Plane Crazy

`Now - what on earth have I done with my keys?' If only I had ten pounds for every time I have uttered this sentence, I could stop going to work, retire by the sea side and live a life of luxury. I could dine out for weeks, just on key stories. There was the time when I nearly got arrested breaking into my own house, add to that the incident where the keys ended up in an inconveniently placed manhole, and of course the unforgettable occasion where I had to climb onto my dustbin in a vain attempt to jump the garden wall wearing nothing but carpet slippers and pyjamas! Like it or not, I have inherited the family `anti key gene'! I am to keys what oil is to water. I am a disaster with keys! Just ask my neighbours. A look of sheer relief spreads across my face as I locate the front door key just above my right ankle. Of course! The foolproof location, chosen carefully just after the incident with the belt loop and the garage door … how could I forget! I open the front door and dash into the hallway, immediately checking for mail - no luck as yet it seems. I can hardly wait for the mail this week! The slightest flap of the letter box sends me flying across the hall and breaking the land speed record! I am in the kitchen now with a cup of tea, still thinking about keys, when I hear the familiar clonk of the mail on the doormat and off I dash knocking over my tea in the process. I tear open the front door and am face to face with Pete the postman. I have known Pete for quite some time. He has delivered my mail for years and has been known to sit in my kitchen on the odd occasion, sipping a cup of tea and taking a break from the weather. Recently though, he has seen a change in me. Far from being the calm and collected `would you like to come in for a cup of tea' person, I have instead taken to ripping open the door and snatching the mail from him like a Rottweiler on speed. Today is no different and Pete is wearing his buy now familiar startled expression. `Wait!' I shout, as I rummage through the pile of mail. `There it is!' I shout even louder, triumphantly holding up a big white envelope. `Don't go away!' Pete's expression is changing from surprise to mild concern as he watches me dance around whilst I am trying to tear open the envelope. `Yeah - we are celebrating' I exclaim enthusiastically as I grab Pete by the hand and drag him into the kitchen. `Champagne - let's have champagne!' I stop dancing and start wrestling with the fridge door producing a big bottle of champagne in the process. Pete is now wearing a stunned expression and I feel the time has come for an explanation before he has me sectioned. `When something great happens in life you have to enjoy the moment. There is no point saying that you will celebrate when a friend can find a baby-sitter, or when the weather is better, or when you have lost two stone. There is only one way to celebrate and that is to do it NOW, right this very moment, and with gusto!' So that's what we are doing. Well, that is what I am doing, with Pete still being a somewhat surprised and reluctant participant. A couple of glasses later though he is beginning to get into the spirit of things. `I shouldn't really be drinking on duty you know, but as you say this such a special occasion, what is the occasion by the way?' I realize that I still haven't really enlightened him as to what this is all about, and I work hard to remain coherent as I finally launch into a comprehensive explanation. ` It's all about flying you see ', I begin...