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Well, it blew a bit during the night! I think the hotel moved sideways about two feet! Arie had planned for a fly-out to the nearby island airfield of Texel. Due to the conditions, it was decided to forgo that pleasure and to sit it out with our planes. Almost en masse, we dragged ourselves from the safety of the hotel, along a road strewn with tree branches and other debris, to the airfield.

Our aircraft had fared well during the night, although one or two had weathercocked slightly despite being tied down.

We all felt rather smug. Smug, that is, until word was passed down from the ATC tower that the winds were due to increase to 65 knots! That set the ball into motion, as worried bodies rushed out into the elements to find more rope, more tie down screws, more concrete blocks, etc. Once more, we were lucky, as the ATC kindly pointed in the right direction for these items of security, and the rain wasn't really that cold.

Having once again collectively sheltered in the airport cafe and smugly congratulated ourselves at a job well done, the cry went up from our French colleagues (and here, for our foreign friends from across The Pond, I roughly translate), "Alors! Le wind, he iz going tu increeze tu atey fife knots!" This caused more bodies to hurtle out from the confines of the cafe to tighten the knots, pile on more concrete blocks, trap fingers in the concrete blocks, and generally wish they could find a hangar to hide themselves and their planes in.

This time the rain really did feel cold, as it had by now permeated every inch of this scribes body! Once we'd decided that nothing more could be done, most participants toured a nearby museum of aircraft artefacts, ate, played board games, and told lies about their exploits. The cafe people did us proud and didn't complain one bit as we took over all their available tables and chairs. Nice people.

The main Euro-AYA convention dinner was held that night at the Badhotel, and it wasn't half bad! Lovely food, wonderful company, candlelight, and speeches. The winner of the main European AYA award, the "Wistler Trophy" was Jens Neergaard, who flew his AA5 OY-AYL from his small grass strip in northern Denmark complete with wife and fractious babe. It probably wasn't the longest distance, but it was considered the most difficult. I think I'll bring along my wife next time. She's bound to get me the sympathy vote and perhaps I'll win it. Monday morning was fine. The wind had abated and the sun shone. Spirits were high. Most people had to return home, but at least the conditions were decent. Fond farewells were made, concrete blocks arduously removed, fathoms of rope unknotted, and our lovely planes departed one after another, most with a waggle of their wings in a final salute to the wonderful Midden Zeeland ATC for all their help and advice.

It was a great event that will be talked about (and perhaps exaggerated) for years to come. Thank you, Arie and Beli, for all your hard work and effort. Dear reader, I trust that this little tale gives a little taste of how we Europeans feel about our flying and our commitment to it. Despite all the problems, the costs, and the ruddy weather, we do enjoy ourselves. We maintain our close-knit fraternity of AYA friends, and we delight in making fun of our hardships. We spit at the wind and we defy the rain. After all, one's skin is waterproof.

You can wake up now!

Yours, Captain Ni "Waterproof" Thomas.