For those who like to conjur mental pictures (not deranged images but scene setters) I am bent over a lap top on one of my mothers kitchen worktop, a bit like that kid in Peanuts with the piano. She's in Rome, I'm in her home. The ladyfriend and I are house sitting whilst my parents are off on another one of their grand tours of europe sponsored by Saga holidays.
The weekend was great. Eastbourne airshow was smashing and I got to see the Utterly Butterly wingwalkers. The crowd were a mixed bunch, quite a few of the fellows were rather odd looking, they wore dark clothing, clutched huge binoculurs and squinted into the horizon. They were the sort of gentleman who are unable to form relationships with people of the opposite sex (or the same - let's not close any door, bless 'em) but could reel off the statistics of military aircraft from 1940 to the present day. We can't all be good at everything, I for one am rubbish (if you excuse the pun) at tying up refuse bags, I'm terrible, yet it looks like the easiest thing in the world when I see other people doing it. I always seem to leave a big gaping hole for rats to scurry in and out of. Oh but now I am rambling.
We saw some of the airshow from the comfort of our own home as some noisy plane with fire coming out of it roared above the roof tops. I thought to myself as I squealed in delight pulling up the sash windows, here I am craning my neck at war craft jets whilst those poor devils in the Lebanon were trying to save theirs from the same thing. A lesson for us all there. And another thing, could you spell binoculars if pushed?
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