2 Wednesday February 16 2022 | the timestimes2
O
nly once have I
found myself
agreeing with
Gordon Ramsay.
It was the day he
revealed that when
he and his family
flew abroad on
holiday, he and his wife would
promptly turn left into first class while
his teenage children turned right to
economy. “I’ve worked my f***king
arse off to sit that close to the pilot,”
he said, “and you appreciate it more
when you’ve grafted for it.” Very wise
(I doubt I’ll say that again, Gordon, so
do enjoy). Imagine a 13-year-old’s
brattish sense of entitlement if they
grow up thinking they’re slumming it
if they don’t finger a starched cloth
napkin and a warmed nut at 30,000
feet. Plus, if they started being
annoying back there in the slurry pit,
you could just flatten your bed and
pretend you don’t know them. Result.
As Marie Antoinette would have said:
let them eat Pringles.
I thought of Ramsay when I read
about the barrister escorted from a
British Airways flight from Heathrow
to Turin with his wife, nanny and two
children after a dispute over their
business-class seats. Charles Banner
QC had booked pricier seats for all of
them but BA, having greedily oversold
the flight, informed them at boarding
that the nanny had to sit in economy.
The barrister argued that they needed
her up front so they could do some
work. The pilot demanded the family
be removed from the plane. Hmm.
This story leaves me conflicted. BA
is obviously in the wrong for selling
someone a product in good faith then
withdrawing it at the last minute. It’s
like buying a £100 cashmere jumper
from Debenhams (RIP), then being
told at the exit: “Sorry, madam, but
someone else also reserved that. You
will have to give it back and have this
nasty acrylic V-neck instead.”
But then I also think: mate, this was
a two-hour flight. How can you be
bothered paying double the price for
seats your backsides will barely have
warmed before you’re being asked to
“pop up your tray table for landing”?
You could get an extra week’s skiing
for what you paid to be fractionally
more comfortable for 120 minutes. I’m
aghast they didn’t book the nanny inOver the
moon in
Cane End
Is there a more
perfectly English
scandal than the one
involving the RAF
air marshal Andrew
Turner, who has
reportedly been
suspended after he
allegedly mooned his
bare buttocks at
“shocked” neighbours
“from the paddock of
his £1.5 million thatched
cottage”? And in a
village called Cane End.
This is surely a Little
Britain spoof? Turner
said he was merely
bending to retrieve a
tennis ball for his dogs,
presumably giving his
neighbours the full
“ugly elephant”. He was
naked because he was
hot (it was August). A
written apology from
him for this “absolutely
unintentional upset”
has been described as
“mealy-mouthed”. (It’s
certainly not “half-
arsed” — boom-boom.)
“I could see that
Andrew was fully
naked, not even
wearing shoes,” said
Simon Herbert, as if
his lack of footwear
was the final straw.
His partner said, “I no
longer feel comfortable
when I come outside.”
Oh come on. Are we in
a Carry On? Much as
I wouldn’t wish to see
it while tending my
roses, how shocked can
you be by spotting
someone’s bum on their
private property? Still,
it’s reassuring to know
that the police have
probed it thoroughly.It’s a bad
month for
animals
the cat-kicker, Mark
Todd (I refuse to use
“Sir”) the horse-
whipper and now vile
workers at a dairy farm
in Wales beating the
living daylights out of
cows. Evidently some
farmers weren’t happy
with the “emotive
language” used in the
Panorama exposé andare angry at being
“tarred with the same
brush”. Seriously? You
see cows being hit
around the head with
shovels and that’s your
takeaway? I suspect
those psychopaths in
that footage will claim
it was an “isolated
incident”. Zouma
said he was “deeplysorry” for his “isolated
incident” and Todd,
who thrashed that
horse ten times, said,
“I wholeheartedly
apologise to the horse
and all involved for
my actions.” Nah, not
convinced. I strongly
suspect that what
they’re mostly sorry for
is being caught.Is February “abuse an
animal” month? Not
even three weeks in
we’ve had Kurt Zoumaeconomy with the kids in the first
place. Having small children in first
class is utterly pointless for one
reason: they don’t want the free
champagne that comes with the seat.
