Yesterday I was in the middle of a game of tennis when, with one or two others, I was ordered to fly over to a neighbouring aerodrome to be ready for a special job in the morning. I landed there all right and reported, and went into the mess-room slap into the arms of an old schoolfellow. I was chatting with him when the C.O. sent for me to explain the nature of the work before us. I went into his office, and the other pilots detailed for the work came in, and to my utter astonishment I recognised another old schoolfellow. I had dinner with him and stayed the night there. This morning the weather was too dud for our work and it was washed out, and we returned to our aerodromes. I brought back my bed, valise, pyjamas, etc., with me in the passenger seat of the aeroplane. I had to fly back without my goggles, as I had lost them at the other aerodrome. * * * * * [Sidenote: A Fokker’s Flight.] One of our pilots had my machine up to-day and met a Fokker. His (or rather my) machine was damaged, but he spun round and let fly at the Fokker. Then his gun jammed, but to his surprise the Hun went off home “hell for leather.” The R.F.C. have absolutely got the Huns “stiff” in the air, partly owing to our “hot stuff” new machines, and partly to the pilots. But a Fokker running away from the machine L. was flying must have been a comical sight. My machines always seem to be unlucky when in the hands of other pilots. To-day I have done very little else but sleep, and the weather has done very little else but rain. I tried to get my hair cut this morning at a village not far away, but was informed that it was after twelve o’clock. “Surely not,” I said, and the barber said “Si,” and unblushingly produced a watch showing about ten minutes to twelve, and motioned me away. However, I got some magazines, and chocolate, and some new shaving soap and razor blades. * * * * * [Sidenote: A Tail Piece.]