Cold War. Warm Memory.

I honestly can't remember how old I was, but I'd seen an advert on the telly for Leuchars Airshow. I had no idea where Leuchars was, all I knew was I wanted to go. But it wasn't to be, and it was out from my mind. One weekend sometime in the future we had a family trip down to Dundee for my dad to meet someone on business. It was a little dull being bundled into the car, but hey, it was a weekend doing something a bit different.

After my dad had met the guy we'd travelled to see we happened upon a big queue of traffic. I'm not sure I'd even noticed us crossing the Tay, but then I saw the signs. Bloody duplicitous parents had only gone and sprung a surprise airshow trip into the mix.

As we walked in the gates the Vulcan was just lumbering into the air. I've loved it ever since, one of my absolute favourites. And having missed its last tour I was determined that with this weekend being its last (probably) ever I'd see her airborne again. We went for a walk east of Innerleithen, taking to the hills, finding what seemed a good vantage point entirely to our own about half an hour before she was due.

Patient.

Not so patient.

Around the ETA there was a low rumble of a distant plane on the other side of the hill from us. "They've flown further east, gah!" I thought. We gave it five more minutes before giving up. By the timings she should be in Carlisle by now, and neither of us had a working phone to check the Twitter feed.

Clumping down in more than a little disappointment the sound suddenly arrived, and the hulking mass was there, very slowly, deliberately, picking her way south. The fact it was virtually directly over where we had been sitting ten minutes previously was a little galling, but to see her was the aim, and the joy.

For a moment I was that wee lad again, and that was just grand.