I arrive at Omarama after a 30 hour flight and a four hour
drive. I am a little seedy. Bill W spots me and wanders over with a couple of
beers. No preamble, just: “Hi Jonny, how would you like a trip to
Morocco?” The correct response to this
question is to look him in the eye and state firmly “No Bill, I wouldn’t even
go to Basingstoke with you”. Instead I accept the beer and find that silence is taken as acquiescence.
There won’t be any launching facilities, so all we need is a
self-launching glider. Neither of us have licences.
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