We were sitting out in the garden this evening having dinner. Some bread, cheese and pate with a glass of port, just as my wife and I used to do when we were students.
It was very pleasant, the sky a luminous greyey-blue colour with high cirrus cloud like thinly teased cotton wool. A blackbird sat at the top of the pine tree singing its heart out and dozens of swifts went spinning and chasing back and forth over the house, screaming as they chased the hapless insects that had decided to go out for an evening waltz.
Suddenly, there was a great roar in the sky and when we looked up we saw a jet plane emerge straight out of the chimney pot at one end of our house. We watched it fly low over the tiled roof, glittering in the evening sunlight, then, plop, it dived down the other chimney pot and there was silence.
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