"Wow. Cool. Excellent. Let me get the video camera man, unnerstan what I'm saying?"

"Grab us a Grolsch while you're out there, mate. Neeeeeeeeeearrrreeeeeawwww! This thing is bugged to fu..." But it was too late for him to finish the sentence. The entire plane flipped upside down, the sky showing no signs of the usual jaggies that his experience suggested he should see. He reached for the F9 key to change his view to one from outside the ailing aero but found only tedious controls that he'd never bothered to learn about before. As he flailed around for the escape key, his elbow, or maybe his arse, brushed another undocumented button, causing the aircraft to right itself and fly all the way to Ibiza aiport, as if under some strange remote control.

The landing was, of course, no problem. At least, that's what everybody said once they'd all come down the huge, yellow slidey thing and ended up drenched with fire-retardant foam. It took the authorities some three hours to extract the partygoers from the foam, and another two to stop them from running back up the great yellow slidey thing in order to slide down again. The last person off the plane was the Kid. "I found this excellent cheat key. Superb! Auto pilot or something. Kicking," he exclaimed to the police as they led him away...

This week's moral is: real life is more exciting, if less encouraging, than games. And there's no such thing as that kind of auto pilot.