Something Is Rotten in the State of Britain

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A few days ago I found myself taking advantage of that most rare of British things: a mini-heatwave. As I sat on my small balcony, cigarette in one hand, book in the other, I heard a faint rumbling in the distance. At first I thought it was last night’s Thai green curry making a flatulent return. Then I looked upwards. It was a plane. The vapour trail once so familiar had become a surreal sight to behold. 

As I watched the aircraft shoot across the sky, I was reminded of something the tie-defying owner of Virgin Atlantic, Richard Branson, once said: 

“The secret to running a successful airline is to keep the staff happy.”