Oh, oh, oh it’s magic…

It’s a strange thing when you have too much time on your hands. The things that go through your mind I mean.

Take now for instance. I’m on a plane.

I’ve been sat in more or less the same position for nigh on 3 1/2 hours and I’m likely to do so for a further 5 1/2. Despicable Me 3 has just finished and you get to thinking,

1. Should I go to the loo, just for something to do?

2. When are they feeding me again?

3. What the bejasus is holding this thing in the air?

I know, I know – you can get all scientific on me.

You can tell me about differential air pressure until you’re blue in the face.

Yes, and thrust too madam. I thought you might put your twopennorth in!

But it’s me sitting here over the wing and believe you me, there’s very little between the underside of the aerilon (or whatever that flappy thing is called) and the tip of bloody Greenland as far as I can see.

And 39000 feet straight down looks pretty far at the moment, I can tell you.

Between us and Arsuk (it’s true, Google it. What an unfortunate postal address that is! Where do you live? Arsuk. Well I only asked!) there is air. A lot of it admittedly, but it’s not exactly heavy. We breath the stuff in and out constantly and it doesn’t take a great deal of effort. Can it really hold up God knows how many tons (yes I know it’s tonnes but we’re going to the USA. And anyway, after Brexit do we get our measurements back?) of aircraft, fuel, cargo and us poor bloody passengers?
Furthermore, have you had the chance to study an aeroplane wing in detail?


No? Nor me until now. Honestly I’ve seen more sheet steel in your average bus shelter. 

And rivets! Don’t talk to me about rivets! I used rivets in metalwork at school once. Not the sturdiest of fixings in my opinion.

Pardon? Yes, that was rather a long time ago, thank you for pointing that out.

As I was saying I have used the odd rivet in various metallurgical disasters and they do in my experience tend to shear as soon as you look at them. Yes, I know that there are rather a lot of them dotted about the aerodynamic surfaces, but personally and particularly now that my mind is working overtime, I would have preferred to see row upon row of nice half inch diameter bolts. In super high tensile steel!

So what is it holding us up?

I’ve had a lot of time to think.

And I have come to the conclusion that there is only on possible logical answer.

It’s magic.

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Whatever happened to the Mayans..?

Hi there, me again.

In our little ramble through past blogs (on the platform with very little responses) to coincide with my Branding and Blogging course on WordPress, I came across this gem from last year. I thought that you might like it.

Kate and I had taken a cruise up the figityjords in Norway – to celebrate my still being here after a heart attack – and we unexpectedly came upon the answer to one of mankind most puzzling questions.

First published in August 2015 –¬†Whatever did happen to the Mayans..?

It is a conundrum that has troubled me for years, but now, in Norway, I believe that I may at last be able to shed some light on one of mankind’s enduring mysteries – whatever became of the Mayan civilisation?

Yes, those funny little South American Indian chaps who all of a sudden upped sticks and buggered off to who knew where, leaving behind a few poxy pyramids and a pretty depressing prophecy of mankind’s imminent demise.

Bear with me and I’ll fill you in.

We docked in Stavanger (backwards! I guess the Captain was on the pop last night too and decided to do a handbrake turn.) A pretty place, quite a bustling little city really. I say city because it has its own cathedral, although not much bigger than most places parish church back home. Had a wander round, the dockside, the old town, the market…

‘No!’ I hear you cry, ‘Not the market! Isn’t Kate with you?’

Well yes she is and thank you for your concern, but thankfully the bank have blocked her card because she didn’t tell them that she was going away – shame!

Anyway, I digress. Who should be at the aforementioned market but a few South American Indians selling woollen goods from their stalls. You know the sort of thing, woolly pullies with nicely embroidered geometric patterns or knitted Canadian Moose on the front. O.k – they may be Elk, let’s not get too pedantic! You could also buy those caps with the flaps and the long dangly tassels that serve no discernible purpose whatsoever.

Which got me to thinking – you see I’ve also been to Madeira, another cruise ship resort. Who do you bump into at the top of the mountain selling the same sort of stuff ‘cos the chances are it may turn a bit chilly. And you’ve left your jumper at the beachfront hotel because you never had the foresight to think it might be a tad colder two thousand feet up. There’s no faulting these people for their marketing acumen. You got it – the Mayans! They’ll be down at the seafront too, roasting chestnuts and playing the bloody pan pipes, trying to flog you a C.D that you’ll never play again once you get home.

What enterprise! You can’t knock ’em for it, can you!

Hold on though! Yes I know what you’re going to say, ‘Where do they get the wool from?

I’m ahead of you there, I’ve seen a poster – you’ll never guess what they have here in Norway.

Llamas!

Yes really! Woolly things that spit at you. Can’t get a lot more South American than that, can you? No, I don’t know how you would go about shearing a Llama now you ask – they obviously manage it somehow – but very, very carefully I should think.

So there we have it – Mayans, Llamas and a misunderstanding. It appears that they never made a prediction for the end of Mankind, it was the date on their business plan when they thought that they might break even. Let’s face it you have to offset the value of sales against the cost of purchasing, feeding and stabling a herd (is it a herd or a ‘gob’) of Llama’s and take into account the wages of a tribe of knitting South American nana’s.

Well let’s face it – they were really shit at building pyramids.

Stick with me folks, you don’t get stuff like this on the Open University, do you?

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