{"id":624,"date":"2011-06-23T02:00:24","date_gmt":"2011-06-23T02:00:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/?page_id=624"},"modified":"2013-04-03T23:32:09","modified_gmt":"2013-04-03T23:32:09","slug":"whistles-and-flutes","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/?page_id=624","title":{"rendered":"Whistles and flutes…"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

So I\u2019m sat here, bruised and bleeding, my gliders a twisted heap of tubing and sailcloth, my mates have all told me to get stuffed, and my wife\u2019s left me. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Not a good day.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It all started with a visit to a bloody clairvoyant, last week. My wife\u2019s idea of course; \u201cCome and see her, she\u2019s really good. She told Ronnie all about the problems her daughter faces.\u201d<\/i> <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Not exactly a high recommendation, Ronnie\u2019s daughter is a well-known junkie who sponges off passers by down by the bus depot. She\u2019s a regular feature in the local rag, as is Ronnie who\u2019s been campaigning for better services for \u2018the chemical dependant\u201d, as she calls them, or junky scum, as I call them, for ages. \u201cCome off it love, one or other of them is in the paper every frigging week. Crystal for getting off her tits and assaulting the cops,<\/span> or Ronnie complaining that <\/i><\/span>Crystal<\/span><\/i>\u2019s just misunderstood and needs better bloody services.\u201d <\/span><\/i>I took a swig of tea; \u201cthough Christ only knows what more could be done for the silly cow, every penny she scrounges off the state or off some poor sod, goes straight up her arm. She\u2019s a bloody menace that kid, should be locked up somewhere.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

The wife gave a snort; \u201cAlways \u201cMr Bloody Compassionate\u201d you are, aren\u2019t you, it\u2019s no wonder I fell in love with you.\u201d <\/i>Typical bloody woman.<\/span> \u201cLook<\/i>,\u201d I replied, \u201call I\u2019m saying is that the kid isn\u2019t helping herself, she never bloody has<\/span>. She was a pain in the bum as a kid, always fighting or getting drunk or something, and as an adult she\u2019s still the same. But of course she had to graduate to heroin didn\u2019t she, so bloody typical, no sense of responsibility.\u201d <\/i>She gave me one of those \u201cI give up\u201d looks that seem to be becoming more frequent of late. \u201cShe was a good kid Neil,<\/span> she just made some bad decisions, and lost control.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLost control? Flung it to the bloody winds more like, along with her knickers.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Anyway, I ended up agreeing to go see this bloody stupid psychic, who goes by the inspiring name of \u201cRose\u201d, the next week. This is, of course, on the condition that if it\u2019s flyable I\u2019m off out of it and she can go alone. Anything to keep the missus happy, to keep her off my back, and on hers.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So it\u2019s blown out that day much to my disgust, and just to keep her sweet I go along with it. We turn up at this boring suburban semi, chintzy curtains in the window, and lace bloody doilies under everything,<\/span> sodding middle manager land was my first impression from outside. The door was opened by a tall and rather tasty looking bird with a fair bit of cleavage on display. Mid forties I\u2019d have said at a guess, nice long legs, and she had the decency not to be dressed up like a fairground gypsy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So she takes us into a well turned out kitchen, nice bit of decor, and sits us down at the table. \u201cFancy a cup of tea?\u201d<\/i> she asks, \u201cWhy? You going to read the tea leaves<\/span> then?\u201d <\/i>I couldn\u2019t help but ask back. \u201cNot when I\u2019m making it with tea bags.\u201d<\/i> <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Clever sod.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So we sit back, enjoy the brew, not a bad drop of tea actually, and talk about nothing in particular. I\u2019m getting a bit bored after a while, I\u2019ve had to stop staring at Rose\u2019s cleavage as the wife\u2019s caught me at it once to often, and I\u2019m beginning to shuffle in my seat and show that I\u2019m getting impatient. \u201cShall we get started?\u201d<\/i> Rose asks. I\u2019m tempted to make a smutty remark, but out of the corner of my eye I catch the missus watching me, and say nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

