I’ve been enjoying the previously unreported sonic qualities pterosaur wings a lot this week. Thanks to the need to paint some fibreglass pterosaur wing membranes and a newfound obsession with the heavy beats of Florence and the Machine, I’ve been smacking out tunes with paintbrushes on the folded wings of our giant male azhdarchid model, tastefully named Bamofo, all week. Hit them hard enough with a paint-slopped brush and they make a noise unlike that of a walloped bass drum, albeit one that splashes paint everywhere and renders the artist and workshop looking like a Jackson Pollock canvas. With the amount of paint I find on the walls, floor and my hands, arms, shoulders, chest, neck and face after a particularly enthusiastic rendition of Dog Days Are Over, I’m surprised any colour has m