Daybreak! Jay has obviously taken well to the outdoors, and his camping chairs are already in use, even in high winds and rain! Breakfast is served. No sign of a briefing though.
Everyone realises by lunchtime that they are to be putting on a lot of weight over the week, as eating is about the only thing to do in Birr on a rainy day (don't drink too much tea though- the toilets aren't so appealing!) A briefing begins! We all learn about the Irish 2000' launch method, which means strictly releasing before the 1900 mark. No free climbing turns for us!
And what is this! A break in the rain. A vicious crosswind laughs in our faces. The rigging begins. 'Yellow K-13' (as she is to be known) comes off her trailer, apparently in four pieces (the desired number), but what is this? A chunk out of the tailplane? A dent in the trim? Wear on the starboard wing?! The K-13 is surely doomed! Inspector Anderson comes to the rescue and with some small temporary fixes declares her airworthy. She shall fly again (maybe)! Experts Duncan and Barsby rebuild the yellow bird with rigging precision, and all the pins look to be in the right places.
But... Who will take the plunge?! Nobody steps forward to launch in the dubious yellow 13. Until... Up she steps. After several DIs, Amy bravely sacrifices herself, and with Jay takes a strict 1900' launch. 26 anxious minutes pass on the ground, but there is that blessed call. 'yellow k13, downwind right'! All is well!
The day seems to be going well. But night has not yet struck! The Ulster Gliding Club come to terms with logging without the use of a medieval laptop. These Dublin folk are still using pen and paper! Nine launches on, and with nobody topping Amy's 26 minutes, it's time for the gliders to get away into the hangar. Everyone's check flights are done, and no airfield cones are destroyed as yet. In comes Seamus Cashin! 'They mine silver over there!' he tells us, pointing toward the looming 'Keeper' mountain.
'Did you hear about the helicopter?' he continues. Looking upward at the extravagant hydrolic powered raising hangar doors, we imagine the worst. And that's where it goes. 'de feckin' chopper hit the 'feckin' doors!'*
*We're not sure of the authenticity of this story.
Night falls. Tim is cooking a chilli con carne to feed the 5000, and with the tuggie retiring home as the crosswind defeats him Abi realises there is no hope of a flight and begins to concoct her student special, the bin of punch. The Dubliners retreat, leaving the rowdy northerners (and the apparently T-total Tom Deane, who took a swift liking to the punch!) to terrorise the residents of Birr. The amp is heaved into the clubhouse. DJ McLaughlin starts his set, but with boooooooooooooos from the audience he soon makes way for the headline act, Dangerous Dave, who effectively counts down the minutes to his entrance. The party is immense! German industrial metal is the favoured sound of the evening, and Dangerous Dave soon has people tapping their feet and doing a dance. But! Midnight strikes, and Sundays joy is over.
Standing on a chair to see over the crowd of fans mobbing dangerous Dave, Tim’s rhythmic drumming on the ceiling - and his joy at being momentarily 23 again - both come to an abrupt end as he falls through the base of the chair and then pivots onto the ground. Owen laughs so hard that he manages to fall over as well, and steals some of Tim's glory. Tim's pain doesn't die off, however, and resident Dr. Gary McLaughlin offers his opinion: 'it's dislocated, for sure! Let me crack it back into place!' Tim squirms at the thought, and Jay offers a sling. Owen, chief technical officer, recognised the need for some pain relief and offered his best shoulder massage, which Tim confessed was extremely comforting, but he was still keen to receive proper medical attention. Conveniently placed on the Ormond Flying Club notice board was the phone number for Tullamore Hospital! David Lisk gets on the case and begins the recovery operation. They don't offer an ambulance for non-999 calls, we are told! What to do?! We look around. The punch bin is empty and none of us can drive. A taxi is called, and is up the Bellarena-standard lane in minutes. It's 1.30am, and our taxi driver is not as expected! It's a she, and Gary swiftly takes a shine. 'You're not bad looking, I'm alone in my 2 man tent you know!' he propositions. 'Air bed. Luxurious.' She somehow restrains herself, seeing Tim in obvious pain, and Abi drunkenly volunteers to accompany Tim to the hospital. Several hours and one x-ray later, Tim's arm is officially u/s. Resigned to an overnight stay and high on morphine, Tim first offers his son William in marriage to Abi, then sends her off home in another taxi. Seeing more of Co. Offaly than she intended, Abi arrived home in daybreak, and crawls into bed oblivious to the excitement she has missed.
For the brutes had been on adventure! Heading off down the lane into the deep unknown, superstition sets in! The brutes sensed the ghost of Offaly, freed recently from the Keeper mountain silver mines, and sprinted the 2.5km into Birr. Upon reaching Birr nightclub, however, they found that time was up! Scorned by the bouncers for supposing they would be allowed in at 1.30am, they trudged back to the airfield, dejected. Retiring to their tents, sorry and alone, the brutes wondered what might be in store for Monday.
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