Last April I gave Dr B. a flying lesson for his birthday. He booked it at an airfield near his parents, so we are now up in rural Staffordshire visiting them for the weekend and this morning we all drove to Tatenhill airfield.
I must admit that during the past few weeks I kept noticing stories of similar aircraft crashing and almost regretted having got him that as a present.
Then, the first plane he tried was a bit temperamental (it just would not start); once they finally got it going, the instructor realised the radio did not work.
Also, dark clouds were looming at the horizon and there was a chance for the flight to be cancelled.
But the second aircraft took off smoothly, and off they disappeared up in the sky behind the many clouds.
Dr B.'s dad was filming every plane that was landing – just in case – only to realise that none of them was his son's.
After about half an hour, he was back, looking pleased and proudly holding a certificate stating that today's flight can contribute to the number of hours required to obtain a pilot's licence.
Then we all went to the local Wing Wah restaurant – an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, in an oddly un-Chinese venue that must have been a theatre beforehand.
We ate. Then ate some more until we got our customary headaches from too much fat.
Dr B. comes from a family of hearty eaters and I fit right in with them. After my first visit though, I always pack my 'fat jeans' to wear towards the end of the stay.
I rarely pick up 
Last April and May, within under two months of each other, the three cats that were part of Dr B.'s family died. They were all between the age of fifteen and twenty as far as I can remember now – I'd ask Dr B. to confirm but he is still asleep.
Pepper was a grumpy black fluffball whose room I clearly was using when visiting Dr B.'s parents. She is pictured here checking herself out one last time in the wardrobe mirror before graciously leaving 'her' room to let me go to bed.
I do not like betting.
