if you see a kite passing overhead, call me

So, after traipsing out towards Bosworth Field, actually getting there, finding no one with a badge or warrant saying "no kites allowed" well,  . . . She unloaded her gear and took to the skies, enjoying for the briefest of moments that 'magical' feeling only She knows, that look of determination etched across her face 

Only to have it freeze in abject horror, as the cord snapped and with the look of a tout at the finish of the Grand National as that 100-1 longshot trounces the field, her beloved 'tiger' floated off into the  hither-and-yon, 

Her recapture attempts - in vain - failing to retrieve it

And no, I did not laugh at the effort . . . at least not so that She actually heard me

Realising the opportunity to "blip" would be fleeting - at best - I turned my attention to the Volvo

(doubt if tonight will be all "peaches and cream" folks)