Saturday; an end of shift alemazed asssisted ramble.
Sunday this week will be devoted to pure, unmitigated selfishness. A dear friend and a master of his craft has given me a billet of the real, McCoy aged ‘Indian Rosewood’. Much like the sub-continent which produced it, the wood is dark, mysterious, incredibly colourful and deuced tricky to work; patience and sharp tools mandatory. In parts the wood is cooperation personified, in others as hard and heartless as the hobs’ o’ hell. I intend to make a fair copy of an eighteenth century ‘rebate plane’, the compound, complex joinery a serious challenge before getting every part aligned, square, true and working correctly. Then there is the very real fear of buggering up a rare, valuable, properly cured piece of timber and having to explain same to ‘my old mate’. Aye, pressure indeed; nonetheless, we shall try. So here I sit, looking at the ‘shakes’ and wondering how much moisture to bring in, to seal the cracks; which way to cut the sections to take advantage of the run of grain; how to navigate the ‘dark’ (think of Ebony) hard sections which will create havoc and the very silky ‘chocolate’ sections mixed in which will behave beautifully; how to exploit the beauty of wain and sapwood; highlight the rich colours and flecks in light, where best to lay my blows and cuts to avoid a debacle. Many myths trammel, laws to obey, techniques to consider, escape plans to formulate. In short; much to think on, before committing.
For hundreds of years simple craftsmen have been contemplating the same, intricate problems; which must, for weal or for woe, be resolved with care, skill and attention to detail. It makes me wonder about the total dogs breakfast the ‘three big’ safety agencies have made of their rare gift. If making a ‘simple’ hand tool from precious material requires so much thought, care, precision and ‘professionalism’ what the hell have the aviation agencies amateurs been thinking about? Multi billions invested by the public and government with the reasonable expectation that the purchased aviation expertise can deliver the goods. What has gone so terribly wrong, why and how do ‘we’ fix it - now?
Oh, it’s easy enough to blame ‘the’ minister’ who’s sole interest lays in being re-elected; supported by a government who need the seat. Once the election is over, the ‘glamour’ vote catchers are, essentially, redundant. However they must be rewarded; so ministries’, titles and power are gifted with the hopes and prayers of the government depending on the ‘expert’ advice provided by the ‘department’ who really run the show. Which is all well and good; many ministers ‘shine’ simply because the ‘department’ actually has a clue and the ‘experts’ perform well. In theory and often in practice, it all works out very well.
Then there is ‘transport’. Aye, matters aeronautical are within the ministerial ambit. The minister may not know a tug boat from the Titanic; but the maritime agency does and how best to manage them. The minister may not know the difference between a “B” Double and a campervan; but the roads agency troops do and how best to manage them. Same for trains, horses and buggies, etc. But when the new minister arrives at the carefully preserved ‘mystique’ of aviation; all bets are off. An ignorant, surrounded by some of the worst snake oil purveyors ever known to mankind. With no other option or help, the hapless minister must, perforce, accept the word of his anointed experts.
Imagine trying to face down a hostile Senate committee, or an infuriated industry, both supported by mountains of evidence which say your key advisors are taking the Mickey. To a man like Fawcett the game would be child’s play and soon over; but, to man like Chester? Well, you can work that one out on track record to date; even a lightweight tackle like the AOPA effort confuses and confounds, a serious push from the real industry heavies would completely unman him.
Aye well; if current speculation is proven sound, then it will be a close race to the bottom for the current incumbent - driven deep by either politics or investigations. Old Niccollo Machievelli understood the conundrum very well indeed.
“For this can be said of men in general: that they are ungrateful, fickle, hypocrites and dissemblers, avoiders of dangers, greedy for gain; and while you benefit them, they are entirely yours, offering you their blood, their goods, their life, their children,...when need is far away, but when you actually become needy, they turn away.”
Fare thee well ‘minister’. – Hoi: Malcolm, can we have a real one next time? Perhaps ol’ Barmybaby will get smart and turn Fawcett loose; just for a while, to restore peace, sanity and ensure governmental survival. The clock is remorselessly ticking and the next fatal accident/disaster will be owned by the government which failed to act in a positive manner. Safe bet; you bet. I couldn’t possibly lay odds for a no brainer.
