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Waach the Ball

Autumn has made a temporary return today. A change on yesterday, which was almost summer-like.

I invented a new type of triathlon yesterday afternoon. Cycle cross country twelve miles, fly for thirty minutes, cycle back twelve miles and then kayak across the bay and collapse in a heap. Consequently, I ache this morning.



From my point of view, the sea still demands the comfort of a wetsuit and I very much doubt that the water temperature will now rise sufficiently to risk leaving my neoprene layer at home. July has now been so bad that I would be surprised if August recovers and one of the farmers I know was complaining that his crops have been ruined.

Tomorrow, I’ve been invited to meet Theresa May and Leader of the Opposition, Michael Howard at a round table at Conservative Central Office. This means taking the train up to London, with the normal one in three chance of arriving at Victoria in time.

Friday, I’m taking the day off with a friend and we’ll fly over to France for the day to pick up some wine. There’s an outside chance of good weather and last Sunday, I managed to cram in some very useful and much-needed instrument practise on a Cessna 172 over to Beccles in Norfolk and back. Heads down all the way, to five hundred feet above the runway, both there and back, with no view of the world outside. It’s a desperately tiring exercise, particularly when it’s bumpy, one’s attention riveted on the artificial horizon and never leaving it for more than five seconds to do something else. The strangest thing, I described to my companion on the relatively long flight, is when every sense screams that the aircraft is banking left or right and in fact it’s not. Overcoming the urge to ignore the instruments is very hard but that’s what instrument flying is all about, only believe what the technology is telling you if you wish to stay alive. It’s a pity the same rule doesn’t quite apply to the world of personal computing.

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