She pulls out a crystal ball from under the table, catches me sneering, and puts it away. \u201cOk,\u201d<\/i> she says, \u201clet\u2019s forgo the trappings,<\/span> I\u2019ll do you one at a time.\u201d <\/i>Again I find myself biting my tongue. So she calls the wife over to sit in a comfy chair opposite hers, and starts reeling off the usual bumph. \u201cYou have been on a long journey of late, you were sad to return. You have an unresolved issue in your life, and you are coming to the point of making a big decision. You will soon be rid of a big burden if you chose right.\u201d <\/i>And on and on, for about twenty minutes.<\/span> <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Nothing you couldn\u2019t have worked out with an intelligent guess of course, the wife\u2019s tan was a dead giveaway that she\u2019d been on a journey.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So it\u2019s my turn, and so I sit down opposite her. She gives me an appraising look. Then a smile flits across her face. \u201cYou are a risk taker,<\/span> you have a lot of self confidence. You like heights, and have no fear of putting yourself forward. You have little tolerance of those you see as weak. You find it difficult to see other peoples<\/span> views.\u201d <\/i>I was getting insulted by this point. Then she starts coming out with some real rubbish. \u201cYou will lose that which has supported you for years, you will see things from another\u2019s point of view, you will crash physically, and you will come down to earth. You will learn that you have to give to receive. Tolerance is something that cut\u2019s both ways. You regard friendship highly, but do not always get back what you give out. The eyes of a child will open for you.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Eventually, both me<\/span> and Rose seem to realise that we\u2019ve been staring rather too closely at each other. She gives a little shudder, followed by a look I can only describe as lascivious. I was quite taken by it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

All the way home the wife was rabbiting on at how good Rose had been, how she had opened her eyes.<\/span><\/span> Personally I thought it had been a load of old bollocks, especially when I had seen the size of the wad the wife handed over at the end of the session.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So back to today.<\/span><\/span> I\u2019d arranged to go out flying with the lads this weekend, and trip up into the mountains. I\u2019d asked old Ewan<\/span> for a lift, he\u2019s always good\u00a0 <\/span>for<\/span> a touch. For some reason the wife wouldn\u2019t let me have the Ute this weekend. \u201cI need it for something important\u201d,<\/i> was the most I could get out of her. Sod it. Never mind, like I say there\u2019s always a few guys in the club who can be leaned on for a lift. I\u2019d gone out on the grog Friday night, had my usual session with the lads at the bar. She didn\u2019t want to go. No skin off my nose, and its<\/span> always a cheaper night out without her. I\u2019d a bottle of Bundy at home, only half drunk, I must have polished that off too when I got back, as I went out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I woke to he sound of someone hammering on the front door, the last thing I need when I\u2019ve got a thumper of a hangover. Then I heard Ewan\u2019s<\/span> yell; \u201cYer<\/span> gliders on my truck, if you\u2019re not out in five minutes we\u2019re off without you.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

