Imagine the scene: you're an aviation spotter sitting on the side of a hill in Wales, hoping, breath-baited, to catch a glimpse of those heroic young men and women of the RAF as they roar past in sleek grey machines, streaking through the quiet, mist-wreathed valleys of winter, proud descendants of those noble few of the summer of 1940. Your heart thumping in your chest, you hear a distant rumble:
Round the bend in the valley zips a Tornado GR4, the RAF's premier, top-of-the-line strike aircraft (don't laugh, you bloody yanks!). Gleefully, you snap what pictures you can as this thoroughbred of the air flits past, two steely-nerved heroes (or heroines) in the cockpit. It's only when you get home and take a closer look at the photos that you see:
Sadly, there are rumours that, as the RAF's fast-jet crews are now showboating a little too much, the low level routes will be continuosly changed so as to keep keen-eyed plane spotters guessing, removing the audience for the jet jocks. Bloody civil servants.
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