I will say again here what I have said in a number of messages on this site: The Referee does not do politics. Or rather, he does not use this site to promote any particular political perspectives. That is not about to change.
It is, however, nigh on impossible to have lived in this country over recent years without taking at least a passing fascination with the oratory style, shall we say, of the 43rd President. As you, discerning reader, will be well aware, this a well-trodden path, which is not enlightened in the least by The Referee trampling it down a bit further. However, the following alleged quote came to my attention recently and I felt that it would be remiss of me, perhaps even churlish, not to share it with you.
It is alleged by some - not necessarily The Referee, you understand - that on 1 February 2000 the august news organ that is the New York Times quoted the 43rd President as follows:
"I think we need not only to eliminate the tollbooth to the middle class, I think we should knock down the tollbooth".
I don't think any of us could disagree with that.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Dames on a Plane
Everything that follows is absolutely true.
I make this point at the outset not because The Referee makes a habit of telling fictional stories on this site. He doesn't. When you live in this country, why make things up, when reality is so much more entertaining?
No. I make this point only because I want you, gentle reader, to be assured that The Referee had truthfulness and accuracy at the forefront of his mind, when recounting this tale.
The Referee often has occasion to travel to and fro between his two adopted cities, New York and London. Most of the time this journey is pleasant and uneventful. On other occasions, it is a little more memorable. The following recounts an example of the latter.
As a final preamble, I should mention that I tend towards a particular airline whenever possible because, in the humble opinion of The Referee (and he is, after all, The Referee) it is superior to any other airline making this journey. So as not to show favo(u)ritism, I will assign this airline a code name for the purposes of this message. Let's call it, say, Virgin Atlantic.
So, I was heading to London on an overnight flight from New York. I was planning to be very busy immediately on arrival and was therefore hoping for a quiet flight involving sleep and not much else.
Imagine my horror, then, when, immediately on arrival in the lounge, I noticed a group of about 25 or so New York ladies of, shall we say, a certain age, behaving in an exuberant manner and taking pictures of each other. As I sat eating a pre-flight dinner (in order to maximise the time available for sleep on the flight, you understand), all but one of the ladies in question launched into a rousing rendition of "Happy birthday to you".
I have to admit, in all honesty, that I was not thinking "How nice. I hope whoever it is has a lovely birthday". Oh no. I was thinking something much more along the lines of "Please God - I need some sleep - please don't let any of them be seated near me".
I dare say, dear reader, that you are already ahead of me.
As soon as I arrived in my section of the plane (I have to admit that it was one of the posh areas near the front) it dawned on me that every seat apart from mine was occupied by one of the ladies. Worse still, I was seated right next to the birthday girl.
To get a sense of what followed, imagine, if you will, a remake of that Hollywood classic "Snakes on a plane" starring the original cast of the St Trinian's films, and you won't be far out. Except that the ladies in this case were dripping with furs and jewellery. And - how can I put this delicately? - those who had left God's work intact were in a significant minority.
The ladies had no idea what to do with a seat belt. Some of them apparently had no idea that it was a requirement to sit down while a plane takes off. I was required to become the official photographer for a number of charming group shots, whilst the crew (ie the folk that used to be called "stewards" and "stewardesses", but now seem to be called something else) tried to wrestle them into their seats. I was told with some enthusiasm that there were another 25 ladies on another flight - perhaps I should be grateful, I pondered, that I'd only got half of them. I was told that some of them had never been to London before, and that they were off to Windsor castle - I wondered if it was strong enough to withstand the onslaught. I was asked if I was married, and, when I replied in the affirmative, the lady in question shouted "Never mind, girls, he's married!".
Although I consider myself a patient person, I thought that I might be about to lose my marbles. Just as I was starting to lose them - and at this point we had only just reached cruising altitude - a glimmer of hope emerged. One of the ladies reached into her handbag and marched around the cabin shouting "Who wants an Ambien?". (For those not intimately familiar with the world of American medical TV ads, Ambien is a popular sleeping pill.) To my great relief, she received a number of positive responses, and soon there followed a hysterical banter about who was going to take the pill first, and no, no, you take it first, and I'm not taking mine until you take yours. Five minutes later, the cabin was silent.
After enjoying blissful sleep for all of 3 or 4 hours, I was woken by sleepy chatter about the crown jewels and where they might be viewed. I decided not to chime in to assist with the answer to this question, since that would reveal that I was now awake again, hence drawing attention to myself. So instead I lay very still and listened whilst one of the ladies pointed out that one of the others was wearing some of the crown jewels, right now, on the plane. It turned out that she was not joking. The lady in question admitted that her husband had given her a necklace which he had bought from Sotheby's and which had originally been given to Victoria by Albert. I couldn't help thinking that the phrase "more money than sense" had been coined for this moment.
