Not sure if Marty McFly’s British cousin was around, or whether an eccentric English Doc had cooked it up in his la-BOR-a-try, but I could swear I heard Alan Silvestri’s symphonic score reaching a quick and powerful crescendo, and that there was a unique olfactory melding of diesel exhaust and aviation kerosene, as the stolid red traditional London double decker morphed into a turbine powered Super-Bus, right there in Haymarket, across from Her Majesty's Theatre, and quickly disappeared into the November night sky.

Or was it just one too many gin and tonics at intermission?