SOME DAY BEFORE THE END OF THIS DECADE, I will strap myself under a spinning rotor in an open cockpit and go chasing clouds. In the open front cockpit of the MT-03 gyroplane, you can see cows swat flies and you can watch rivers flow underneath your feet. You can see those things clearly because you don't have to squint through goggles of worry about a front-mounted engine spitting oil into your eyes. Underneath your bum, you get the solid feel of a light plane made out of bits of wood glued together and covered with fabric that horses like to eat. This kind of flying is just like I did when I first slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the sky on laughter-silvered wings. I like the MT-03 because it can land on a tennis court if you're good. And its footprint is less likely to sink into a wet Irish grass field. I'm saving my money for hours over Hampshire or for weekends at Wickenby Aerodrome.