How to fly with Death?
The Original Whirly
Join Date: Feb 1999
Location: Belper, Derbyshire, UK
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Now, can we get back to some petty bickering? Someone start an argument!
MidgetBoy,
However, I do believe when you hit that golden age of 60, just go in to the Transportation office and hand in your license. It's the age to stop and retire a passion, if not, atleast fly with someone else who is capable of landing an aircraft too.
So please, please tell me, kiddo.....in a few short months when you think I should take some young, inexperienced, and probably unhealthy beer-swilling-and-fags-smoking whippersnaper with me to land my twitchy little R22 if necessary......just who on earth should I trust more than myself???????
Gloves off, argument commences!!!!!! (Yes, I know it's one we've had many times, but who cares?) I'll meet you at dawn, MidgetBoy; choose your weapon. Oh, and I should mention I have a very logical brain, great ability to express myself in words, and the staying ability of the average terrier, so I don't lose arguments unless I want to.
(But I am away for the next two days, so you have lots of time....Byeeee
)
Join Date: Nov 2004
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whirly bird
God, the times i have heard that old chesnut,"the student is trying to kill me" they havent yet, and the chances are they won't, that is if you stay awake,meanwhile keep taking their £100 per hour that will make you feel better.won't it?????
Metalman
Metalman
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MidgetBoy; choose your weapon.
You're on your own, boy.
p.s Watch out for the crafty swipe to the jugular
Join Date: Oct 2007
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A Sky Slow to Forgive
Do not shed a tear for me
For I would not for you
Instead just drink a beer for me
And know well that I knew
Dreams of flight do not come free
There comes attached a price
And we do not do it blindly
We know we roll the dice
Before you sail into the sky
A sky slow to forgive
Answer am I, afraid to die?
Or just afraid to live?
So if you try, to reason why
When fate can seem unjust
We take these risks not to escape life
But to stop life escaping us
Do not shed a tear for me
For I would not for you
Instead just drink a beer for me
And know well that I knew
Dreams of flight do not come free
There comes attached a price
And we do not do it blindly
We know we roll the dice
Before you sail into the sky
A sky slow to forgive
Answer am I, afraid to die?
Or just afraid to live?
So if you try, to reason why
When fate can seem unjust
We take these risks not to escape life
But to stop life escaping us
MidgetBoy;
Why do you beleive that?
Regards, BT
However, I do believe when you hit that golden age of 60, just go in to the Transportation office and hand in your license. It's the age to stop and retire a passion, if not, atleast fly with someone else who is capable of landing an aircraft too.
Regards, BT
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flying with death
whats rickets got to do with anything????? one other thing, what's "cushy" about it??? stop being a "prima donna" you chose to do it,if you dont like it,you have another choice,either get out or try fixed wing instructing for £12/15 per a hour,believe me that will focus your mind!!!!
metalman
metalman
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Can rickets give short term memory loss, which results in the sufferer doing things twice?
Hovering AND talking
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Propping up bars in the Lands of D H Lawrence and Bishop Bonner
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It's a game of "Spot The Difference". I win!!! What's my prize metalman? £100 an hour?
The difference being " not" in the first post!!! Alters a whole meaning!
Cheers
Whirls
The difference being "
not" in the first post!!! Alters a whole meaning!Cheers
Whirls
Join Date: Jan 2006
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Perhaps your best bet is to check in with the MILITARY AIRCREW folks who are in the business of killing and being killed while flying. Civilians don't knowingly fly where bullets and rockets share the same air space.
flying with death
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Rickets no better, then??
You can fight your fights in private. 
Combine Operations
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THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF JAKE THACKRAY
I, the under-mentioned, by this document
Do declare my true intentions, my last will, my testament.
When I turn up my toes, when I rattle my clack, when I agonise,
I want no great wet weepings, no tearing of hair, no wringing of hands,
No sighs, no lack-a-days, no woe-is-me's and none of your sad adieux.
Go, go, go and get the priest and then go get the booze, boys.
Death, where is thy victory? Grave, where is thy sting?
When I snuff it bury me quickly, then let carousels begin -
But not a do with a few ham sandwiches, a sausage roll or two and "A small port wine, please".
Roll the carpet right back, get cracking with your old Gay Gordons
And your knees up, shake it up, live it up, sup it up, hell of a kind of a time.
And if the coppers come around, well, tell them the party's mine, boys.
Let best beef be eaten, fill every empty glass,
Let no breast be beaten, let no tooth be gnashed.
Don't bother with a fancy tombstone or a big-deal angel or a little copper flower pot:
Grow a dog-rose in my eyes or a pussy-willow
But no forget-me-nots, no epitaphs, no keepsakes; you can let my memory slip.
You can say a prayer or two for me soul then, but - make it quick, boys.
Lady, if your bosom is heaving don't waste your bosom on me.
Let it heave for a man who's breathing, a man who can feel, a man who can see.
And to my cronies: you can read my books, you can drive around in my motor car.
And you can fish your trout with my fly and tackle, you can play on my guitar,
And sing my songs, wear my shirts. You can even settle my debts.
You can kiss my little missus if she's willing then, but - no regrets, boys.
Your rosebuds are numbered;
Gather them now for rosebuds' sake.
And if your hands aren't too encumbered
Gather a bud or two for Jake.
Says it all, I think.
R.I.P., Jake.
I, the under-mentioned, by this document
Do declare my true intentions, my last will, my testament.
When I turn up my toes, when I rattle my clack, when I agonise,
I want no great wet weepings, no tearing of hair, no wringing of hands,
No sighs, no lack-a-days, no woe-is-me's and none of your sad adieux.
Go, go, go and get the priest and then go get the booze, boys.
Death, where is thy victory? Grave, where is thy sting?
When I snuff it bury me quickly, then let carousels begin -
But not a do with a few ham sandwiches, a sausage roll or two and "A small port wine, please".
Roll the carpet right back, get cracking with your old Gay Gordons
And your knees up, shake it up, live it up, sup it up, hell of a kind of a time.
And if the coppers come around, well, tell them the party's mine, boys.
Let best beef be eaten, fill every empty glass,
Let no breast be beaten, let no tooth be gnashed.
Don't bother with a fancy tombstone or a big-deal angel or a little copper flower pot:
Grow a dog-rose in my eyes or a pussy-willow
But no forget-me-nots, no epitaphs, no keepsakes; you can let my memory slip.
You can say a prayer or two for me soul then, but - make it quick, boys.
Lady, if your bosom is heaving don't waste your bosom on me.
Let it heave for a man who's breathing, a man who can feel, a man who can see.
And to my cronies: you can read my books, you can drive around in my motor car.
And you can fish your trout with my fly and tackle, you can play on my guitar,
And sing my songs, wear my shirts. You can even settle my debts.
You can kiss my little missus if she's willing then, but - no regrets, boys.
Your rosebuds are numbered;
Gather them now for rosebuds' sake.
And if your hands aren't too encumbered
Gather a bud or two for Jake.
Says it all, I think.
R.I.P., Jake.
