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So we’re minding our own business, tooling down a country lane when all of a suddenly, out of nowhere, there’s this almighty howl — the kind of hypersonic roar you don’t so much hear as feel in your breastbone and molars — and I look up through the sunroof to see the goddamned Red Arrows scream over our heads. By some astonishing chance, framed exactly in our sunroof.

Low. Real low. Low enough to scare the sheeps and the cows. Low enough to induce poor Uncle B — doing his best to keep his eyes on the road — to make hisself a little puddle.

The Red Arrows are the RAF’s Blue Angels. I saw them in Rhode Island last year and they were awesomely awesome. It’s a big ol’ nine-jet flying group. They shot over us in a formation of five, pause, four. They were coming back from an air show in Eastbourne (we saw them, way off in the distance, headed toward it yesterday).

Oh, hey, I remembered the blog Bruce writes for: And Still I Persist. Okay, no I didn’t. He wrote and told me. And what’s even more embarrassing — as I suspected — I never blogrolled it in the first place. Which is dumb because it’s a good ‘un.

Go. Read it.

I called Bruce “Poindexter” once, and he’s never let me forget it. Also, I may have threatened to beat him up and steal his lunch money. Or something. It was a long time ago and I’m unclear on the details.

And so ends a lame week in lameness. Good weekend, everyone!

August 14, 2009 — 7:40 pm
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