What is different about Concorde as well is that we all have particular jobs rather than mucking in and if one person gets behind, it all goes wrong They describe it as a swan. On the top of the water it looks all smooth and graceful but underneath the legs are running frantically. I was exhausted after that first flight.I do feel sad I won’t have the opportunity again but very glad that I had that opportunity at all. My feelings are mixed – I am sad but I’m very proud of the service she’s given us. She’s done so many remarkable things.Sophie Batterbury has lived under the flight path, in south-east London, all her life.The sound of Concorde flying over has been part of my world for most of my life.

It’s louder than the other planes so you never miss it, and after all these years, I still rush out into the garden to see it.It’s just so exciting. It’s beautiful, clean, amazing – but it’s childhood associations really I remember when it first flew. I’ve always thought, “I’ll go on that one day”, but I never did. I can’t believe it’s too late.Terence Blacker used to live near Heathrow, but moved to Diss to escape the noise.I’ll miss Concorde about as much as I’d miss a toothache. Once a day, when I’m in London, that sinister, self-important roar drowns out conversation, interferes with the TV signal and generally interrupts civilised life, all so that a small number of rich prats can get to New York a few hours more quickly. Good riddance – its demise will mean a small but significant improvement in the quality of life for many people.. We cross Green Square, the plaza at the heart of Tripoli, dodging the swarming taxis.

We nip past the men selling freshly roasted nuts and the couples out for romantic strolls, and reach our goal. There on a giant poster is an image of the Great Leader looking rather youthful as he sits behind the wheel of a Volkswagen Beetle and careers along a whitewashed street chucking pieces of paper from his window. Sadly it is not advertising a Libyan remake of The Love Bug; it’s just another billboard proclaiming the mighty deeds of the man in charge around here, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi. Our tour guide explains that, in 1969, “The Leader” (you soon notice locals feel uncomfortable saying his name aloud) travelled across the country in a VW, stirring up revolutionary fervour against the ruler of the time, King Idris.

But just as I’m about to say “Goat’s cheese”, a man rushes up, arms waving “Be careful,” he warns us. “If the police see you, there will be trouble.” It turns out he’s a Serb who, like me, recently saw this as a photo opportunity and ended up getting an ear-bashing from the local constabulary when he flashed his camera Our guide intervenes, insisting the man is mistaken. The snap is taken and, thankfully, no police appear.I am in Tripoli because the country is making some modest efforts to attract Western tourists. In part, this is because Libya is planning to bid for the 2010 World Cup. The bid is being championed by the colonel’s son, soccer-crazy Al-Saadi Gaddafi, who fronts the Libyan investment firm that owns a chunk of the Italian team Juventus. Although the words “fat” and “chance” come to mind when considering the likelihood of the bid succeeding, it is forcing the country to improve some of its tourist amenities.