By Simon Hollway 

It is my fervent belief (and no one else’s) that the more times you repeat something, the funnier it becomes.

The exception to this rule is producing an aviation title, month in month out which, somehow, grows less amusing the more popular it becomes (I am thinking of setting up a premium charge aviation counselling line to recoup the increasingly expensive ‘phone support’ man hours). However, on an individual basis, face to face and mano a mano and all that, repetition is the key to my self-declared comedic genius. If it ent amusing the first time, it’s bound to raise a laugh on its eight outing. Consequently, I am utterly convinced that my newly found theme tune, created to accompany my celebrated solo flying status (‘flying solo, down in Acapulco’), will eventually engender a titter or two from my flying instructor, Ali. She is not as convinced. She does know, however, one way to stop me singing. Forced landing practice.

Engine failures may be uncommon and me shutting up is even rarer but our foray into the low flying area simulated both situations simultaneously. With six separate sequences to tackle, my mind caved in...again. The initial checks went fine. My scouting of a suitable landing spot went not so fine. Remember, I never like to land on the first attempt so I was meticulous in choosing a suitable spot to land the little Cessna now flying without an engine. Ali suggested that I wouldn’t necessarily have 15 minutes to find an abandoned airstrip within a two minute walk of a beach bar for that essential après-emergency drink. So on we went.

Trouble checks next and I identified my IGA own brand deodorant as the primary problem during that particular sequence. My cut-price anti-perspirant just couldn’t handle the rivers of anxiety cascading down my torso (I am well-prepared for a water landing though now). My sweaty palms slid off the throttle and slipped off the carburettor. What next, for God’s sake? The Mayday call. Thank the Lord.

As I was desperate to delay the inevitable descent, the required emergency passenger briefing was like manna from heaven. Exactly how I could complete such a briefing AND land the plane with only two and a half minutes to spare is beyond me. It takes me two thousand words to get to the end of a sentence and, anyway, the choice between an eloquent black box recording and an intact plane is a no-brainer: in my mind, at least. Fair enough, there is no black box in a Cessna but I always have my Dictaphone running just in case I say something piercingly witty whilst airbourne that could be transformed into a regular column (the glaring and continued absence of my ‘brilliant aviation quotes while airbourne’ column is testament to the lack of wit thus far). I am sure that one day I will say something hilarious to ATC. The best I have come up so far is, “Tango, Foxtread, Lomas..coming into...moving upwind...the finals...of the runtarmac...flightlin...thank you...cheers over and thank you.” It may need working on...

Ali thought it needed far less work and, in fact, suggested we just omit the talking part of the equation for the time being. By the time we got to the shutdown checks I had shut down too and come to the realisation that in the case of any emergency, it would just be easier for me to give in. Let bygones be bygones. Che sera sera.

Two weeks later and it was still an absolute dog’s dinner. Curiously, I was determined to get this one right. In light of all the recent appalling crashes, this was one lesson not to be taken lightly and it was actually the first time I had requested additional lessons. The request produced a mild coronary for Ali’s robust heart (she rapidly restarted it with the DIY defibrillator she had got free from Bunnings with her recent patio paving purchase).

After another five lessons (yes five!), I finally had the sequence correct, fluent and executed in a workmanlike manner. Obviously, once I was more confident with the procedure, I went back to taking my sweet time in choosing a landing spot. Ali doesn’t mind that so much anymore. As she says, I would probably speed everything up a touch should, God forbid, a real emergency occur. I agree, which is the subject of my new theme tune: ‘In a plane with a troubled engine, I will ease your mind...like a Cessna with an engine failure, I will set her down...I will set her down.’ Who needs Simon and Garfunkel when you have 121.5MHz? TaDa!