I ended up sitting next to him, quite by chance, on a flight to Wellington. Slender bloke, late 50s, elegantly rumpled- I liked the look of him immediately. He was David Hansford, an undercover boffin, travelling incognito without a white lab-coat.
We got talking because I'm a cowardly flier and it was windy, and conversation takes my mind off turbulence. And it transpired Hansford and I were blood brothers as yet unmet.
We got talking because I'm a cowardly flier and it was windy, and conversation takes my mind off turbulence. And it transpired Hansford and I were blood brothers as yet unmet.
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