In an incredibly imaginative, expansive and generous gesture, BB took a notion, which he then carried out, to arrange a private flight for himself and Mrs BB over the Brittany coast, and to invite me along as the in-flight photographer.
Tom and I were going to meet them at Lannion airport, which is rather small and specialises in flights to Paris for the technocrats of Brittany's equivalent of Silicone Valley. However, Tom was ill in the night and needed to rest up for the morning, so I inconvenienced the already rather frazzled (the arrangements had encountered some hitches and reversals prior to this) Bondens by having them pick me up en route. But never mind, we arrived.
As anyone who knows BB from his blog knows, photographs of the great man are strictly forbidden, paparazzi moments included. However, he's now back in the UK and I'm here in France, and I've decided the privacy laws no longer apply. Nevertheless I have stuck to three-quarter rear views. Here he is inveigling M Kervoaze into imparting the secrets of his calling. He does a good line in inveigling, does BB. As you can see, he is really very tall (M Kervoaze is short but not that short).
Mrs BB and I were slightly disappointed that M Kervoaze did not quite conform to our image of the dashing pilot, but I think he was probably a very good one anyway. His 'kiss-landing' was certainly an epiphanic moment for BB.
"Have you got your passports?" he asked in the airport. I hadn't thought it necessary to bring mine, and was rather surprised.
"Not to worry," he said "we'll go round the back."
He led us through the car park and into the hangar where the little planes lived. In truth it would have been enough of a treat (well almost) for me just to have been allowed in here with the camera.
There were Pipers and Cessnas and microlights and who knows what, even one of those tiny little things like a powered hang-glider,
It was like being in a stable full of beautiful, mythical flying beasts, delicate but imposing. Some of them even had dear little blankets on them.
But our prospective steed was outside waiting for us,
She was called Skyhawk.
"Come aboard!" said M Kervoaze.
So we did.
And off we flew.
(To be continued...)