You may have noticed dear reader that I have been a little quiet of late. This is because I have examinations.
Now, as you know Nanny would rather the way for us to get about is to be under her control, and going places to which she deems suitable. This means queuing up for hours to be shouted at by frightful individuals in ill fitting polyester uniforms, then crammed into a dreadful tin-can with two hundred of the underwashed and overscented while ladies as orange as their uniforms refuse to sell me gin, but insist on my purchasing lottery gizmos.
To ensure we don't take matters into our own hands, she insists that if I am to take an aeroplane to the heavens on my own then i must have my wit and intellect tested.
Being vulgarians of the highest order in her employ - the cut of my tweeds, the firmness of my handshake and the clubs to which I belong count for nought.
These benighted officials insist that I must jump through hoops to learn all sorts of byzantine regulations so that I can be priveliged to move about the skies as nature intended.
Many of these are counter intuitive to a free born chap as they largely concern laws, safety and sobriety. Reading between the lines they merely demonstrate the joyless lives these individuals lead - devoid of the deeper pleasures that nature has gifted us with enjoying.
Personally I believe that provided one can master a 2G turn without losing the baccy from the briar or spilling the scotch and soda then that really ought to suffice.
They will be asking me for credentials for my ability to command the propulsion of the old trusty Alvis next.