Whirlycopter Thingumijig

The hand reached into the bag and pulled out the first name. Bugger - it wasn't mine. Another name was called. Only one chance left.

And then in a Charlie-finding-the-golden-ticket moment I heard my name called.

I was going on a helicopter ride.

To begin with I thought this was karma making up for the incident with the dog earlier in the week. I was soon to find out I was wrong.

This wasn't the first time I'd been in helicopter but it was the first time I'd been in a Gazelle. The Gazelle is not the most impressive helicopter. In fact it looks like the sort of the thing you might buy for Action Man at Toy 'R' Us. It consists of one rather large plastic bubble, a couple of pieces of metal nicked from a mechano box and an engine.

It was during the pre-flight briefing that I first began to get second thoughts.

"Be careful what you touch - you might put your hand right through the metal."

This was followed with what to do if the engine stopped. As far as I can remember the 'what to do' consisted of putting your head down between your legs and kissing your arse goodbye - or something like that.

It was just after we'd put our headphones on that it happened. The pilot asked if any of us had any questions.

"Yeah - have you ever made anyone airsick," one of the other lads asked.

"No - I haven't."

"Bet you can't."

Idiot.

Half an hour later and feeling rather green we got out of the helicopter.