canal rather than Atkins dragging the goose out of it.
After I’d made the lariat and Atkins had tried a few practice throws at our garden gnome - which he managed to lasso once out of twelve attempts, and it wasn’t moving about like a Canada goose would be - we set off for the canal, Atkins claiming that he would have had much more success with the gnome had there been as many of them, and as closely bunched together, as there were of Canada geese.
We arrived at the canal. The geese were only yards away. Atkins was right, it would be more difficult to miss them than lasso one. He commenced to prove this by lassoing one at the first attempt. With a smirk and a cry of ‘Yahooo’ that would have done credit to Hopalong Cassidy or a demented line dancer he pulled the lariat tight. Then a strange thing happened. As I’ve already said, I expected the goose to pull Atkins into the canal. Not a bit of it. Instead, it just sort of stood up in the water, rather like a horse rearing up on its hind legs, then flew straight at us at about a hundred miles an hour.
“Shit a brick!” yelled Atkins.
I didn’t say anything. Speechless people can’t. I just turned, flew across the towpath and leapt over the stone wall into a farmer’s field. Just before leaping I turned to see the goose batting Atkins round the head with its huge wings, Atkins trying manfully but unsuccessfully both to shield himself with his arms and fight off the beast at the same time.
I recovered my powers of speech just enough to shout “Let go of the rope you bloody fool!” before landing on the other side of the wall and haring off down the field fifty yards or so before slithering to a halt and chancing a look back. A second or so later Atkins’s head, dishevelled and sorry-looking, appeared above the wall, his hands pulling small feathers from his hair.
“You got rid of it then?” I called.
“It flew off,” he answered, then added, sorrowfully, “And so did all its mates.”
I made my way back to him. “What are you going to do then?” I asked.
“She’ll have to settle for duck,” he said. “Anyway I prefer duck.”
****
February 22 2008. AIR MAIL.
About ten years ago, whilst flying home from a holiday in Lanzarote, I was served the most revolting lasagne I have ever tasted. It was so bad that if I’d had to choose between eating it and death I would not be here now, death being the preferred option. The following day I wrote about it to Air 2000, the airline company concerned. I presumed that they would have fielded many complaints about their lasagne and so in order to ring the changes I wrote in praise of it. This is the letter: -
Dear Air 2000
I recently had the pleasure of flying for the very first time. I’ve always been afraid to up until now, but I finally plucked up courage. I am certainly glad that I did, and for two reasons. One, it wasn’t half so bad an experience as I had imagined it would be, and two, I had my first meal on an aeroplane. Why all the jokes about airline food? The fare we were served by Air 2000 on our flights down to Lanzarote and back were quite excellent, and I speak as a man who knows good food, eating as I do at least five ready-to-heat-up-in-the-microwave or boil-in-the-bag meals a week. Both the turkey and stuffing going down and the lasagne coming back were quite mouth-watering. Nor could I fault the starters and desserts, although it must be said that the couple seated next to me detected a ‘soapy’ taste in the trifle, although if you ask me it was their imagination, because it certainly tasted all right to me.
Is it possible to buy your meals? If so, could you please reply, with details of any other meals you do, your price list, and any discounts you allow for quantity.
Yours sincerely
T Ravenscroft (Mr)
Air 2000 replied to my letter much as I suspected they might, pleased to note that I enjoyed the lasagne but regretting that the
After I’d made the lariat and Atkins had tried a few practice throws at our garden gnome - which he managed to lasso once out of twelve attempts, and it wasn’t moving about like a Canada goose would be - we set off for the canal, Atkins claiming that he would have had much more success with the gnome had there been as many of them, and as closely bunched together, as there were of Canada geese.
We arrived at the canal. The geese were only yards away. Atkins was right, it would be more difficult to miss them than lasso one. He commenced to prove this by lassoing one at the first attempt. With a smirk and a cry of ‘Yahooo’ that would have done credit to Hopalong Cassidy or a demented line dancer he pulled the lariat tight. Then a strange thing happened. As I’ve already said, I expected the goose to pull Atkins into the canal. Not a bit of it. Instead, it just sort of stood up in the water, rather like a horse rearing up on its hind legs, then flew straight at us at about a hundred miles an hour.
“Shit a brick!” yelled Atkins.
I didn’t say anything. Speechless people can’t. I just turned, flew across the towpath and leapt over the stone wall into a farmer’s field. Just before leaping I turned to see the goose batting Atkins round the head with its huge wings, Atkins trying manfully but unsuccessfully both to shield himself with his arms and fight off the beast at the same time.
I recovered my powers of speech just enough to shout “Let go of the rope you bloody fool!” before landing on the other side of the wall and haring off down the field fifty yards or so before slithering to a halt and chancing a look back. A second or so later Atkins’s head, dishevelled and sorry-looking, appeared above the wall, his hands pulling small feathers from his hair.
“You got rid of it then?” I called.
“It flew off,” he answered, then added, sorrowfully, “And so did all its mates.”
I made my way back to him. “What are you going to do then?” I asked.
“She’ll have to settle for duck,” he said. “Anyway I prefer duck.”
****
February 22 2008. AIR MAIL.
About ten years ago, whilst flying home from a holiday in Lanzarote, I was served the most revolting lasagne I have ever tasted. It was so bad that if I’d had to choose between eating it and death I would not be here now, death being the preferred option. The following day I wrote about it to Air 2000, the airline company concerned. I presumed that they would have fielded many complaints about their lasagne and so in order to ring the changes I wrote in praise of it. This is the letter: -
Dear Air 2000
I recently had the pleasure of flying for the very first time. I’ve always been afraid to up until now, but I finally plucked up courage. I am certainly glad that I did, and for two reasons. One, it wasn’t half so bad an experience as I had imagined it would be, and two, I had my first meal on an aeroplane. Why all the jokes about airline food? The fare we were served by Air 2000 on our flights down to Lanzarote and back were quite excellent, and I speak as a man who knows good food, eating as I do at least five ready-to-heat-up-in-the-microwave or boil-in-the-bag meals a week. Both the turkey and stuffing going down and the lasagne coming back were quite mouth-watering. Nor could I fault the starters and desserts, although it must be said that the couple seated next to me detected a ‘soapy’ taste in the trifle, although if you ask me it was their imagination, because it certainly tasted all right to me.
Is it possible to buy your meals? If so, could you please reply, with details of any other meals you do, your price list, and any discounts you allow for quantity.
Yours sincerely
T Ravenscroft (Mr)
Air 2000 replied to my letter much as I suspected they might, pleased to note that I enjoyed the lasagne but regretting that the
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