Later that day............

I think it was the sheer longevity of the free fall (45 mins) and my speed in a northerly direction that first pointed me to the fact I was snagged on the undercarriage.

Eight pints larger for an airlift armed with canopy No.3, (No.2 having acquired a funny aroma.)

Luckily I had remembered my mobile, rang directory enquiries and asked for Scampton air traffic control.

How dare they question the authenticity of my predicament, eventually they patched me through to the pilot, and together we hatched a plan to put me down safely.

All we needed was a object on land moving at around 140 mph.

As I gingerly put one foot on 15:34 to Rotherham, it sounded its horn which finally turned the jeans brown.

The late arrival on platform 3 was greeted with looks of confusion. As I departed the station armed with a £15 fine for not having a ticket, Plan for drop No.4 was coming together.

Even later that same day............
The Intoxicated Advisor

Seven bloody hours to walk through Rotherham town centre, I noticed I was stooping forward at 45 degrees. After folding away the chute progress improved somewhat.

Time calls for a beverage. I Shouldn't have listened to him, after all what can a man with 12 pints of Guinness inside him, know about parachute design.

But somehow he was convincing, "To make the chute fly forward", (which is imperative for a cliff launch), he slurred, "you need to be able to pull the leading edge down". That was his final words before being bundled out of the joint.