“It's an ugly, dangerous business, Watson.”
A.I. Conan Doyle wrote Sherlock Holmes into legend and a household name. One of the better known tales is 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'. A dark story of 'deception' using 'fear' of the unknown, unseen threat to cover the true intent and purpose of the plot.
“When the crisis comes, Watson, and it will, report to me.”
Unlike Doyle's work, I doubt (very much) that should I pen a similar tale; based on the same principals it would ever be published; or ever sell as many copies. However, a tale entitled 'the Hounds of Bastardville' could be construed to represent the same, dire plots and dark schemes, designed to instil fear in order to achieve the ultimate purpose could be woven into such a story. It would be story nowhere near as far fetched as Doyle's hound. Ah well, perhaps in my dotage; the clear facts could be woven into such a fiction; however, today, we like Holmes, must deal with that which is presented, as dark a plot as any Doyle ever dreamt up; herewith a dollop (or two) of fiction.
It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
The opening scene would have two Senators (Gunna & Blitzem) standing on a blasted, open heath, just on sunset, distant thunder rumbling punctuated by the odd lightning flash. Ahead of them, an aerodrome. They watch for a while; lots of aircraft sitting idle, many with their wing and tail lights merrily flashing; they seem to be waiting for something. “I wonder what the hold up is” mutters Gunna. “They've been sat there far too long” - the terse response from her companion; “something is amiss”. Never were truer words spoken. In my yarn, our hero's would investigate and discover negligence, incompetence and some shocking waste of public money, providing a service to the long suffering which would only work, as scripted, in Outer Mongolia. The difference in my version would be that the 'investigation' resulted in sweeping changes which brought a grateful nation much needed efficiency and some very real 'safety' outcomes.
But, this is a fiction after all said and done; ain't it? Couldn't happen in the real world. (Links courtesy Pprune).
Chapter two.
After their strenuous efforts to get the great airspace fraud uncovered and running 'properly' our stalwart companions take a short holiday at a remote destination; famed for wondrous sunsets, balmy weather and a very relaxed atmosphere. Out for a stroll, they find an elderly, well dressed lady at a bus stop, clearly distressed and obviously in some pain. “Can we assist?” asks Gunna. “Oh please, if you could; I'm trying to get to a hospital but the bus hasn't turned up, I am most unwell and need to see a doctor”. Well a taxi was hailed and the trio set off to the local hospital. The next day the two friends returned to visit their new friend; and, naturally were curious as to how she had ended up in such dire straits. As the tale unfolded our two shocked companions realised that they still had much work to do; and, determined to cut short their sojourn because of it. It seems that toward evening, our lady began to feel unwell, problem was that she and her husband were out at sea, on a holiday cruise and the only way to get to medical assistance was to use a helicopter. The boat had a pad, so it was only a matter of whistling one up and the drama would be over. Seemed simple enough; “but why” asked Blitzem, "were you sitting in that bus stop." “Well, that's were the pilot said I was to connect with transport to hospital; I got out and he disappeared into the darkness. I couldn't tell which way as he'd forgotten to turn on his lights”. “I must say, that considering the cost I am not at all happy with the service provided and I sat there all night waiting for that bus”. Back in the city after a cursory look at the back yard helicopter operation; our two companions raised seven kinds of Hell. This 'hell' descended on the heads of the controlling authority; the in-depth examination this event and many, many other aberrations showed that apart from making sure that no 'legal' matter could ever be won against the monolith; and, all hands were spotless – nothing much in the way 'policing' matters aeronautical was actually done; except for the odd crucifixion of 'easy' targets, to keep the fiction alive. No matter, the good Senators and members of parliament clearly saw the gross indecency and 'rip-off' and put a full stop against it all; fast type.
But, this is a fiction after all said and done; ain't it? Couldn't happen in the real world.
Aye, scribbling fiction is great fun; perhaps I'll save Gunna and Blitzem for rainy days when the curse of boredom rules. There is great scope for fiction and fantasy and even a dash of 'conspiracy' to work with; gods forbid any of it should reflect 'the true realities' of aviation life, Australian style. No Sir; we pay for and, with gratitude and reverence, receive the very, very best aviation support services tax payer money can buy. Just ask the powers that be; they'll tell ya.
Aye well, the sun is shining, I wonder if the fish are biting – maybe a visit to the beach is in order. The 'pup' has yet to discover this new world; should be fun.