This is a criminal waste. However, I
must give the Banners full credit for
not being like the late racing pundit
John McCririck, who would fly
business class while his wife — whom
he called “The Booby” — sat alone
with the toenail clippings in economy.
In how many of his orifices,
womenfolk, would you tell your
husband to shove that arrangement
if he tried it with you? I’ve counted
three so far. I interviewed his wife,
Jenny, once. She’s a lovely, stoic soul,
although you’d need to be, with a
husband who openly enthused about
big breasts and once said: “Women
should hide their necks. From about
25 they’re like chickens, all scrawny
and disgusting.” And from such an
Adonis too!
I have never, ever paid for a
business-class seat because I just don’t
think it’s worth the money, especially
with short-haul flights when there’s
not even time to be offered the at-seat
massage so you can’t make your
hilarious joke about a “happy ending”.
Isn’t it more trouble than it’s worth,
this class system in a metal tube?
How much simpler — and less
envy-making — life would be if they
scrapped it, making everyone’s seat
equally crap. Just like, erm, Ryanair.Carol Midgley
Keep kids out of business
class — they can’t even
enjoy the free champagne
I
once had lunch with Novak
Djokovic. We were at his organic
restaurant in Monaco with his
wife, Jelena, a couple of days
after he had won the 2016
French Open. At the start of
the meal four bottles of liquid
were placed in front of me: red,
yellow, green and orange.
“The green juices are my favourite,”
Djokovic said, carefully pouring a
measure into a glass, then handing it
over. “They have multiple benefits on
your health. They detox you. The
green, leafy vegetables are very rich in
minerals, vitamins and enzymes. They
improve your energy and digestion
and have a good impact on your
organs. They are also rich in iron.”
Throughout the four courses
(avocado on rye, tomato and herb
soup, veggie burger, vegan pudding),
Djokovic talked about his philosophy
on food, sport and life. He also
talked about his capacity for
self-denial. After beating Rafael
Nadal in an epic six-hour
battle in the final of the
2012 Australian Open he
craved chocolate, which he
hadn’t tasted for two years.
His coach was dispatched
to find a chocolate bar.
Djokovic broke off a
tiny corner and let it
melt on his tongue,
then cast the rest
of the bar aside.
“That is what it has
taken to get to No 1,”
he said.
Of all the
sportspeople I have
interviewed, Djokovic
is perhaps the most
fastidious in
preparation, abstemious
in lifestyle and
evangelical in
philosophy. I was
not at all surprised
that he refused theCovid vaccine, and even less surprised
that he has said in a BBC interview
that he is willing to pay the price of
missing the world’s biggest tennis
tournaments. This is an athlete who
combines stubbornness with
eccentricity in equal measure, always
a potent combination.
“Life is about exploring every
aspect of your being and trying to
maximise the potential of each,”
he told me, gripping my arm like
an eager pastor. “I always talk about
the holistic approach: spiritual,
emotional, physical and psychological.
If you are willing to discover more
about yourself, you find answers.“People today have access to the
information, but they are afraid
of going deep inside. They are afraid
of what they might discover. Ego is
the biggest enemy, because it is
difficult to engage with our
own weaknesses. But peace
of mind only happens
when you know yourself.”
Conversing with
Djokovic is somewhat
like a rollercoaster
because he mixes
science and
pseudoscience in
roughly equal
measure, one moment
talking about the
pioneering achievements
of Nikola Tesla, the next
talking about how water
molecules can be
influenced by human
feelings. He insistsThat the Serb would sacrifice becoming
the greatest tennis player of all time for
the sake of a Covid jab seems crazy.
Until you meet him. By Matthew Syed
What Novak
Djokovic
revealed to
me at lunch
He combines
stubbornness
and eccentricity
in equal part