WHEN I was a boy, we lived quite close to the HMS Daedalus naval airbase along the coast in Lee-on-Solent.

And every year, they’d hold an air show at the base, which, for my sister and me, meant an afternoon sat on the roof of my dad’s shed.

Given that our garden was pretty much on the flight path of nearly every aviating performer, it was the best seat in the house. While not actually being in the house, obviously.

My mum would wander out if the Red Arrows were performing that year, but otherwise she took an altogether dim view of having jets screaming at low altitude over the roof of our house.

There were darkly muttered threats about how much the powers would be would have to shell out to get their airplane wreckage back should it come down on our property.

Quite who she thought was going to be in a position to sue the authorities once an F4 Phantom laden with aviation fuel had nosedived onto our house, I don’t know, but there you are.

Woe betide anyone who baled out into our garden (though no-one ever did), because I swear she’d have found a pitchfork from somewhere and taken them prisoner as if they were a WWII Luftwaffe airman.

I guess that’s what happens if you’re born during the War. The Dad’s Army mindset.

Anyway, one of my abiding memories of these air days is the time a Vulcan bomber flew overhead.

I was, as I say, sat on my dad’s shed at the time, and I swear to this day the thing was only 15 feet above me. Common sense dictates that it must have been higher (at the very least because Mum wasn’t on the phone to the lawyers), but it certainly didn’t seem like it.

It was massive, and never mind the shed, I’m sure the ground it was stood on shook as the behemoth passed overhead, and the noise was incredible.

It wasn’t at all like thunder. This sounded more like thunder remixed with extra bass and turned up to 11.

To an impressionable young lad, it was an awesome experience, and I’m sure it would have made a much better story had I gone on to fly Vulcans for the RAF or something.

Clearly, I didn’t, although I have taken pains since never to tick off any airforce that has such planes in its arsenal.

So, as you can imagine, I’m looking forward to seeing the return of the Vulcan when it makes its appearance at Bournemouth’s Air Festival this summer. And I’ll be sure to get a good spot on the beach to see it.

But it’s never going to be as good as watching it from the roof of a shed...