Instead of being in the middle of the action, as he might once have been as a city reporter, all Old Alex could do was watch from his aerie in the remote suburbs, the urban fringe beneath a sandstone escarpment, as military helicopters flew from the base at Nowra further south up to Sydney and back; and feel, if his mind was in flying mode, the high technical literacy of the pilot and the military intent of those on board, and feel in some ways the wonder of the ancients as they watched, through his eyes, those flying warships streaming through the sky.