The first evening at a new strut is like the first day at school. You know no-one, are trying to remember twenty names and projects and no matter how hard you try, always end up looking like a rivet in a Mosquito factory. The only difference is that no-one is playing conkers, the milk is free and some large kid with a squint isn't out to steal your dinner money. I remember my first strut meeting very clearly. It was about ten years ago and went something like this:
     'That's Fred over there,' explained the strut coordinator, indicating a man holding a wing rib. 'He's building a Taylor. The tall man is Taylor; he's half way through an Evans. Evans is finishing the FRED that Taylor started but is now helping Phillips with the Isaacs.'
     'What?' I asked, highly confused already.
     'No-no-no,' said my host quickly, 'The WOT is being built by Evans with Whittaker who has just finished a Phillips. Lucas was helping Taylor with his Evans but is now building a Murphy. Murphy himself is test-flying his WAR.'
     'What is Murphy's WAR?'
     'It's a film with Peter O'Toole and a Grumman Duck.'
     'Oh yes,' I murmured, 'Good, wasn't it?'
     The coordinator continued:
     Murphy is a remarkable fellow. He's flown Falcons in the Balkans and a Berkut in Beirut; a Rutan in Bhutan and a Starlet in Bartlett. On the building front he's constructed a Luton in Luton. He moved to Newport and is now-'
     '-building a Nieuport?' I hazarded.
     'No,' retorted my new friend, 'Whatever made you say that? He's just got married; he and Lucy are starting on a Druine.'
     'Turbulent?'
     'I'd say,' he laughed, 'most frightful arguments, those two. But that's enough about us lot. What do you want to build?'
     'I'm not sure,' I replied, 'single seater, Volkswagen engine, but with aerobatic capability.'
     'Tipsy?'
     'Certainly not,' I replied indignantly, 'I haven't touched a drop since lunch.'

Jasper Fforde