Bournemouth Airshow


The Vulcan comes soaring in like a giant eagle. It glides by, gracefully, without a sound.

Everyone is mesmorised as this majestic bird comes in for the kill, silent, yet capable of mass slaughter.

We forget this plane is designed to destroy, until it arcs up into the sky with an ungodly roar, loud enough to burst the eardrums of newborn babies, and scare the faeces out of unsuspecting spectators.

The demon wail subsides and is silent again, on it’s serene approach, sending shivers down my spine and a bit of wee down my leg.


Ah, the Typhoon, star of the show, solo artist, show off, wannabe nobody, cos he is the bomb! Nobody is gonna steal his thunder. We watch as he flashes by, faster than the speed of sound. We hear him, but we don’t see him for a second or two after.

He shoots up into the air, afterburners glowing like he doesn’t already have enough to boast about. He zigs, he zags, he loops the loops, man he is on the ultimate high. He is Eurofighter Typhoon, star of the show!