a miscellany

Various things have been buzzing about my brain over the last few days.
A lot of it to do with the Lancaster. Now, people seem to think it very peculiar that a woman should be obsessed with this aircraft, in her own right if you see what I mean, not as an adjunct to some male in her life as a shared interest. I am the one that drags the males in the family,(not that it takes much you understand) to various places to watch this, and the rest of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight, going through its paces. For me it is a deeply emotional and evocative experience that re-affirms that all is not entirely lost in this apparently benighted land - that there are still some semblances of the character and tenacity that saved our communal lives.
And I am not alone. Another woman of my acquaintance, a phlebotomist, is also a Lanc. fanatic. We exchange notes when we meet over a blood sample and if she didn't do such a good job and wasn't such a thoroughly nice person I would have scratched her eyes out when she told me she was actually going for a ride in My Beauty (My pet name for City of Lincoln, whatever her current manifestation) and had paid £250 for the privilege.
I have also noticed that there are more women on the flight line at take off, also there out of their own interest and not at the tail end of a line of father, son, brother, grandad etc. etc.
Standing by the barrier at the Coningsby families day flypast, as each element of The Flight taxied out, I looked over my shoulder and the word, and the distinctive sound of the Merlins, was getting around. The stampede as people converged from all quarters made me glad I had stuck to my guns and made getting a good vantage point the first priority when we arrived.
As My Beauty and her acolytes, the Spitfire and Hurricane, trundled down the runway, I looked along the crowded barriers. There were women holding video cameras, digital cameras, mobile phones aloft. As the planes cleared the ground level with us the young woman next to me couldn't contain herself any longer. "Aren't they bloody brilliant?" To which the general response was "How right you are!"
While they fly I shall not lose all hope.