If you’ve been around for longer than I deserve to have had you here, you’ll know that a few years ago I decided to learn to scuba dive, despite being scared of going under water.  Rather than finding I could overcome my fear, I had a panic attack every time I got in the sea, threw up 12 meters under water and still can’t watch footage of underwater scenes.  ‘Face a fear to overcome it’ my arse.

You’d think I’d have learned, wouldn’t you?  Apparently not.  For His birthday, I bought Him a flying lesson.  I promptly became so involved in the weather for the day (rubbish…it was cancelled and rescheduled for Saturday), that I forgot the small fact that I was going to go up too.  Now, I used to be terrified of flying.  These days, as long as I sink my fingernails into my palms for take off and landing, I’m pretty much ok; I just ignore the fact we’re on a plane and flying once we’re up there.  That works well on a big plane.  Not so good when you are taller than the plane and the inside is the size of the Mini that was your first car:

Himself channeling Biggles :o)

We did it though.  We went to the Isle of Wight (because yes, in another complete flaw in my planning I selected the lesson that included TWO take offs and landings.  Genius).  It was a good thing though, as if we’d not landed when we did I would have decorated the inside of the plane with the cream tea I’d selected as my possible final meal while we waited at the airport.

As it was, I was fine, and had thirty minutes on land to take deep breaths and sip water before having to get back on to get back :o)

Before I felt really sick, I took some photos of the view, which was amazing.  I just probably should have listened to Sister 1 when she suggested I don’t use my camera…

Oh well, I think I’ve now established that this Pog is much better avoiding air and sea and sticking firmly to land :o)