Lodown, those manuals taste like crap, regardless at what sort of table you are sitting at! Thank God I flew when you didn't need a manual to tell you how to take a p#ss, when F/Os didnt bring their muesli with them, or ring their personal trainer on arrival, when we loved nothing more than the sound of axel engines, when we didn't give a sh#t how much black crap we left behind us, when we put the throttles hard forward and left them there, when we didn't freak out when the clacker went off, (she was built to last), when you could have a laugh with the hosties (sorry flt attendants) and tell some jokes without being a sexual pervert, when little kids could come up to the flight deck, and they could sit on your knee and look out the window for Santa, without you being accused of being a molester, when you could have a crew party in the Capt's room and have a drink and a good time without fearing that some warped mind didn't accuse you of "taking advantage of me" (in a room full of people)???? as happened to a still flying mate not long ago, and the aircraft were cranky buggers, but a delight to fly, and never to be trusted, and us old blokes learnt our trade from tough hard Captains, many who were bomber command pilots (and survived) who were sometimes frightening to a young bloke, as some had war (mental) problems, especially those that had been POWs, but could they fly, and they were hard as nails on you, but later on always bought you a beer, I would not swap a minute of it for todays flying, as much as I admire the new technology, I am happy to pass it on to the next generation of pilots, and so on, and when I go to that bar in the sky, I hope to God there is a 9 parked outside, because I have flown 40 types according to my logs, but she is my favourite. Amen.