For the second time in just over six months, Will and I have inadvertently bumped into World War commemorations. In October, we stumbled upon the First Battle of Ypres Centenary. Yesterday, deciding we would stroll through St James’ Park, it was as if we had travelled through a wormhole to 1945: 8th May, of course, as so many passers-by were either in Forces’ uniform, or 1940’s civvies. Seeing this Spitfire, I thought of my Uncle Ted. My memories of Uncle Ted are of someone who enjoyed life to the full, and laughed at its absurdities. Many years after he passed away, I learned that he’d been a Spitfire pilot. Thank-you Uncle Ted, for your huge bravery, for the skill-and luck- that meant you survived the war, and that I was lucky enough to know you.