tales from an ordinary world

2000-11-01

I don't even drive a car, but I love the smell of aircraft fuel and just the other day I was going for a walk at lunchtime past the hospital, under the helipad that straddles the road, and the helicopter was taking off. It was perfect timing. I'll take petrol smell over stale chemical hospital smell any day, but maybe it's just the memory of visiting dad in the spinal injuries unit 20 years ago, lying there with tubes up his nose, stuck amongst people who'd had some spectacular motorcycle crash, or hadn't heeded the depth warning when they dove into a pool somewhere. He was 37 then. I'm 27 now. So maybe in 2010, if we haven't all turned into an Arthur C. Clarke novel, it'll be my turn.