Every year we have a free air show here in Bournemouth and for those impressed with things of an air show ilk, its quite a thing. I'm the sort of person who is kind of impressed with things of an air show ilk and so kind of impressed with the Bournemouth air show.
Of course I'd like to say it's just because I like to take the boy, but in truth I found myself up there on my own Friday watching the Red Arrows and feeling every bit the excited child. I get like that when I watch the jets and I love The Red Arrows.
Skip forward a day and my plan to take the boy for the Lunch time Red Arrow show was scuppered by a bit of extra time in bed and a boiled egg for breakfast. This worried me not because I felt sure we would make the last show on Sunday afternoon. Safe and secure in this knowledge the Dobbos headed into town for a while.
The first Police car that raced by went mostly unnoticed. Then as more and more Police, fire engines and ambulances raced pass it became fairly obvious that something was not as it should be. Mrs D even said she thought someone had crashed at the air show. Turns out they had. In a field close to the Dobbos humble abode a Red Arrow had come down. This was unbelievable enough but adding the fact that the pilot had died made it all seen almost unbelievable.
This got me thinking. Obviously this is all very sad, in fact its absolutely fucking tragic. But why, I wonder do I find myself feeling so chocked up about the whole thing? Truth is I don't know and to be perfectly honest, I don't particularly care. This is the thing about emotions, about being able to feel and be in touch with it. It's the old treatment centre thing. The good news is you get your feelings back, the bad news is you get your feeling back. Bit of a bugger sometimes.