A memory

My life right now reminds me of a plane trip my sister Sarah and I took to England many years ago.

Picture it: Laker airlines (the first cut-rate airline, I believe) and Captain Weekly.

The fact that I remember Captain Weekly's name should tell you something.

Capt. Weekly was one of those pilots from hell.

"If you look out the left side of the plane, you'll see (mumble, mumble, mumble)."

Anyway, we left Detroit on a hot summer day, so the plane could not fuel up completely. We had to stop in Greenland. All was well until we were taxiing out to take off for merry old England, land of our ancestors.

Well, Capt. Weekly came on and mumbled something about having to wait for another plane to land. Keep in mind this was not too long after 2 planes had collided on a runway in Tenerife.

He came back on moments later and said (honest to god, this is what he said), "No ... I think we'll take off now."

As if he had made the unilateral decision to take off while another plane was landing.

Obviously we made a successful take-off and hours later we were weaving our way across southern England. Literally; Capt. Weekly was weaving.

By looking out the window, we concluded that he was following the Thames River into London. As in, following each twist and turn in the river.

We were correct in this conclusion.

Finally Sarah again peered out the window and said, "Do you think that's the airport down there?"

At which point we went into pretty much a nose dive.

"Yes," I replied.