Airshow!

During the day at Blenheim, a nearby ‘fly to the past’ airshow provided much entertainment, with aeroplanes from different eras chasing each other around the sky with deafening roars or the dull burr of propeller depending on propulsion. It would have made Churchill proud to see the WWII RAF planes zooming around, and pleased him more if they had shot down a foreign Fokker or two.


It was quite something that an airshow with acrobatics went ahead at all, given that just the day before a Red arrow had died during a display. It put the daredevilry into perspective (and there was much looping the loop, ground level hedge hopping and releasing of streams of coloured smoke). If a member of a seemingly immortal elite institution can die, then how vulnerable must those guys in the biplanes be?


Almost as vulnerable as the people standing along the roadside, leaning over fences and hedges watching the display at ‘Fly to the past’ without paying the entrance fee (entitling you, presumably, to stand in a field on the right side of the hedge, a few yards closer to aeroplanes flying hundreds of feet above you and giving you the prospect of a good dousing with aviation fuel, exhaust fumes, coloured smoke or stray bits of flaming fuselage depending on how things went).

Beside a road during an air display is not a good place to stand, as even the best driver is likely to be somewhat distracted by a couple of aeroplanes undertaking a mock dogfight (and being excited by the alternative, that we’re at war with Germany again!), looping the loop and releasing coloured smoke (red, blue or even white – thrilling. Dense clouds of black smoke coming from a flickering orange and red aeroplane - not so good) as they swoop and turn, and so is more likely to have their eyes on the sky than the road.

Or maybe the spectators know about this risk, and are rally enthusiasts getting in some practice at standing perilously close to speeding cars driven by distracted drivers, so that when they come to watch the night stage in some Welsh forest, their reaction times for dodging an out-of-control Mini coming round a corner sideways spewing dirt, a tumbling Toyota or the bouncing wheel from a stricken motor will be honed to perfection.

No fly zone

As Iceland continues to pump out ash like a chain smoker at a sexual harassment hearing, all flights remain grounded over Europe. This has led to ‘travel disruption’, ‘travel chaos’ or ‘travelgeddeon’ depending upon your choice of media but it has also led to skies of perfect blue.

This may be somewhat ironic, an ash cloud is blanketing Europe and frankly, I was expecting to see some Hollywood special effects. Indeed I was busy practicing my embarrassing pose to be doused in. In 2,000 years time, bored schoolchildren would be shown round the ruins of the city that was once London and snigger at the natives, frozen forever in the poses of everyday life, texting, sitting slumped at a keyboard or deciding what coffee to order. However, what we have are clear skies.

And I mean clear. This was the weekend to sell your house if you lived near a major airport ‘oh yea, it’s always like this. Flightpath? Nowhere near it.’

So we have a sky clear of the vapour trails that normally criss-cross our skies like graffiti and enjoyed a balmy summer’s day…in April. This has led to the green of the parks turning pink and then red as people enjoy themselves in the sunshine and of course that other great British summer institution. Iceland may have an ash cloud, but Britain has around ten million active barbequeues, all sending sizzling sausage fat high into the troposphere. With luck, we can keep this up all summer – Europe a no fly zone, Britain warm and sunny and the World Cup to look forward to. Let’s just hope to god the lager arrives by boat.

The butterfly effect

Taking advantage of the opportunity to wander outside without the precaution of donning wellies, coat and snorkel this weekend, I made the most of the unexpected good weather by lounging in the garden and monitoring the conflict between torpor and my desire for a cold beer.

As afternoon turns into evening, somebody at a flight control desk somewhere flips a switch and, thanks to a change in flight plans and runway approaches, or possibly just for variety, the patch of sky over my head is filled not just with darting swifts but with the occasional jet aeroplane, toiling across the blue.

The appearance of these jets is always preceded or followed by a gentle wind of passing. This is not, I am sure, imagination - hot weather means that I have perfected the art of sitting perfectly still. When a 747 goes past, I can see the effect of the wind as well as feel it myself.

It makes you wonder what violence is being done to the air so that something so far away (luckily they are always high by the time they pass) can have such an effect.