazily as if the effort of turning is all too much. St Eval church squats on the horizon to the right, the spider web of aerials marking St Merryn’s wartime twin. Fields of russet and green patchwork the land in between, rising up to meet the perfect blue of the sky. It’s too nice to spoil the moment with engine noise, I feel no need to break the spell. Let it be.

St. Merryn sky