Flying without wings…
Today I have been flying. That’s something I never expected to be able to write without the aid of narcotics, but it’s true.
My cousin’s husband – Neil – is a serious hobbyist: he makes and flies model aircraft, and is in a proper flying CLUB. A few weeks ago I asked him if I would be able to fly one of his smaller, cheaper planes. When he said no I will admit that I was a bit disappointed, but to be honest, right now, I think he made a good call. As a happy compromise, he let me have a go on his flight simulator on his computer.
I thought a flight simulator would be a bit like Colin McRae Rally on Playstation, in that you just kind of steer, bash into things a bit, getting really virtually-muddy, and end up with sore thumbs. Well the flying thing did end up with me having sore thumbs, but it was much more complex than pressing the triangle button whilst steering one’s way around a rally track. There was just SO MUCH to think about. I had to think about the throttle, the up-and-down function (I can’t remember what it’s called), work out how to stop myself from crashing into the wall every time I took off, and also try and look really cool about the loop-the-loop trick that I accidentally pulled off whilst trying to turn around.
Landing wasn’t such an easy task to complete. I kept nose-diving into the ground and the wings kept falling off. Neil told me that, had I been flying an actual model plane – even one of the cheapest ones – I’d have done about seven grand’s worth of damage, so it’s a good job that he would only let me use his pretend model planes. Plus, Neil told me that, in order to fly model planes, you actually have to have public liability insurance in case you smash into phone pylons or into someone’s front room window (and let’s be honest, if anyone was going to do that, it would be me…)
I asked Neil quite a lot of questions about his flying career, but he was a tough cookie to interview. I asked him what the most expensive plane he’d ever flown was, and he said he didn’t really know. Then I asked him if he’d ever smashed up a plane, or even worse, someone’s house or something. He said no. I knew that Neil had learnt to fly from his dad, so I asked if he too had learnt from his father before him. Neil said, ‘No’. Apparently, his granddad HAD been a model-plane flier, but had only started his aircraft career after his son had first sparked his interest.
This man here ^ isn’t Neil, or anyone that I know. In fact, I just ripped this photo off of Google images, but I wanted something to show you all just how BIG these planes are. I always thought that model planes were arm-sized at the most, but these babies are chuffing MAHOOSIVE! I realise now what Neil meant about needing insurance. Can you imagine this bad boi coming steaming into your window while you were settling down to University Challenge on an evening? Scary.
As with Harp-playing, model plane-ery is not for skint folk. Not only do you have to pay insurance and stuff, but the planes themselves are really dear. Neil has been working on one that’s cost him about two grand so far and it needs an engine the same size as a motorbike, which, as one may imagine, will not be really cheap to buy. I liked the simulator though. I don’t know how much those cost, but I think I’m going to try and find one online to put on my Amazon wishlist.
I became really good really quickly, so I think it’d be one of those hobbies where the more you put in, the better you get. Actually I was getting so good that I crashed into the runway on purpose a few times, just so that Neil’s ego wouldn’t get crushed. I mean he’s been flying for eighteen years and he’s OK but I was probably better. If not immediately, then I definitely had the potential to be better. So I thought I’d better let him believe he was unnaturally good at something…
