Wednesday, 18 August 2010

Lakshadweep, comprising tiny low-lying islands...Image via WikipediaDipping and diving, doing loop the loops and hiding playfully behind clouds. These were some of the activities we were not partaking of. The plane we were in was to flying what an arthritic man is to gymnastic porn - really crap and stupid. What we had chosen to fly was not the sleek and sexy plane of the rich playboy adventurer, seeking out undiscovered tribes of naked women and fountains that spray gold coins. What we were flying was a caravan, stretched out and held together by tape, with two different wings attached. How we stayed in the air, I'll never know, but I prayed to every God I could think of to keep us up there.
 The Red Baron - who I was now positive was blind - was hunched over the wheel again. His flying goggles fixed in place, his moustache flapping manically under the maniacal, moustache-like flaps of his flying hat thing. Adventurer Ed was nearby, crouched over the passenger seat in what he imagined to be a dramatic pose. Sergi, unfazed, smoked a foul cigarette and cleaned his fingernails with a knife point. Non-adventurer Ed and I crouched in the back of the plane, huddled amongst the crates and the goats and our fears. I had already urinated myself, but being elderly, no-one had noticed.
 After some time - an eternity, or 3 hours, I don't recall which - Adventurer Ed sighted land, pointing through the mist to an island below. Taking the plane down in a disturbingly direct fashion - cutting all power - the Baron guided us to land. A tribe had gathered on the beach to watch, comprised of racially offensive stereotypes, black men and women in grass skirts, chanting and dancing on the sand.
 I wondered what came next.
 Probably another strongly worded cease and desist letter.
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