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entry 64 -6th February 02
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tim-tom's helicopter I was walking along the promenade earlier when I saw a radio controlled helicopter buzzing up and down the beach. I spent so long trying to work out where its owner was sitting that by the time I'd spotted him, he'd already spotted me. It was Tim-Tom. He beckoned me over with spooky Praying Mantis arm movements. He stood up and brought his helicopter in, landing it on the pebbles in front of us. I recognised it from the brochure I'd been given in the shop: it was a Hughes 500, a shiny red one. It was nice, but it wasn't half as cool as my Huey. He didn't fly it particularly brilliantly, either, from what I'd just seen.
"You're pretty good with that," I told him. "Most people can't even get them off the ground." "Tim thinks where he wants it to go," he said, "and old Tom makes it happen." Then he started making weird clicking noises with his tongue. I realised this was probably my moment: I rummaged about in my back pocket, pulled out the flyer for the Angmering radio control display event, unfolded it, and held it out. He snatched it out of my hand and read it. Then he re-folded it, diagonally (totally ignoring the original fold marks). "I'm thinking of entering," I said as he was popping it into his shirt pocket. "Then Tim's thinking of entering too," he repied instantly. "As for good old Tom, though, he's not so sure what he's going to do. He'd tell you another day... if you had another day." Then he bundled up his helicopter and sped off in a Tim-Tom spiderish blur. I think I'll spend the night at Geordie's.
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