A weekend parachuting

Living an ear-popping 15 foot (rough guess) above ground level means that cars, specifically Myles’ cars, have a treacherous near-vertical descent to the road whenever they need to catch bad guys, escape dinosaurs, or go to the airport. Over the weeks, many a car has ended up in hospital because they’ve lost grip and plummeted into the lava that forms whenever bad things happen to cars on a mission.

Fortunately, the up trip is easier for these cars because giant friendly robots (who love carrying cars upstairs) live in the hallway and are always eager to help. They just don’t like carrying cars downstairs, which is understandable. It’s not like we pay them for their services so whatever we get is great.

With a lot of bad guys to nab, dinosaurs to evade, and flights to catch, Myles, Shaun, and I set about making their descent less of a test of faith and something a cement mixer can survive every single time.

The answer was obvious, parachutes!

We spent Saturday afternoon making parachutes out of cotton thread and bags, trussing in the cars, and flinging them over the bannister.

After an initial bout of teething issues (cars are a lot heavier than soldiers), we hit upon a design that saw these vehicles swoop down to ground with all the grace of a bird.

Since then, I’ve been working on a prototype that eliminates the need for trussing in the cars. My car cradle allows for drive-on drive-off and lands a lot of the time on its feet. The only issue I have to solve is the descent rate. I have until next Saturday to fix.


I got a little stressy on Saturday, and needlessly so since it was only a few chores and the prospect of driving in Storm Dennis truly pestering me like needles in the mind. (The few chores I had to finish I did eventually mostly finish and I didn’t have to drive in the end.)

As the wind moved my bed that night, I got to thinking about why I don’t like driving in a storm. The long and short of it is, it’s control. I like to remain in control and stray tough gusts that fling me into oncoming traffic (or so it feels) doesn’t satisfy this need. This led me to other examples where I will not do if it means I relinquish control, and this control is control of me, of what I’m doing. I then got to thinking about times I’d lost control and removed myself quite happily, put myself someplace safe until control was restored to full power.

To cut a long story short, and masterfully skirt around some writer’s block because I can’t explain myself without expanding and editing, being stressy is a loss of control, isn’t it? The feelings are fine, the reaction is fine, but how that reaction translates out into the world is where control resides.

I fell asleep wondering how to retreat from pestering mind needles.

Doing or not doing is a good instant fix, but sometimes the mind’s a little too addled to notice.

Speaking, then. Say it. It’s worth a try.


Sunday started lazy but I was soon running late, having got myself caught up watching Ice Age and the trials of that poor squirrel. Fortunately, a strong tailwind shaved ten minutes off my walk and I arrived at Tanya’s with plenty of time to spare before the roast was served.

Afterwards, to walk off my meal, I took the scenic route home via Gunwharf and the seafront. I didn’t see much of the sea due to the promenade being mostly waves, but I did manage to snap this picture:

For reasons best left explained by my fingers and thumbs, this picture took ages to take because I kept turning my phone off.
Tomos James

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