Imagine my relief when we finally reached Londinium and the end of my torment was in sight. I gathered my things and sneaked away as quickly and quietly as I could. As I did so, several of the ladies were engaged in trying to revive a lady for whom the Ambien had apparently been particularly effective. As I left, they had had no success.
Suddenly, the American obsession with unnecessary prescription drugs didn't seem so bad after all.
I make this point at the outset not because The Referee makes a habit of telling fictional stories on this site. He doesn't. When you live in this country, why make things up, when reality is so much more entertaining?
No. I make this point only because I want you, gentle reader, to be assured that The Referee had truthfulness and accuracy at the forefront of his mind, when recounting this tale.
The Referee often has occasion to travel to and fro between his two adopted cities, New York and London. Most of the time this journey is pleasant and uneventful. On other occasions, it is a little more memorable. The following recounts an example of the latter.
As a final preamble, I should mention that I tend towards a particular airline whenever possible because, in the humble opinion of The Referee (and he is, after all, The Referee) it is superior to any other airline making this journey. So as not to show favo(u)ritism, I will assign this airline a code name for the purposes of this message. Let's call it, say, Virgin Atlantic.
So, I was heading to London on an overnight flight from New York. I was planning to be very busy immediately on arrival and was therefore hoping for a quiet flight involving sleep and not much else.
Imagine my horror, then, when, immediately on arrival in the lounge, I noticed a group of about 25 or so New York ladies of, shall we say, a certain age, behaving in an exuberant manner and taking pictures of each other. As I sat eating a pre-flight dinner (in order to maximise the time available for sleep on the flight, you understand), all but one of the ladies in question launched into a rousing rendition of "Happy birthday to you".
I have to admit, in all honesty, that I was not thinking "How nice. I hope whoever it is has a lovely birthday". Oh no. I was thinking something much more along the lines of "Please God - I need some sleep - please don't let any of them be seated near me".
I dare say, dear reader, that you are already ahead of me.
As soon as I arrived in my section of the plane (I have to admit that it was one of the posh areas near the front) it dawned on me that every seat apart from mine was occupied by one of the ladies. Worse still, I was seated right next to the birthday girl.
To get a sense of what followed, imagine, if you will, a remake of that Hollywood classic "Snakes on a plane" starring the original cast of the St Trinian's films, and you won't be far out. Except that the ladies in this case were dripping with furs and jewellery. And - how can I put this delicately? - those who had left God's work intact were in a significant minority.
The ladies had no idea what to do with a seat belt. Some of them apparently had no idea that it was a requirement to sit down while a plane takes off. I was required to become the official photographer for a number of charming group shots, whilst the crew (ie the folk that used to be called "stewards" and "stewardesses", but now seem to be called something else) tried to wrestle them into their seats. I was told with some enthusiasm that there were another 25 ladies on another flight - perhaps I should be grateful, I pondered, that I'd only got half of them. I was told that some of them had never been to London before, and that they were off to Windsor castle - I wondered if it was strong enough to withstand the onslaught. I was asked if I was married, and, when I replied in the affirmative, the lady in question shouted "Never mind, girls, he's married!".
Although I consider myself a patient person, I thought that I might be about to lose my marbles. Just as I was starting to lose them - and at this point we had only just reached cruising altitude - a glimmer of hope emerged. One of the ladies reached into her handbag and marched around the cabin shouting "Who wants an Ambien?". (For those not intimately familiar with the world of American medical TV ads, Ambien is a popular sleeping pill.) To my great relief, she received a number of positive responses, and soon there followed a hysterical banter about who was going to take the pill first, and no, no, you take it first, and I'm not taking mine until you take yours. Five minutes later, the cabin was silent.
After enjoying blissful sleep for all of 3 or 4 hours, I was woken by sleepy chatter about the crown jewels and where they might be viewed. I decided not to chime in to assist with the answer to this question, since that would reveal that I was now awake again, hence drawing attention to myself. So instead I lay very still and listened whilst one of the ladies pointed out that one of the others was wearing some of the crown jewels, right now, on the plane. It turned out that she was not joking. The lady in question admitted that her husband had given her a necklace which he had bought from Sotheby's and which had originally been given to Victoria by Albert. I couldn't help thinking that the phrase "more money than sense" had been coined for this moment.
Imagine my relief when we finally reached Londinium and the end of my torment was in sight. I gathered my things and sneaked away as quickly and quietly as I could. As I did so, several of the ladies were engaged in trying to revive a lady for whom the Ambien had apparently been particularly effective. As I left, they had had no success.
Suddenly, the American obsession with unnecessary prescription drugs didn't seem so bad after all.
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