When I say headfirst into the nearest rock, dear reader, I do not mean the bushes or the shingle or a loose rocky surface. I mean he’s has taken on the hot, hard granite mountain itself and lost. I unclip and climb the 10 meters to him down and across the mountain, just on time to find him regaining consciousness, straining for breath and wheezing like a stuck pig. The last time I heard anything like that one of the guys lungs had collapsed. Oh dear. He is also stuck on his side with one leg in a very funny (peculiar not ha ha) and painfull position trapped underneath him. Oh dear. I remove his loose fitting helmet to make him a little more comfy. There is a lump on his canister and the red red vino is flowing freely. He can barely move let alone stand but insists he’s ok and dosent need an ambulance. Being in shock will make you say the craziest things. I really want to go fly and it crosses my mind when I get to him and see the state he’s in that I don’t know the emergency service number anyway, I’m the only one who knows he’s here and, as he dosent want an ambulance, I could just pinch his nose and mouth, end his suffering, and get clipped back in. Nothing personal you understand, I just want to fly. Wot??? Come on! Hes well over 60 by the look of him, his best years are way behind him. Still, it’s been a long time since I killed anyone so I decide to call Jose in the landing field for a nee nur. Thats the flying day over really. Honestly, bloody Germans. First Poland and now this. Still at least the weather has let me put my shorts back on and I spend the rest of the day loafing in the L.Z with Jose and our friends Estrella and San Miguel (t.m.) who are always nice to us. There’s always tomorrow. Jose and I have been invited to eat at Mickey’s tonight. Mickey is the school and l.z’s big boss and has laid on a feast. We roast lamb and beef over his open fire with baked potatoes and salad with lashings of cold cold beer. Ol'e Mickey
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