Visions of those fellow Lemmings left behind laughing at our expense did not cross our minds, no not for a moment. Many a hilarious gags of the “the engines are on fire” variety were shouted down the plane and worried looks exchanged between our fellow travelers, more concerned at the company they were keeping than the fate of the ailing aircraft.

On return to Stanstead, confidence that this was but a routine safety exercise was quickly dispelled at the site of rows of emergency vehicles rushing down the runway after us as we prepared to kiss the ground. The pilot, a generous man, paid tribute to our forthcoming trip with visionary foresight and thumped the already fragile craft to ground, bounced, and came to a grinding halt; the drivers of the emergency vehicles gave marks for the landing and found the result was less than a Torville and Dean perfect 6.0 6.0 6.0 6.0.

An engineer graced us with his presence and proceeded to kick the tires and suck air through his teeth. The verdict was a stuck reverse thrust sensor, and after much debate a solution to the problem was arrived and the warning light bulb unscrewed. With the aircraft fit to fly and function, the captain woke up from his evening nap, put away his comfort blanket and prepared once more to launch us towards the heavens.

The cabin crew once again reminded us that in the event of us crashing towards the sea at terminal velocity in a burning, disintegrating metal tube we would be assured of safety by donning a plastic yellow jacket(with whistle and flashing light accessories) and placing an oxygen mask over our faces. The safety talk was watched by all with rapt attention.

With our flight finally underway the happy air crew distributed drinks and food, and the Lemmings were at peace with the world. The flight crew worried at the controls and fed the captain his bottle of milk. With Seville in sight, various Lemmings rushed back from the loos and took their places. The pilot, who didn’t know that there’s too much of a good thing, once again piled into the runway, flare all but forgotten, leaving the aircraft with aching undercarriage and needing the equivalent of a hip replacement.

With all departed and hire cars hired, we set out to be reunited with our beloved motors and those brave souls who had braved the roads of France and Spain to bring them. A suitable bar had been selected in the evening, being both far too small and far too gay. Upon arrival we were met by Paramotorings answer to the Tetley Tea chimps, Mark, and by two resembling none other than famous Hollywood stars Jay and Silent Bob.