So started this morning with coffee and a paper. Took Sasha out and then drove up to Staverton. Had a check flight with Ben as I hadn’t flown at Gloucester for over a month. We only had a 1500ft cloud base so it was a tad tricky. First auto was okay but RPM was a bit all over the place. Second auto I had to do a 180 degree turn, avoid the power lines, keep the RPM in the green and do all the calls in about 1100 feet. RPM dropped to 90 percent and the horn was blaring, I ran out of flare and air-speed dropped to about 30kts before I dumped the collective and recovered the air-speed. Ben picked some real bloody challenges, but each one I recovered successfully, even if a little untidy. Only once did he have to step-in and that was because I almost did an overspeed on the flare recovery, and that was more to save the helicopter from damage than anything else. To be honest folks, if you had an engine failure, the last thing you could give a shit about was over-speeding the gear box. But as it’s polite to hand it over in one piece, when we practice we keep it within the limits. I was signed off without any problems. These check flights are great fun, but can really make you nervous, they always throw in the unexpected just to keep you on the ball. I was very tempted to buy an R22, it was at a very good price, but if I buy one, I think it’ll be an R44. I’m going to do my R44 type conversion in the next couple of months. It’s about 3.5K but you can then fly four people, its a hell of a lot faster and basically it will cost £111 each an hour, which is a lot better than the R22. Plus you don’t have the same seat weight restriction, so the fat bastard brother-in-law can come along.
Drove back. Weather was shite, so didn’t venture out again. Instead I did an hour on the synth, I’m trying to learn Axel-F, I can now play both main and bass parts, if a little slowly. Did the accounts. Had a bath. Now I’m going to cook a curry. Nice relaxing weekend. The only thing that’s really pissing me off still is my leg.
Oh, and I’m not going to fucking Nice in February. It’s like five degrees and miserable.
Oh, another oh. I decided, ‘fuck it’, I’m going to spend sixty quid and see Burt at the Colton Hall. I’ve ordered my ticket. I’ll sit alone. I’ll have a great evening.