When September ends . . .

[Sweder]

Well it looks like September will end much, for me, as it began - with little or no running. Once again work, the curse of both the drinking and the running classes, has cast her ugly shadow over my diary.

This week I've been heavily involved in a Helicopter show - if you're tempted to offer any that should really take off gags, sorry to say I've heard 'em. A nice bonus is the venue is the Imperial War Museum at Duxford, just shy of Cambridge on the M11.

Whilst my crew unloads and installs sections of Jelly-wobblers in the temporary structure we are serenaded by the throaty roar of WWII sky warriors such as the P51 Mustang, the B 17 Flying Fortress to name but two.
Sopwith camels join a variety of trainer and passenger aircraft in tours of the region, and the occasional whirlybird pops in, ready for display at our event.

Yesterday a two-seater Mark VIII Spitfire took one lucky passenger on a circumnavigation of Cambridge and her satellite villages. On the final fly-past through Aerodrome airspace the Pilot opted for a low, straffing run, follwed by a vertical climb into a victory roll before easing around to land on the grass.

I know that these things don't float everyone's boat, but I was moved beyond words at this awesome sight.
Filled with a growing sense of optimism and unprecedented anticipation I scurried off to find the lovely Rebecca, Lady of the Airfield and Knower Of All Things Duxford.
What are my chances of taking this unique journey, to fulfill my schoolboy dream, to thunder beneath September skies, the voice of Churchill echoeing through the Hertfordshire countryside?

The two year waiting list I could live with.
It was the three grand for 20 minutes that dampened my ardour.

Long days and short nights have left my body weary; running seems a lifetime away. The Jog Shop Jog, once a firm target, is three weeks away but it may as well be a year.
October promises damp weather, increased winds and a drop in temperature. Sounds promising.