It’s not everyday that you see them… and I didn’t see them at all (I was on the farm) – and Chris hasn’t seen them here before – but yesterday he saw them come, flying out of the blue. They must have jumped off the cliffs along by the bridle path where we ride our bikes down into Dawlish Warren – Chris could see them in the distance, flying on our side of Red Rock. What a wonderful surprise it was for Chris to find that they were flying his way. They dipped and soared with the wind as it took them over the rooftops, and Chris’s head – they even waved at Chris.

I was sorry to have missed the spectacle. My all-time-favourite dreams are flying ones. In the past I have flown with “The Beatles”, the pop group from the sixties, not insect beetles (that wouldn’t be very nice), on top of a gigantic yellow kite; like a huge flying carpet it took us, at our behest, high into the clouds, then it dropped down to the height of the tops of the poplar trees and flew over vineyards, sunflower fields and red-gold pantiled roofs – I knew it was France, although I had never before flown over France at such close quarters (especially on a kite).

The French dream was my only flying dream involving a kite, at all other times I have been perfectly capable of flying under my own steam, if a little nervously at first. I usually do a bit of a jump and hover about six feet above the ground, then, amazed that I can fly, I return to terra firma (just in case it’s a fluke). By the fifth jump I’m confident enough to go up to about twelve feet, just above the roof height of a small rustic dwelling, and from that altitude I’m overjoyed to find that I can fly around at will without fear of falling. Like a big Tinkerbell without wings or grace, I flit about, and linger only when I see something interesting below me. Largely, I fly about, unseen or unnoticed, under the cloak of darkness and if someone chances to see me spying on the scene below, perhaps of a party in progress, and that person doubts the evidence of his own eyes, I get nervous and fall to the ground. Then I have to go through all that hopping and jumping around again in order to prove that I really can fly. Ah but the elation when I take off again…!

“It’s not a dream!” I think, and then I wake up.

But the disappointment is worth it because I have known the pleasure of flying.

I wish I had seen the para-gliders that flew over our terrace yesterday. Luckily, Chris had the presence of mind to grab his camera.

“I was strimming in the garden when I saw something amazing,” Chris said as he began to tell me about the strange occurrence, “I could hardly believe my eyes….”