Toot Toot – here endeth the Saturday night ramble.
Sunday this week will be devoted to pure, unmitigated selfishness. A dear friend and a master of his craft has given me a billet of the real, McCoy aged ‘Indian Rosewood’. Much like the sub-continent which produced it, the wood is dark, mysterious, incredibly colourful and deuced tricky to work; patience and sharp tools mandatory. In parts the wood is cooperation personified, in others as hard and heartless as the hobs’ o’ hell. I intend to make a fair copy of an eighteenth century ‘rebate plane’, the compound, complex joinery a serious challenge before getting every part aligned, square, true and working correctly. Then there is the very real fear of buggering up a rare, valuable, properly cured piece of timber and having to explain same to ‘my old mate’. Aye, pressure indeed; nonetheless, we shall try. So here I sit, looking at the ‘shakes’ and wondering how much moisture to bring in, to seal the cracks; which way to cut the sections to take advantage of the run of grain; how to navigate the ‘dark’ (think of Ebony) hard sections which will create havoc and the very silky ‘chocolate’ sections mixed in which will behave beautifully; how to exploit the beauty of wain and sapwood; highlight the rich colours and flecks in light, where best to lay my blows and cuts to avoid a debacle. Many myths trammel, laws to obey, techniques to consider, escape plans to formulate. In short; much to think on, before committing.
For hundreds of years simple craftsmen have been contemplating the same, intricate problems; which must, for weal or for woe, be resolved with care, skill and attention to detail. It makes me wonder about the total dogs breakfast the ‘three big’ safety agencies have made of their rare gift. If making a ‘simple’ hand tool from precious material requires so much thought, care, precision and ‘professionalism’ what the hell have the aviation agencies amateurs been thinking about? Multi billions invested by the public and government with the reasonable expectation that the purchased aviation expertise can deliver the goods. What has gone so terribly wrong, why and how do ‘we’ fix it - now?
Oh, it’s easy enough to blame ‘the’ minister’ who’s sole interest lays in being re-elected; supported by a government who need the seat. Once the election is over, the ‘glamour’ vote catchers are, essentially, redundant. However they must be rewarded; so ministries’, titles and power are gifted with the hopes and prayers of the government depending on the ‘expert’ advice provided by the ‘department’ who really run the show. Which is all well and good; many ministers ‘shine’ simply because the ‘department’ actually has a clue and the ‘experts’ perform well. In theory and often in practice, it all works out very well.
Then there is ‘transport’. Aye, matters aeronautical are within the ministerial ambit. The minister may not know a tug boat from the Titanic; but the maritime agency does and how best to manage them. The minister may not know the difference between a “B” Double and a campervan; but the roads agency troops do and how best to manage them. Same for trains, horses and buggies, etc. But when the new minister arrives at the carefully preserved ‘mystique’ of aviation; all bets are off. An ignorant, surrounded by some of the worst snake oil purveyors ever known to mankind. With no other option or help, the hapless minister must, perforce, accept the word of his anointed experts.
Imagine trying to face down a hostile Senate committee, or an infuriated industry, both supported by mountains of evidence which say your key advisors are taking the Mickey. To a man like Fawcett the game would be child’s play and soon over; but, to man like Chester? Well, you can work that one out on track record to date; even a lightweight tackle like the AOPA effort confuses and confounds, a serious push from the real industry heavies would completely unman him.
Aye well; if current speculation is proven sound, then it will be a close race to the bottom for the current incumbent - driven deep by either politics or investigations. Old Niccollo Machievelli understood the conundrum very well indeed.
“For this can be said of men in general: that they are ungrateful, fickle, hypocrites and dissemblers, avoiders of dangers, greedy for gain; and while you benefit them, they are entirely yours, offering you their blood, their goods, their life, their children,...when need is far away, but when you actually become needy, they turn away.”
Fare thee well ‘minister’. – Hoi: Malcolm, can we have a real one next time? Perhaps ol’ Barmybaby will get smart and turn Fawcett loose; just for a while, to restore peace, sanity and ensure governmental survival. The clock is remorselessly ticking and the next fatal accident/disaster will be owned by the government which failed to act in a positive manner. Safe bet; you bet. I couldn’t possibly lay odds for a no brainer.
Toot Toot – here endeth the Saturday night ramble.