| Flight details: | A large gaggle clambered slowly out. Focusing mainly on maximising the climb and keeping a check on other traffic, it wasn't until I'd clawed up to 1,200ft that I checked where we were in relation to the hill. Oh! We appear to be committed. A touch low but there we are. After a bit, my part of the gaggle resolved into a posse of Flybubbles and Mr Watts always that bit above me and Mr Purdie somewhere in between. I scraped, I scrimped, I scrabbled - but ever so gradually and relentlessly, my greasy fingers slipped off the Flybubble coat tails and down I went at East Hoathly. Pretty village. Nice pub. Absolutely zero mobile coverage. A pink haired lady with her mum in an old London taxi cab and a tattooed and somewhat toothless biker in a van very kindly conveyed me back to the Trevor. Never got above 1,400ft the entire flight. |
