Solo Fills In Come Fly With Me How To Control Cookies

How wrong I was. I fell into reprographics twenty years ago and I cant get out.

He didnt just build Airfix kits in his bedroom to wank over and and stand up at Leeds Bradford Airport with the other tragic no-hopers, gawping at cattle class Queasy Jet crates bumbling in from Benidorm every five minutes.

Thing is, Ive spent every last bean on lessons and now Im pretty skint.

So I got this idea.

Why dont I see if my mates fancied flying about with me We split the cost fifty fifty.

Moose was laughing and excited, flicking his long hair out of his eyes, Converse All Stars slapping on the hot concrete.

Just had a couple of little toots to take the edge of.

Worry not. Its all cool.

Moose burbled happily into a headset about where he intended to fly, then he steered the little plane onto the runway.

He pushed the stick and the plane flipped sideways, pushing my guts up into my mouth as the countryside filled the window on my right.

Ive got to admit it was pretty exciting, but it was shit scary at the same time.

Moose pushed hard on the door and the plane protested, the engine changing pitch as we banked around to the left.

Wind hit us again, same as before, only straight into my face this time.

The plane tipped and I felt the seat belt take my weight as I slipped along the seat towards the open door.

The cold high air roared around into the cabin and I was laughing and screaming, Moose was laughing and screaming, and I pulled the door closed and the cold was gone but not the laughter.

He piled pens, lighters, fag packets, chewing gum, coins, anything he could find, onto the clipboard.

Mooses hippy hair drifted weirdly around his head and he reached up to catch a tin ashtray that had floated loose.

The plane howled and tinny popping noises came from the wings.

I felt my arse lifting from the seat, saved again by my friend the seatbelt.

I took hold of the stick in front of me, and Moose immediately let go of his.

He chatted to the controller over the radio, telling him our angle of approach and airspeed.

The airstrip was just beyond a sleepy looking housing estate.

Our plane buzzed towards it at an alarming rate, weaving all over the place.

I pushed back into the seat, like that would help if we plowed through the loft of a suburban semi at one hundred miles an hour.

Solo Fills In Come Fly With Me How To Control Cookies

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