One Saturday morning of June, mid '90s, in the West Midlands, I was daydreaming at my window and pondering about the need to find something useful to do, when a terrible rattle started on the other side of the house...
The noise grew louder and louder, stranger and stranger (think about a bunch of banging pots from hell's kitchen...) untill a Lancaster finally flew over, slightly on the right and low enough to give me a wonderfull view.
It was so low that I expected it to crash any time, as I didn't know of any airfield in the neighbourhood...
After a while I got somewhat reassured, and all I could think of was that there wasn't enough money in the world to get me for a ride in that warbird; and still, so many kids had flown at night to Germany in it....