I saw a plane crash yesterday. The pilot was killed.
Actually, I didn’t see the crash itself. The two planes had been crossing the sky repeatedly, performing stunts. I’d been trying to get a photograph of the pair of them as they crossed: the camera on my phone wasn’t quick enough to capture the actual moment.
At the moment of the crash I’d been having a conversation with a soldier who was giving a demonstration of army equipment. He was showing me the smoke grenade apparatus on the front of a vehicle, and I was making notes for a possible story. We both noticed the black smoke rising from the trees. We both looked up and noticed there was now only one plane, circling, looking for its partner.
"Ah," said the solider. "That’s an issue." He’d talked about his time in Afghanistan. I guess he’d seen this before.
A military band had been setting up nearby. They sat with their instruments in their hands, looking at the smoke over the trees. I heard the conductor say that they didn’t have anything appropriate in their pads to play. The band packed up in good order and left.
Shortly afterwards, two helicopters turned up and hovered over the scene. The festival went on. Music resumed on the main stages.
Later that night, I ate a lamb rogan josh and pilau rice whilst watching Seasick Steve.
The First Number Not Nameable in Under Ten Words 