QUEEN KATE:

Concord came roarRRRRing down the landing strip at Kilimanjaro Airport in Tanzania.  Slamming his brakes on, and taxi-ing towards the terminals, he was quite taken aback by a real crate of an aircraft from Air Angola, who had parked unceremoniously on his parking slot.

“Just look at the old heap,” Concord thought irritably to himself.  Full of rusty bullet holes.  Yeah, it’s uneasy times for Africa’s birds traveling over Darkest Africa.  You never know when some trigger-happy freedom-fighter was going to take a pot shot at you.  But Savimbi sure has a cheek!  As the saying goes : If the cat is out of town, the mouse is top gun.”

Reversing, and making an unauthorized U-turn on the dilapidated runway, he squeezed himself in between an ancient Dakota of Air Zambia and a real World War II veteran Junkers from Zanzibar Airways. He always had a thing for Zanzibar Airways.  Full of spice!  Vigorously ruffling his long, sleek tail feathers, a black cloud of smoke came wafting from his engines.

Potshot the hippo, who was the traffic controller at the tower, clenched his massive jaws tightly together.  Holding his breath, he tried to count to ten.  His shrink always reprimanded him about that explosive temper of his.  “Someday soon, it’s going to be your downfall.  You must watch that explosive temper of yours at all times,” Dr Doolittle always rambled on during their frequent shrink sessions.

Potshot looked at his Mickey Mouse wristwatch.  It was 10:30, much too early to flip his lid.  He for one, was definitely not one bit pleased, seeing King Flip’s plane jetting in on home soil again.  Concord’s tantrums meant only one thing – TROUBLE!  It followed him faithfully wherever he went.  All the airport staff around the globe would solemnly swear to that.

Concord wasn’t your average supersonic bird either.  On all his infamous travels around the world, yours truly was the number one troublemaker in aviation history.  He stood out like a sore thumb.  His name, together with his credentials, and a snapshot of himself, was plastered in big bold letters, headed by BEWARE OF THIS BIRD, on each and every control tower around the world.  In fact, every airport official feared him!  Every time the show-off attempted a landing, a few passengers on board, who traveled with King Flip and his entourage, needed medical attention. 

But for the “frequent flyers,” alias King Flip and his entourage, it was a big joke and a piece of cake.  The only drawback the animals had to suffer was the gold and white Wedgwood and Waterford crystal that had to be replaced constantly after each flight.  Sometimes the precious china and crystal could not be obtained for months to come, and they had to make do with plastic cups and saucers.  Not to mention the hammering the stock containing their precious Marula Crème took.  Blimey, let’s hope that the stock containing Casper’s 25-year old vintage whiskey, will have stood the test of time.

Wiping the sweat from his huge brow with his khaki handkerchief, Potshot nervously bellowed over the microphone : “Papa-whisky-java … do you read me??”

Narrowing his beady little black eyes, his binoculars had packed up ages ago and he was still waiting for a replacement, hippo looked through the large window of the control tower.  Another nasty splotch of engine oil was spouting from Concord’s jet engines.  It messed up the whole of the terminal pad, right here in front of the VIP lounge.

Keeping his fingers crossed, Potshot started to count to ten.  He simply couldn’t believe what he was witnessing right there in front of his own two eyes.  Concord kept squirting out oil, almost like the Exxon Valdez did in Alaska last year, messing up the whole of the eco-system.  Talking of trauma and insurance forms!  Every salmon, clam, seagull, or otter, that could have lain their little clutches on an insurance form, sued the pants off Lloyds of London.  The last time he had heard of them, they had just gone bust.  This behaviour of Concord