Go Fly A Microlight

The other evening I enjoyed a very pleasant saunter along a local secluded beach here in West Sussex. The tide was half in, a gentle breeze nuzzled my beefcake and I felt far from the madding crowd. Quickly my reverie was broken by the buzzing sound of a microlight pilot at least a thousand feet above my head. Resembling a full stop at the end of a sentence he must have been higher than Dylan from The Magic Roundabout. This exotic and dicey way of travel must give you a very different perspective of the world. As he flew over the sea, land and rooftops this wacky pilot must have felt like a cross between Richard Branson and Mary Poppins. As I contemplated his bravado I wondered how this guy would return to home turf? Would he just turn around and land where he started? Did he have a friend following in a car? The romantic iniside of me would like to believe that these daredevil free spirited voyagers just bank off of the North East wind and descend to where they feel. This being the case, how do they get back home again? Perhaps the 700 from Portsmouth? That’s not very James Bond is it!