Flight

Geddit? No, it doesn't really work, does it. In fact, it was a very pleasant little flight. Most of the first gaggle to get highish headed back to the hill, but I decided that, as I was still climbing, I'd go for it. Andy on a blue Mamboo was the only one to come with me. 

I remembered the Caburn rule -- stick with anything, don't dash downwind -- and dribbled on to Glyndebourne, never getting above about 1600 feet. Once I reached the flat ground between Glyndebourne and Broyle Side, and found myself going down, I made for a downwind cloud. It gave me a weak climb -- I never reached base. At this point a red Gin -- Peter Impey? -- shot underneath me going downwind fast, low enough to have little chance of continuing. Andy, who had never quite caught up with me height-wise, landed on the edge of Ringmer. An industrial-type place on the Broyle gave me my last climb, and from then on it was a death glide towards Halland.

I thought the flight was going to have a perfect end: as I set up to land in a field by a big house, a little boy pointed up at me and called to his dad: "Look at that!" The family were setting out their Sunday lunch on a table in the garden by their swimming pool. Surely, I thought, they'll invite me to join them for a gin and tonic and a delicious meal before driving me back to Caburn in their Jaguar? No, they didn't even stick their heads over the fence.

I hitched a lift to Ringmer with a woman who knew our former club member Kerim. As I walked past Glyndebourne, Andy drove past me, having hitched back to Caburn, and promised to pick me up once he'd found his glider, which he'd stashed under a hedge. He returned to tell me that he couldn't find the hedge in question. We had a little drive around his car and eventually found it, just as Dave Massie called to beg a retrieve from just beyond the gliding club.

I apologise for posting a site report saying not very good, just before we all got high.