[the scene: a muddy airstrip in rural England. A pilot dressed in ragged khakis shepherds a group of assorted tourists to his waiting helicopter. Some of the tourists seem reluctant.]
[pilot] Step right up, folks, this this is the best chance you will ever have to get a bird’s-eye view of the magnificent rolling hills of Yorkshire! Just twenty bucks, a price that can’t be beat!
[tourist, a querulous elderly man] How do we know this machine of yours is safe?
[pilot, smarmily ingratiating] Never had a mishap, and I’ve had ‘er up hundreds of times!
[A portly German man wearing a curled white wig approaches the pilot, huffing and puffing]
My good man, I understand that you have a pianoforte on board your craft. Can that be true?
[pilot] Why as a matter fact, I do! It’s just a spinet, but I’m sure it will agree with you. I do keep it well-tuned and tempered!
[The German man pays his fare and the passengers are escorted into the helicopter by the pilot. Once the aircraft has gained elevation the pilot banks the ‘copter over the rough terrain]
Not as green as it usually is down there, but we’ve been enduring an oven-like drought!