...I've been flying again, yesterday arvo. Finally!

The first weekend I was in Killarney, celebrating with the others that Andrew and Wendy's house is ready. It was blown out, which was good because I was somewhat hung over after three of us killed off one of Rob's 2l rum bottles (not to speak of a few beers) in one evening. Coke+alc+tabasco tastes very nicely. The second day was blown out, too, and thus I didn't fly.

The second weekend I was in Killarney, camping with my daughter. It was blown out, so I didn't fly and neither did she, although we had planned/hoped for a tandem run with Andrew.

The third weekend featured not-so-shiny weather on Saturday and loads of wind Sunday, and I spent it in Fleay's Zoo and in the Currumbin Zoo, with daughter and exwife. Saw lots of birds but didn't fly myself.

The fourth weekend I spent partially on the road and partially doing the laundry: Saturday we came back from a trip to Sydney, and Sunday I set up a trip to Moreton Island. An enjoyable vacation, but no flying.

The fifth weekend saw me without family again (they left on Friday) but the weather was not-so-good again, and I was massively busy finishing my PhD thesis. A doctorate is nice, but so is flying.

The sixth weekend had a rainy Saturday, and a Sunday where I gave up maybe a bit too early: I did drive up to Tambo but upon seeing a few people getting chucked around a fair bit I decided to chicken out. There is always another day for flying.

The seventh weekend I spent Saturday breaking records for the trip between bed and toilet, with a case of the shits. Shit flies when it hits the fan. It's not warm enough to have the fans on. Sunday was not flyable, as far as I remember.

The eight weekend it rained on Saturday, and on Sunday I gave up a little bit too early and went home maybe half an hour before the conditions became very nice indeed. But on Monday I did fly.