On BBC Four last night, there was a programme celebrating the life of Concorde. It involved a bunch of boffins, celebrities and other talking heads in a sort of nostalgia-fest. And of course it brought back memories of my and Alison’s one and only trip on that plane. It was part of a once in a lifetime package holiday – a cruise on the QE2 from Edinburgh to New York, a stay at the Waldorf Astoria, and a flight back to Scotland on Concorde. After some wee refreshments in the Concorde lounge at JFK Airport, we, together with a busload of fellow-Scots, were escorted onto the plane. We were allocated seats 2A and 2B. In front of us in seats 1A and 1B were a big fella and his wife. And in front of them (as in the photo) was a panel showing the speed (mach) and height at which we were flying. Drinking champagne and eating caviar while we travelled noiselessly faster than a bullet. It was all very exciting. The experience of a lifetime. We couldn’t take our eyes off the machmeter as it continued to climb up to the speed of light and beyond. Nor could we take our eyes off the pair of giant feet, clad in thick, sweaty, woollen socks, as they climbed up alongside the machmeter. Yup, the big fella in front had decided to take off his shoes and stretch his legs up the cabin wall. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How does that saying go again? You can take the Teuchter out of Scotland, but you cannae–
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