The wreckage still smoulders. The black boxes are silent. And six questions, like spectral passengers, haunt the corridors of aviation inquiry. UK experts, men with briefcases and furrowed brows, are demanding answers. But the universe, in its infinite indifference, offers only silence. Or perhaps gin. Let us examine these six spectral queries, each more troubling than the last.
Question one: Why did the cockpit voice recorder fail to capture the pilot's final, presumably expletive-laden, utterance? Rumours swirl of a firmware update, installed at 3 AM by a man named Keith. Keith is a phantom. Keith is a metaphor for our times.
Question two: The flight data recorder shows a sudden, inexplicable drop in altitude. Could it have been a rogue pigeon? A flock of corporate lawyers? The transcript is garbled, but one expert claims to hear the faint sound of a kettle boiling. Is this a clue? Or the sound of his own existential despair?
Question three: Why did the weather report predict 'sunny spells' when the plane encountered what can only be described as a meteorological tantrum? The Met Office blames a 'unique convergence of isobars.' I blame the privatisation of the weather. Everything is privatised now, including the truth.
Question four: A distress call was received, but the controller says it sounded like a man reading the terms and conditions of a low-cost airline. 'Your baggage may be lost. Your life may end. Please hold.' Was this a joke? A cry for help? The controller cannot say; he is now on indefinite leave, or as it's known in the industry, 'gardening leave.' He is probably growing leeks.
Question five: The aircraft underwent maintenance just hours before departure. The logbook contains a note: 'Replaced flux capacitor. Tested. Works fine.' But the flux capacitor is a fictional device from a 1985 film. Was this a prank? A cry for help from a disgruntled mechanic? Or is the entire aviation industry running on cinema metaphors?
Question six: Why are UK aviation experts so certain that these questions are the correct ones? Are they not, like all of us, fumbling in the dark, clinging to the frayed tail of a kite in a thunderstorm? Their certainty is the most troubling response of all. It is the certainty of men who have seen too many PowerPoint presentations and not enough human tragedy.
So let us raise a glass answers. Let us raise a glass to the six questions, and to the six thousand more that will follow. Let us raise a glass to Keith, wherever he is. And let us hope, against all evidence, that someone, somewhere, knows what the hell is going on.
