Newsflash: Plane Crashes. Repeatedly.

Last Sunday we went to a family gathering at my mum and dad's.

My two little nephews had been given a remote control plane for Easter. It wasn't exactly an expensive, top of the range model - that would have been madness. In the hands of two small boys, this plane's prospects for survival were akin to Oceanic 815 flying over Lost Island.

The lads were desperate to get the thing into the sky. But my Dad would not give clearance for take off from his back garden. He was understandably reluctant to see it smashing through Ernie's greenhouse next door. Ernie is a lovely old bloke. But he loves his garden. To him, crashing a plane into his greenhouse would have been like another 9/11.

So the lads asked if they could take the plane down to the Bottom Field.

The Bottom Field is where I used to play football and rugby with my mates when I was a kid. It's a strip of grass that somehow manages to have both a steep slope and bad drainage. It is the perfect playground for young lads, as it provides the opportunity to get absolutely filthy, which is particularly satisfying when you're dressed up for a family do at your grandma's.

So a gang of us went down to the Bottom Field and, on the way down, the two nephews formed a plan. Nathan would hold the plane while Thomas fired up the propellers using the remote control. Nathan would then let go off the plane and it would soar up into the sky.

So Nathan stood there with the plane in hand. Thomas hit the controls and the propellers fizzed into action. For about a second. Then they stopped.

Thomas pushed the lever every which way but the propellers wouldn't shift. It was clear that the plane was dead. The lads looked very disappointed.

That was when my cousin, Jonno, stepped in. "Don't worry, " he said. "I'll have a go. When I throw the plane, you press the lever and then it will start."

Jonno launched the plane into the wind and luckily it caught the breeze and sailed through the air in a satisfying arc before touching down lightly on the nearby road. The lads cheered. We laughed in disbelief.

Sadly, that initial success turned out to be a false dawn. As you might expect with a remote control plane that doesn't actually work, further launch attempts resulted in failure. For about ten minutes we laughed hysterically as Jonno tried to relive the heady heights of his maiden flight. But effectively, the only spectacle he managed to conjure up was that of a grown man, repeatedly throwing a piece of red plastic to the ground.

The boys were starting to lose faith in the plane. I decided to step up and have a go.

"The problem is," I lied," that you're not pushing the lever at the right time. Now, I'll count to three, and then you push the lever. OK?"

"OK!"

"OK...get ready to press the lever...1...2...3...GO!"

I launched the plane. It caught the wind and swooped vertically into the air. Then the wind dropped and it came vertically down again, planting its nose firmly into the mud and remaining there, like an arrow stuck in the ground.

I looked at Thomas with mock incredulity. "Did you press the lever?"

"Yes!"

"You can't have done!"

"I did!" He protested.

"You have to press it on the count of 3..."

"I did! I did!"

"OK," I sighed. "Let's try it again. But this time push the lever."

"I did!"

OK so I admit - this was more for the entertainment of the adults than for the kids. The concentration on Thomas's face as he tried to perfectly time the lever was hilarious. It seemed like only yesterday that I was playing the same tricks on my sister - his mother. I felt like a teenager again.

We repeated this several times and, for me at least, it didn't seem to be getting any less funny. But Nathan and Thomas both started to protest. "It's not working! It's broke!"

"No," I said. "You just have to push the lever."

We tried again. And finally, by the law of averages, the plane caught the breeze and swooped around the sky above us, changing direction three times before gracefully landing on the grass. The boys jumped about excitedly. The plane was working after all!

"Well done!" I exclaimed. "You pressed the lever at just the right time!"

Now the boys were really having fun. In their excitement, they snapped the ariel off the remote control. Amazingly, this didn't seem to affect the performance of the aircraft at all. It still plummeted into the ground 9 times out of 10. But then on the odd occasion, it caught the wind and took flight.

Nathan took charge of launching the plane, while Thomas focussed on pushing the lever.

With practice, Nathan got better at launching the plane into the wind and making it glide. Unfortunately, Thomas took all the credit for this, putting it down to his increasing mastery of the lever.

Eventually we'd had enough and we all marched back with the shattered wreck of the plane and big smiles on our faces. It was one of those magical times when you feel lucky to have a family you can laugh with.

Unfortunately, I got a little bit too giddy and told young Thomas a made-up story about the Baby Jesus and a Vauxhall Corsa, which he later repeated. That got me a bollocking from my sister.

But, hey, you can't win 'em all.