Goodbye old girl.
Fond (I think) memories of convincing myself the orange radar soup was some town or target. After 20 years IŽll finally admit I usually didnt have a clue what the radar picture was saying, usually hoping beyond hope that the TANS hadnŽt gone off on one and sneaking a look at the same time for the Trent power stations through the tiny curtain gap.
Also, chilling as Nav 2 and doing the "accidental kick" under the table when you realised your mate on Nav 1 might miss an important altitude call or something. Normally followed by a whack around the head by the instructor. And by god, my ex Phantom mate instructor had a good right hook........
And I can still remember the smell of the Finningley aircrew feeder at some godforesaken early hour.
Fond memories of a faithful steed.