Baby airplanes - what happens when you don't wake up properly

Image credit: BBC Cambridgeshire

There is a small city airport not very far from where I live. It's an airfield really, truth be told, but since there is a row of lights leading the way and a control room, I guess it has to be called an airport.

Along the edge of this tiny airport are parked tiny, incy, wincy airplanes - Baby Airplanes.

There is a sign on the side of the big, scary, barbed wire fence that tells you that they like to be called Tiger Moths.

Which made me wonder what they eat before they can become big, scary, double-decker air buses.

I looked up what moths eat and they usually eat liquid food through a long thin tube. I have seen that baby airplanes also have a long thin tube that goes in their belly. Only, there is some sort of greasy man holding the tube to the plane, which is weird because I think moths are supposed to have this tube coming out of their body and not the other way around. I wonder if moths also have a tiny man to hold their feeding tube?

Since there aren't many flowers on the green of the airfield, I am now starting to wonder if those fly overs I sometimes see from my garden aren't baby airplanes searching for food. Which reminds me of that really scary airplane that was big and loud and looked like a triangle and it flew with the noise of 20 million devils just a hair width above my hair. Well, that's what it felt like at the time. The triangle plane made flips in the air so much so that I thought it had lost control and would come tumbling in a roaring ball of spitting fire straight into my vegetable patch. Happily, it didn't, but I'm still nervous of any sudden noise. I bet that kind of plane eats little planes for his food, just like the sparrowhawk which was hovering above the honeysuckle bush last Thursday was looking to eat little finches from the cherry trees.

And then, what happened is, that I had to stop for petrol, and this kid behind me said:

"Excuse me, but would you mind terribly if I went in front of you, because I'm dreadfully late for school, you see, my school starts at 9am!" and he brandished his crisps in my face as if they were some sort of self evident defence.

What could I do? thinking of baby airplanes and moths and finches, I nodded and he went ahead with his rusty coloured hair, standing on tiptoes to reach the counter, which was, lets not be unkind, quite high.