I had intended to arrive by one o’clock, honest. But by virtue of some staggeringly inept roadworks just on the western side of King’s Lynn I found myself queuing inside the airbase at 2:30. Queuing inside the airbase? This year everyone had to sign in at the Trade Reception and be escorted to their display area. As everyone was trying to arrive in good time and the people doing the escorting had no idea where the military vehicles were meant to be going (because we’re not a Vintage Vehicle), this process was causing a bit of a hold-up. About an hour’s worth of hold-up from getting through the guardhouse to getting past the Trade Reception. Still, while waiting in the queue, you could closely examine some very interesting matt green trailers with Stealth-like angular enclosed bodywork. I have no idea what they do, other than look very tempting… Rob Short, Rex Hunt and myself had managed to arrive more or less at the same time, more or less by accident. The James family had beaten us to it, and were already fully entented on the display area with their Ambulance and Casualty, whilst Ant and Sarah was just about to start emptying their trailer. Rex started to put up tents and Rob exhibited the Axminster carpet in the back of his 127. So he wasn’t going to be slumming it this weekend then. While the stand was being assembled, samples of the weekend’s displays were being played out over or heads; as usual we weren’t going to get a terribly good view. But we could hear everything.

It was about this time that my first practical task of Show Rep had to be carried out, as Shaun O’Neill was about to arrive at the main gate and I had his passes with me. Mark O’Neill rang me when they reached the entrance, so with a 110 bearing its service plates, no tax disc and a blue light I drove back across the base, past the huge queue, past the guardroom and out onto the A617 to meet… most of Yorkshire it seemed – the O’Neills (two 109s), the Taylors (109) and Steve Saxton (109 with a SIII RAF Ambulance on an A-frame). Having delivered the necessary bits of paper, I then did the return journey avoiding the Trade Reception queue, thereby knocking 80 minutes off the previous time. By the time the evening chip run had been done and eaten, the weekend’s cast was almost complete, the EMLRA stand being some 19 vehicles long. With two more to arrive, this was one of our largest gatherings here. Saturday: I emerged from the back of the 110 just short of 8am and realised that aerophiles were already wandering around and multiplying rapidly. By this time the display was looking quite substantial – The O’Neills et al had thrown up an acre of netting; The Henrys’ Hospital was in operation, Dave Simpkins had brought the Mk IVb Shelter and we’d been able to remember how it worked, Rex had promptly hidden it under more netting while erecting more aerials than the BBC and Sarah was scaring passers by. I should qualify that last bit by pointing out that she was dressed in a full NBC suit next to their Ninety at the time.

More tea, Vicar? Ration Pack food. Lovely. But not as lovely as full-fat added-sugar plastic-laminated burger and chips. David Taylor appears to be eating the plastic fork. (It may be the best bit.)	Would you buy a used car from this man? Amazingly, people do. The wording on Peter Barratt’s orange marker is “Not to be exposed unnecessarily” - there’s no answer to that. Apart from About Time Too.

Such was our turn-out, the organising powers were offering more space if we needed it; if only all shows could be this accommodating. The downside was the diminishing view, courtesy of the Waddington Curse. This Curse has been with us for three years now; it manifests in the form of a collection of over-sized inflatable bouncy buildings either next to us or behind us. This year we had a bouncy castle made up from three already substantial bouncy castles with a bouncy forecourt added to the front. With a children’s funfair added to one side and directly in front of us. Our already limited skyline became filled with a thirtyfoot wobbling Homer Simpson partnered by a thirtyfoot wobbling Bart Simpson; the stuff of nightmares Oh the fun I (or someone) could have had with a Stinger…

Bob Morrison (he of LRM infame) paid us a visit during the wet of the afternoon demanding liquid refreshment with immediate effect; he made do with my coffee and seemed pleased enough with it. The other effect that was becoming more obvious was that of the weather on the flying – there was progressively more weather and progressively less flying. The Catalina failed to repeat its routine demonstrated the previous afternoon, and the Italians were staying low enough to not bump the cloud base, which certainly cramped their display. The flying stopped at five, which was handy as the rain had been waiting long enough – down fell the rain and out streamed the crowd, almost a good arrangement. Like last year, the after-hours facilities arrangements left a little to be desired – the nearest toilets were locked, the next nearest being the thick end of half a mile away over by Hanger Two. Unlike last year, there were no patrolling RAF Guard Dogs between us and them, thereby making the return trip much less exciting. This lack of canine presence had the beneficial effect of there being more people having a low-key wander along the flight line under the occasional passing eye of a van-based RAF Police patrol. It was also the only time in the weekend when I was called “sir” – by someone who really should have known better.

Sunday: Sun! Having rolled up the back of the 110 and put the kettle on, I was immediately engaged in conversation with a passing aerophile who was really quite taken aback when he asked who we were and then found out that we weren’t the Real Thing; he thought us slightly odd. He then admitted that we probably thought his hobby of sitting on a flight line for two days was no less slightly odd, and he was spot-on there. The flying displays started on time and made full use of the improved weather. Oddly, one of the first things to happen was the Battle of Britain fly-past at something like 0915 when comparatively few people were there to see it. Which was a great pity, because only two things at Waddington bring the crowd to a standstill – the Battle of Britain Flight and the Red Arrows. And they did, too. As the afternoon drew on, a sizeable chunk of the display upped sticks and left sneakily by the public car park. By leaving early they not only missed the rush and a particularly nasty downpour, but also met Dave Middleton who used to display his RAF Police 109 with the Club, but was now guarding the exit in a RAF Police uniform that was actually his. At least, he said it was his.

Mike Allmey