Can you believe someone was actually daft enough to send me a poem about 18th Century parachuting? When it comes to flaxen-haired tart Paul, yes, I can believe it. He's as mad as a carpet, our Paul, oh yes...

An Ode to Parachuting. In the Eighteenth Century. by Paul Milner (like it so far?) An intrepid master of the skies Am I, who in hot air balloon flies. O lowly folk I see below, I'm going to jump, just watch me go. On basket's ledge, full proud I stand, Surveying the spot where I should land So far below, but isn't it sage, To jump for progress in this Age? So with triumphant shout I leap From high above to valley deep. My parachute is on my back, Have I forgotten anything? Alack! My spirit it doth quail and fret, No-one's invented the ripcord yet.

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© Andy Holten 1998