I got downstairs pulling my clothes on as I went. Bit\u2019s<\/span> were missing from downstairs, the TV for a start, I thought I\u2019d been burgled. Then I saw the note on the table; \u201cI\u2019ve left you, I\u2019ll be back for more of my things while your<\/span> out flying. Goodbye,<\/span> and good riddance.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Bugger, but I\u2019m too hung-over to worry about it, and Ewan<\/span> was still banging on the front door. So I grabbed my sack of stuff, and headed out. The grumpy looking sod was waiting, tapping his toe like I\u2019d held him up deliberately. \u201cLooks like it\u2019s going to be blown out in any case, Neil,\u201d<\/i> he chips in with his usual negative view. \u201cIt\u2019s never dead till I say so,\u201d<\/i> I gave him back, \u201cI\u2019m going to get height today, I know I am, I can feel it!\u201d<\/i> A bit of positive thinking always helps, even when your head is doing an impression of a cement mixer.<\/span> <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So we get to the site, and I rig up, and I\u2019m the only one doing so. Couple of the other guys come up and drop large unsubtle hints that if I fly today I\u2019m mental. Sod them, they\u2019re only jealous of me as I\u2019m a better pilot than they are, or ever will be. Eventually I get ready, and although it\u2019s blowing strong I get Ewan<\/span>, to hold the nose while I get into position for launch. \u201cNot coming up today then?<\/i> I ask. \u201cCome on, a bit of gale hanging will do you good!\u201d <\/i>He gives me a \u201clook\u201d, a cross between pity and contempt, if he hadn\u2019t been holding the nose I\u2019d have slapped him for it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cListen you arrogant sod\u201d,<\/span><\/i> he eventually says, \u201cthe<\/span> only reason I\u2019m holding this kite, is that I\u2019m the only bugger left in the club who\u2019ll talk to you. And once you\u2019re off the ground, you can say goodbye to that too.\u201d<\/i> I\u2019m sure he thought it was poignant, the daft looking twit. If he thinks that bunch of losers, crap pilots, and ground hugging sissies, is a loss to me, well he\u2019s over estimated his and their unimportance in my life.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He lets go, and I\u2019m pushed hard up into the air, I\u2019m fighting from the off. The kite is shaken like a rabbit in a terriers<\/span> mouth, but I\u2019m up to it. I\u2019ve always been like this, flying has always been about \u201chow hard can you go\u201d not this dreamy, hippy, floaty, stuff Ewan<\/span> is into. I\u2019m making good gains, and it starts to smooth out once I\u2019m a few hundred feet up. I see them looking up from below, and give them the finger,<\/span> they turn and start packing up. I\u2019ll have to see how close to home I can fly this baby then.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I get a few turns in a thermal, catching it as it sweeps past the hill, god I\u2019m good. Several hard turns see me siting in an elevator heading up, there\u2019s a nice bit of cloud developing over me. I\u2019ve caught a boomer, a bloody big boomer too. That\u2019ll show those over-cautious gits on the ground. \u201cNice one my son!\u201d<\/i><\/span> I yell at the sky.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I keep holding as tight a circle as I can, I can feel my arms beginning to ache on the bar, getting a pain in the ribs from throwing my weight out sideways too. I\u2019m concentrating so hard on fighting this mother that I forget to keep my eyes on the vario<\/span>. I look down and cannot suppress a yell, a mixture of excitement, and yes I will admit, fear. I\u2019ve not been this high before, and I\u2019ll be come hypoxic if I don\u2019t burn off some hight. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I start to ease out of the circle, pulling the nose in to gain momentum. Nothing happens. I pull in harder, pushing the bar hard left and counterbalancing as much as I can against the rotation. Sod all. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m now trying every trick I\u2019ve ever learned, and some I\u2019ve only read about in magazines, and nothing is happening at all. It\u2019s like I\u2019m caught in a great big fist of air, that\u2019s curling me up into the sky. Above me is the black and widening base of the cloud.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>I\u2019m freezing, my teeth are chattering, I\u2019ve lost most of the use of my arms, and I\u2019ve stopped trying to fight it. The last thing I can remember is watching ice crystals forming on the bar, on my gloves, on my goggles. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Little crystals, how pretty they looked.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m watching Rose\u2019s legs crossing and uncrossing, she\u2019s got that lascivious smile on her face, but she seems to be laughing at the same time. Her, my wife, and Ewan<\/span> are sharing a joke, I wonder what it is? Crystal and Ronnie are with them, <\/span>Crystal<\/span> looks more alive than she has for a while, she\u2019s throwing dice on a green baize table and they are all chuckling at the results. Every time she rolls the dice I get a strange feeling of actually being in the dice, falling and rolling, falling and rolling. I try to see what she\u2019s throwing, to see the result. But as I move forward I must have tripped as the green baize table is rushing towards me, falling and rolling.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I open my eyes and see the green of the hill rising and rolling towards me and scream, and scream, and scream.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m falling out of control towards the hill, upside-down, and spinning like a top. I heave the bar up to my chest,<\/span> get a hand on my reserve handle and pull. It comes out with a dull \u201cthwack\u201d, must have saved me somewhat, but I still hit the hill hard.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

So I\u2019m sat here, bruised and bleeding, I think my left arm\u2019s broken, along with a few ribs by the feel of it, but alive. The glider, my pride and joy, is obviously a write off. My mates have sodded off, and god knows how I\u2019m going to get myself down to the nearest road. Oh, and my wife\u2019s left me.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

How the hell can this have happened to a nice guy like me?<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\n

Fortune presents gifts not according to the book
\nFortune presents gifts not according to the book<\/p>\n

When you expect whistles it’s flutes
\nWhen you expect flutes it’s whistles<\/p>\n

What various paths are followed in distributing honours and possesions
\nShe gives awards to some and penitent’s cloaks to others<\/p>\n

When you expect whistles it’s flutes
\nWhen you expect flutes it’s whistles<\/p>\n

Sometimes she robs the chief goatherd of his cottage and and goatpen
\nAnd to whomever she fancies the lamest goat has born two kids<\/p>\n

When you expect whistles it’s flutes
\nWhen you expect flutes it’s whistles<\/p>\n

Because in a village a poor lad has stolen one egg
\nHe swings in the sun and another gets away with a thousand crimes<\/p>\n

When you expect whistles it’s flutes
\nWhen you expect flutes it’s whistles<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

So I\u2019m sat here, bruised and bleeding, my gliders a twisted heap of tubing and sailcloth, my mates have all told me to get stuffed, and my wife\u2019s left me. \u00a0 Not a good day. \u00a0 It all started with … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":544,"menu_order":9,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-624","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/624","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=624"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/624\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/544"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fatbeetle.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=624"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}