My husband has recently become the proud owner of a helicopter. “What do you need a helicopter for?” I hear you ask. Perhaps for a speedy jaunt to Goodwood or a flying visit to London?
Well no. This particular helicopter is a surveillance device. At least that’s Chris’s dream. Having a credit at the Sussex Model Centre in Worthing, and having seen an advert containing a model helicopter, Chris decided to purchase one.
The first contender was small and ‘difficult to fly’. “How hard can it be?” said Chris. Famous last words. The battery charged and the wires connected, the helicopter was poised for takeoff. And poised it remained. Nothing happened.
“Faulty” Chris proclaimed and returned it to the shop. “Oh that’s no good for flying outside.” said Bob, the helicopter expert. “Try this one, and don’t try to fly it before you’ve had a lesson with me.”
Ah, you can see what’s coming, can’t you? Yes, unable to wait the few days until his lesson, Chris proceeded to assemble the new machine and get it to ‘hover’ over the kitchen table.
Buoyed up by his initial success, he took his new toy with him when we left for supper with friends. “They’ve got a nice big lawn. Perfect for takeoff.” was his justification.
And so we found ourselves spectators at the maiden voyage of the new helicopter. We women were gossiping and not paying much attention, while the men concentrated intently on the serious stuff.
Gears in place, throttle at the ready, Chris cautiously maneuvered the controls and the helicopter started to lift. Hovering inches above the grass, it then took a nosedive and plunged its rotor blades into said lawn. Oops.
Continuing to engage the throttle, the helicopter began to smoke. Then before our very eyes, it burst into flames. Finally dropping the controls, Chris lunged towards the fiery ball and yanked the nose cover off. Taking his life in his hands (or at least his hands in his hands) he pulled out the battery and disconnected the wires.
Phew, the acrid stench of burning plastic filled the evening air as Chris proceeded to give various explanations (excuses) as to why the helicopter had malfunctioned. Banished to the car boot (the helicopter not Chris) we sat down to supper.
Not one to be easily put off, Chris was back at the model shop the following Tuesday. Bob took a long close look at the offending machine and pronounced that he’d never seen that before.
Have you experienced my husband’s persuasive arguments? So you’ll not be surprised to hear that the helicopter was fully repaired and upgraded - free of charge.
However, on calling to report the tip top condition of the helicopter, Bob told Chris in no uncertain terms: “No, you cannot have it, and you are not to fly it without some instruction from me.”
So I think that Petworth is safe for a little longer from any miniature surveillance craft. Can you imagine it:
Taking off from a roof-top garden, a remote control helicopter, with a USB camera attached, careers into an open top car driving down New Street. The driver, startled by the additional load, swerves into Allans’ Menswear’s shop window. The driver and car come to a halt, buried beneath an enormous pile of pants and socks.
How does Chris get out of that one?
I’ll keep you posted.
Laura x
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