Politically Incorrect
Saturday was fun. We spent it at the Yeovilton Air Day. You'd mebbe think this a bit odd, considering my current anti-war stance. But that doesn't necessarily translate into anti-military - I'm all for a strong defensive capability. I think that dismantling our air defence network is a pretty dumb idea, for example. I just don't like our government's current policy of getting us involved in military campaigns against people who aren't a direct threat to us. All they're doing at the moment is stirring up the shit and making enemies.

[Ed: Whoa. Getting serious. Stop it!]

Sorry. Anyhow. Yeovilton. It rained a lot. The cloud was down low. Not exactly ideal conditions for an air show. A Belgian F16 did a few low passes and gave up. A British F3 messed about showing us his swing wings before one of his engines conked out and he disappeared off back to Leuchars. A helicopter or two farted about above us.

"Can we have a go on the dodgems, daddy?"

After the F16 the kids got bored of the noisy stuff. The fair provided suitable dryish distraction for a while. Then the rain stopped and we had a picnic while we watched the model A-10 Thunderbolt fly briefly before smashing itself to bits on the runway.

"I hope that didn't take too long to build" spluttered the commentator.

Littlest got a model of HMS Belfast and Biggest got a teddy called "Skipper". Note to parents: HMS Belfast is a sod to make. Loads of fiddly little bits. And it's tiny. It'll test the limits of your sanity.

We wandered over to a fenced-off part of the runway where we could see a couple of old cannons on wheels.

"What's going on here, then?" I asked a scary-looking sergeant on the other side of the fence.

"It's the gun-and-limber, race, sir."
"The...?"
"Gun-and-limber race. Two teams. Army, and Navy. They have to tow those guns up to the line, strip them down, put them back together again, run up to the next line, turn the gun around, fire it three times, then run back to the start. First one across wins. Like they do on the telly, sir."

Tuther noticed the teams lurking around by the guns.

"Let's watch this..." she drooled.

The Royal Marines band strutted their stuff first.

"Why are they doing that with their knees, daddy?"
"It's called marching. They all move their knees at the same time."
"Why?"
"Erm..."
"Why's that man waving that big pole?"
"He's the colour sergeant..."
"He's the same colour as the rest of them, though."
"Erm..."
"Why has that man got a dead tiger on him?"
"Erm..."
"How come those sticks don't go up their noses when they put them up like that?"
"Erm..."

These questions, and many more, accompanied brassed-up versions of Sailing, Raiders Of The Lost Ark, Star Wars etc. Then it was time for the base CO to mumble incoherently into the microphone for a few minutes.

"I won't be, erm, err, partisan, naturally. Ha ha. So! Come on HMS Heron! Show us, erm, what we're, er, you're, made of!"

A very loud firework scared everyone into action.

"Let's hear some support for our two teams, please!" sputtered Commodore Bennett. A few muted cheers went up, and a ripple of embarrassed applause died before it got going.

"COME ON THE NAVY!" I bellowed. One of the Navy team winked at me as him and his mates thundered past with a two ton cannon in tow.

"GO ON ARMY!" bellowed a bloke behind the fence opposite.

Me and the bloke opposite yelled good-naturedly at each other while the two teams struggled with heavy outdated weaponry for our entertainment and their own prestige. Our respective partners and families looked at us as with faint embarrassment and amusement, while the rest of the crowd clapped politely and hoped nobody would notice them.

"Why are you shouting daddy, do you know them?"
"Nope. I just fancy a bit of a yell. NICE ONE, NAVY!! GO FOR IT!!! YEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

The navy won by one second. I was chuffed.

The Red Arrows did their thing. The cloud had lifted a little bit, so they managed to put on a reasonable display. They didn't do the fancy heart thing at the end though. After that it was pretty much time to go home. We sat about by an old Wessex helicopter that was stood on stilts for a while. They were winching kids into and out of it. Our kids queued for about half an hour, but just as they got to the front of the queue the corporal bloke announced that the generator was about to run out of fuel and that they wouldn't be doing any more winching.

So it was back to the car.

On the way home the sun came out.