Just this week
I bumped into Sir Geoffrey Howe, or rather his wife bumped into us, repeatedly, and on purpose.

On our way back from Catania who should be sat behind us in the departure lounge but Geoffers himself. He was with friends, who were moaning about the fact that they shouldn't have to be sat with us proles (quite loudly too) as they had paid more for first class.

Or at least they were moaning until Sir Geoff pointed out that on this occasion they hadn't paid any extra. "But that's not the point," his friend opined "We COULD have paid more..."

And the bumping into? His wife (that of Sir Geoff's, Elspeth) kept kicking the back of our seat. I think she wanted us to move away so that she didn't becoming infected by the middle class or something. We sat where we were and gave nasty glances every now and then, but I don't think she got the picture. They probably thought we were Thatcherites who were still bitter about the Iron Lady's downfall.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Mon 29 May 2006, 19:39, Reply)