The stuff of nightmares
LAST month we had a flurry of information from readers about a mid-air collision over the Bluff in 1962 between a South African Airways Skymaster and an air force Harvard trainer. Incredibly, there were no casualties. The Harvard pilots parachuted to safety, the Skymaster made it to Louis Botha airport and the Harvard crashed into a vacant lot, hitting nobody.
Mike Rochfort, of Morningside, says it was during the Stone Age of air traffic control, when the Skymaster and the Harvard were on different radio frequencies and couldn't listen to what the other was saying. He has the verbatim record of the eight-second radio exchange between Captain Archie Nasmith, in command of the Skymaster, and an air traffic controller known as Mac.
Nasmith: "We are now 4 000 feet descending."
Mac: "Roger, you're still at 4 000 feet, over?"
Nasmith: "Ja, we are just getting our speed down."
Mac: "Roger, please reduce to three five now. We have other traffic above you."
Nasmith: "Hang on! We have hit something. Boy! Something has hit us ... something in the air ... do you know what it was?
Mac: "Well, there is traffic above at 4 000. That is why we asked you down to three five."
Nasmith: "Well, we have hit something now."
Mac: "Hit something? What is it?
Nasmith: "I don't know. Just hang on a sec, Mac, we're going to come down as soon as we can."
Mama mia! 'Tis the stuff of nightmares.
Ants in their pants
AT LAST there's a reaction, it seems, to those folk in society who seemingly have itchy powder in their underwear and are constantly chivvying us to get moving, get things done. Reader Eric Hodgson says procrastinators are getting organised. They have even developed a creed. Chant together now:
· I believe that if anything is worth doing, it would have been done already.
· I shall never move quickly, except to avoid more work or find excuses.
· I firmly believe that tomorrow holds the possibility for new technologies, astounding discoveries, and a reprieve from my obligations.
· I truly believe that all deadlines are unreasonable, regardless of the amount of time given.
· I shall never forget that the probability of a miracle, though infinitesimally small, is not exactly zero.
· If at first I don't succeed, there is always next year.
· I shall always decide not to decide, unless of course I decide to change my mind.
· I shall always begin, start, initiate, take the first step, and/or write the first word when I get around to it.
· I will never put off until tomorrow what I can forget about forever.
· I will become a member of the ancient Order of Two-Headed Turtles (the Procrastinators' Society) if they ever get it organised.
Quite right. Let's not rush things.
Gone golfing
A DEFINITION of golf: An endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle, followed by a good bottle of beer.
Tailpiece
A FARMER'S truck is in for repairs in the village and he decides he will walk home. He stops at the hardware store to buy a bucket and a gallon of paint. Then at the market he buys a couple of chickens and a goose. He's trying to work out how he's going to carry it all when a little old lady approaches and says she's lost. She names an address.
"Oh, that's right near my farm. I'll walk you there just as soon as I work out how to carry this lot."
"Why don't you put the can of paint in the bucket? Carry the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose in your other hand."
"Why, thank you." He does that and they start walking.
"Let's go down this alley. It's a short cut."
She looks at him dubiously. "I'm a lonely widow with no husband to defend me. How do I know you won't put me against the wall and have your way with me?"
"Holy smokes, lady! I'm carrying a bucket, a gallon of paint, two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly do that?"
"Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the paint on top of the bucket, and I'll hold the chickens."
Last word
Art is making something out of nothing and selling it.
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