I think now would be the best time to say that I don’t have much of a head for heights. Hanging from a pole in a field is one thing; hurtling through the air via monkey-power is another. Memories of my adventures with little Dorothy and the others came flooding back. Only this time there was no Wicked Witch of the West overseeing proceedings. It was just me, Turlo and a purple fog you’d need a knife and fork to wade through. I didn’t want to look down; so I looked up at my pilot.