Flying high

OK, so I'm not big on heights. I don't climb ladders, and if I do, I certainly don't look down! If I can help it, I leave tree climbing and other outdoor pursuits to others. But I like flying high, and with my line of work, that often comes as part of the job description. So, to find myself embarking on a helicopter ride was - to say the least - out of my comfort zone. However, when accompanied by a sophisticated, middle-aged gentleman with enough money to buy a fleet of helicopters and his airfield, I make an exception.

This gentleman is called Vincent, and he wanted to show me ‘his London’. When the helicopter took off, I gripped Vincent for dear life! The poor man had half-moon-shaped indents on his forearm from my fingernails as he prized my vice-like grip away from his skin. He brushed his lips against my cheek and said, "Relax". I took several deep lung-full of oxygen and tried to do as he spoke. 

We took a night flight, so the City was ablaze with lights. Landmarks are easy to spot when lit by headlights, street lamps and their night-time uniform of neon brights. I could enjoy Tower Bridge and London Bridge strung with hundreds of bulbs. The way those taking nighttime cruises on the Thames would see them as their passengers sip champagne. Vincent was delighted that not only was his escort date relaxing, but she was sitting right forward in her seat,  peering down as far as my headgear would allow. Flying high above London is something else. Pointing out things I had only seen from street level before was fantastic.

We coursed over the City from East to West, North to South. The West End was the most prominent, with its neon lighting, brightly lit streets and hundreds of theatregoers. A miniature Buckingham Palace, Marble Arch and Hyde Park stretched below us. Canary Wharf could be seen from miles away; The Docks sparkled in the city lights. I could only think to myself, what a lucky London escort. Flying high over London is an experience I will never forget. I am to not only live and work here but also to be able to see it this way.

Vincent opened our bottle of champagne for the final leg of our journey. We finally came to rest on the roof of his Kensington home. After that, we were greeted by his Butler, who took my coat and told me dinner would be served in half an hour. I glanced at Vincent, who took my arm, said to him that sounded 'splendid' and whisked me off to his private drawing room for a re-cap on what we had seen.

Spoilt? Me? No....