Selah..
A.I. Conan Doyle wrote Sherlock Holmes into legend and a household name. One of the better known tales is 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'. A dark story of 'deception' using 'fear' of the unknown, unseen threat to cover the true intent and purpose of the plot.
“When the crisis comes, Watson, and it will, report to me.”
Unlike Doyle's work, I doubt (very much) that should I pen a similar tale; based on the same principals it would ever be published; or ever sell as many copies. However, a tale entitled 'the Hounds of Bastardville' could be construed to represent the same, dire plots and dark schemes, designed to instil fear in order to achieve the ultimate purpose could be woven into such a story. It would be story nowhere near as far fetched as Doyle's hound. Ah well, perhaps in my dotage; the clear facts could be woven into such a fiction; however, today, we like Holmes, must deal with that which is presented, as dark a plot as any Doyle ever dreamt up; herewith a dollop (or two) of fiction.
It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
The opening scene would have two Senators (Gunna & Blitzem) standing on a blasted, open heath, just on sunset, distant thunder rumbling punctuated by the odd lightning flash. Ahead of them, an aerodrome. They watch for a while; lots of aircraft sitting idle, many with their wing and tail lights merrily flashing; they seem to be waiting for something. “I wonder what the hold up is” mutters Gunna. “They've been sat there far too long” - the terse response from her companion; “something is amiss”. Never were truer words spoken. In my yarn, our hero's would investigate and discover negligence, incompetence and some shocking waste of public money, providing a service to the long suffering which would only work, as scripted, in Outer Mongolia. The difference in my version would be that the 'investigation' resulted in sweeping changes which brought a grateful nation much needed efficiency and some very real 'safety' outcomes.
But, this is a fiction after all said and done; ain't it? Couldn't happen in the real world. (Links courtesy Pprune).
Chapter two.
After their strenuous efforts to get the great airspace fraud uncovered and running 'properly' our stalwart companions take a short holiday at a remote destination; famed for wondrous sunsets, balmy weather and a very relaxed atmosphere. Out for a stroll, they find an elderly, well dressed lady at a bus stop, clearly distressed and obviously in some pain. “Can we assist?” asks Gunna. “Oh please, if you could; I'm trying to get to a hospital but the bus hasn't turned up, I am most unwell and need to see a doctor”. Well a taxi was hailed and the trio set off to the local hospital. The next day the two friends returned to visit their new friend; and, naturally were curious as to how she had ended up in such dire straits. As the tale unfolded our two shocked companions realised that they still had much work to do; and, determined to cut short their sojourn because of it. It seems that toward evening, our lady began to feel unwell, problem was that she and her husband were out at sea, on a holiday cruise and the only way to get to medical assistance was to use a helicopter. The boat had a pad, so it was only a matter of whistling one up and the drama would be over. Seemed simple enough; “but why” asked Blitzem, "were you sitting in that bus stop." “Well, that's were the pilot said I was to connect with transport to hospital; I got out and he disappeared into the darkness. I couldn't tell which way as he'd forgotten to turn on his lights”. “I must say, that considering the cost I am not at all happy with the service provided and I sat there all night waiting for that bus”. Back in the city after a cursory look at the back yard helicopter operation; our two companions raised seven kinds of Hell. This 'hell' descended on the heads of the controlling authority; the in-depth examination this event and many, many other aberrations showed that apart from making sure that no 'legal' matter could ever be won against the monolith; and, all hands were spotless – nothing much in the way 'policing' matters aeronautical was actually done; except for the odd crucifixion of 'easy' targets, to keep the fiction alive. No matter, the good Senators and members of parliament clearly saw the gross indecency and 'rip-off' and put a full stop against it all; fast type.
But, this is a fiction after all said and done; ain't it? Couldn't happen in the real world.
Aye, scribbling fiction is great fun; perhaps I'll save Gunna and Blitzem for rainy days when the curse of boredom rules. There is great scope for fiction and fantasy and even a dash of 'conspiracy' to work with; gods forbid any of it should reflect 'the true realities' of aviation life, Australian style. No Sir; we pay for and, with gratitude and reverence, receive the very, very best aviation support services tax payer money can buy. Just ask the powers that be; they'll tell ya.
Aye well, the sun is shining, I wonder if the fish are biting – maybe a visit to the beach is in order. The 'pup' has yet to discover this new world; should be fun.
Selah..