It is Monday evening at St Donats International Aerodrome, South Wales with my 600 ft 350 degree R runway almost 'fit for purpose'. Those damned horses have but one use, after assisting the depletion of fox numbers in the Vale, they eat down the runway. The CAA hit me with a flight test with their own examiner, recently, having suspended my licences, despite my having just passed the usual General Flight Test, GFT, at Swansea airport a few days before. The Federal Aviation Authority, FAA, told me personally my landing, 5 miles from President Bush's ranch,  was perfectly lawful but still the CAA had to act. Tomorrow or Wednesday the CAA will tell me if we go back to the Royal Courts of Justice again.

 Meanwhile, my application for going back to Texas is smouldering somewhere for a Visa in the American Embassy but that is up to Mr President Bush and the Department of Homeland Security. If he refuses I plan for a flight to Cape town in my French WW2 Cub while Alvin slips my Texan cub across the Rio Grande river and the Mexican border for my flight to Argentina and and the Falklands, later.

The Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, incidentally, in their wisdom have again refused me the right to practice my vocation in life so that means much more time spent in 'noddy land', the Royal Courtrs of Justice