There was a sharp feeling of exposure after take-off — we were not in a cabin, there was no protection from wind, we were just vulnerable beings in a powered shell under a giant wing — it reminded me of riding pillion on a motorbike, but this was in the air. The various destinations came up quickly — not like travelling on the ground, even though our speed was only about kph. Over the mountain peaks, it was very cold — temperature had fallen from 13 or so on take-off to minus 1 over the snowfields and the flat white surfaces of isolated frozen lakes were still clearly to be seen.
A few minutes more and we were at metres, when the mountains seemed so empty and cold, even in the lovely morning sunlight. We could see long distances in the clear air at this altitude — km away, we could see the Pic du Midi.
The warmth after we left the mountains behind and lost altitude was welcome, and I could concentrate on the views of walks we had previously done, and which had sometimes seemed long and meandering, but were now clearly visible with their beginnings and ends. Then back to the field and the short grass runway. As we flew over, I could see Margaret far below, waving. Then it was down, very smoothly, and a turn, and back to rest. What an experience!
And how kind of my family to make this possible. Here in our back yard, or whatever you want to call it, was a large outbuilding, brick built, with a tiled roof. It housed gardening tools, all our winter wood, and all kinds of gubbins.
It had to go. We could house the stuff elsewhere, and we really needed the space to make a rather ugly back yard into a garden. But they had different ideas. About 12 hours after the phone call, at 8. After 5 trips to the tip, an 11 mile round trip, Henri came round. I think he needs hard core. We had the easy bit though. After Francis and Martine left on Moday, the three teenagers worked and worked, sorting and barrowing load after load of broken bricks and cement into the trailer.
