It took some while to troubleshoot why the battery wasn't charging but the the dodgy mains outlet was identified as the culprit and now HI's battery in charging and I'm working on some photos from a friend's wedding.
It's freezing in this hangar. Dubilin Airport is reporting temperature as zero degrees but it's the most comfortable I've been while losing sensation in my toes. Outside the hangar, my little Trangia stove flickering away safely, making a warming cup of tea, watching the lights of arrivals and departures from Dublin airport against a clear sky. Elbow singing in the background
"Are we coming across clear?
Are we coming across fine?
Are we having the time of our lives?
...
One little room and the biggest of plans.
The days were shaping up,
Frosty and bright.
Perfect weather to fly.
Perfect weather to fly."
I'm back inside now with my tea cooling rapidly and I notice, in the frosty fluorescent haze of the hangar, that I'm not alone with my flying machine. I'm sure it's way past his bed time but a robin has flitted up, checking up on this earth-bound flyer, perched on chair, plumped out in his winter coat, tap, tap, tapping away on his keyboard.
On a frosty clear night, in a countryside hangar, tending to a vintage aeroplane with robin and a mug of lukewarm tea for company: such is contentment.
It's freezing in this hangar. Dubilin Airport is reporting temperature as zero degrees but it's the most comfortable I've been while losing sensation in my toes. Outside the hangar, my little Trangia stove flickering away safely, making a warming cup of tea, watching the lights of arrivals and departures from Dublin airport against a clear sky. Elbow singing in the background
"Are we coming across clear?
Are we coming across fine?
Are we having the time of our lives?
...
One little room and the biggest of plans.
The days were shaping up,
Frosty and bright.
Perfect weather to fly.
Perfect weather to fly."
I'm back inside now with my tea cooling rapidly and I notice, in the frosty fluorescent haze of the hangar, that I'm not alone with my flying machine. I'm sure it's way past his bed time but a robin has flitted up, checking up on this earth-bound flyer, perched on chair, plumped out in his winter coat, tap, tap, tapping away on his keyboard.
On a frosty clear night, in a countryside hangar, tending to a vintage aeroplane with robin and a mug of lukewarm tea for company: such is contentment.
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