With much film and footage of Sir Francis's take off run, off Slaughter and Emily Bay, in my pocket, it was time to prepare for the nine hundred miles direct to Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. The gravity feed, hoisting 20 litre drums to the roof of the cockpit had now proved unreliable, so it was now back to the drawing board!

A suitable funnel, when attached to a length of piping and drum, could deliver sufficient pressure on the top on the fuel, if then pointed into the slipstream of the prop. It would push, uphill, fuel into the front tank. Well, the funnel was not quite big enough and so, having not smoked a cigar for 4 weeks, I had a go at blowing in the 20 litres by putting the pipe in my mouth.

The system worked and so, as long as I was breathing, I now had a new method for emptying ferry tanks. Neville Christian, of Fletcher Christian descent, in the mean time had persuaded me to use his electrical pump, used to ferry the island's only "spam can", a Cessna 172, to Australia for servicing. He worked like a beaver and had it all installed in a day of running around.

After a good night's sleep I wandered through the township, so reminiscent of Alderney, Channel Islands, where I had worked for 4 years. Both have a population of around 2000, before tourists, tax concessions and an administration so similar, each being semi independent of their parent country. It was of no surprise to me, therefore, by subtle questioning, to find, unlike successive governments in the UK, the Australian Government operated a Zero Tolerance Policy on such matters as Corruption, Insider Dealing or Drug Money Laundering. The threat of the privilege, being removed, is always there.

The "spineless" element of Guernsey's Insular Authority was also a difference. The secret was out as to why I really wanted to visit Norfolk Island. I needed to know the obvious from the descendants of those who had caused the mutiny on His Majesty's Ship, The Bounty, just before Lord Nelson's claim to fame. They had first settled in Pitcairn and then later here in Norfolk Island.

How to start a mutiny from within the UK's judicial system by those who wish reform? They are not, at present, prepared to, "throw stones at men in tall towers" or even, "put their heads over the parapet" due to its sorry state.

But I digress. The only aircraft on the island? Oh no. Tucked in amongst cars and lawn mowers, being serviced for summer, fast approaching, I spied a badly bent micro lite, the modern version to my chain saw converted hang glider of the 70's.

Haydn, one of the syndicate (not the one who bent her), appeared and, without much ado, started organising help from around the island to get still more fuel tanks and find a radio man to fix the broken transmitter. Garry did a splendid job with what he had available. Later, the island's radio station interview with me was played in full by George who also, later that night, kicked out a mean piece of music on the old ivories in the band at the League! Memories came back from 1984 of Martin, Alderney's resident policeman, doubling up in the band with tea chest, broomstick and a piece of string!

At 0745 local the old girl rolled down the runway with an indicated stall speed, on lift off, of around 54, as opposed to the book figure of 38 mph. I had a tail wind component of 12.7mph at airport height and 17.4mph at 2000 feet. The meteorological balloon, sent up at around 4 am, recorded a disappointing decline in tail winds, with height, causing me to mixture lean, only a little to save fuel, settling down to a 2 to 3000 ft flight.

Soon the problems started to mount dominated by the mere fact that I simply did not have the physical strength, especially 9 hours into the flight, to even get out of my seat, when clad in a, now steaming, survival suit with life raft, knife, torch, mae west, water and a number of other things tied about my person………