Full circle

Nineteen or twenty years ago when I was a bit naughty and working for a hang glider/microlight manufacturer, I sort of got semi-involved with prototype testing. One week (when the boss must have been away and the designer definitely was away) I decided to build a semi-official second prototype of the middle sized glider. I asked the sailmaker to make the sail in the most undesirable colour combination that she could come up with - the idea being that no one would want it and so I'd be free to go and fly it whenever I pleased... and maybe even offer to 'take it off their hands' if it became an embarrassment to the company image. The frame was made out of bits scrounged from old gliders or the scrap bin. It flew okay but we had to reconfigure the sail to remove unsightly rucks and wrinkles - so as a prototype it did serve its purpose. I was happy. I flew it a few times and all was well. Then it got borrowed by the designer (how cheeky is that!) and got crashed and that's the last I ever saw of it. Not long afterwards I left the company to go and earn a more realistic wage.
Last month I met a chap called Murray and he told me he had 'my' old glider and he ended up giving it to me. And so my cunning plan to get a free glider eventually came to fruition! I did offer to buy it from him but he declined. To be honest I can see why: It is well-shagged. Some of the scrap bin tubing is still in evidence, as are the old stitching holes where we repositioned the sail. I might fly it just for old time's sake - but I think I'd better take it to bits first and check it over because, like I say, it's well shagged - although it was always a bit shagged, even when new.
My mate Ed came up with the best description of the emotional dichotomy involved with obtaining a cheap or free flying machine: On the ground you're bragging to your mates how "I only paid fifty quid for it!" Two thousand feet above the ground and you're looking at every component and thinking "Bloody hell, I only paid fifty quid!"