I love a (posh) man in (high ranking) uniform 
  
A fire alarm at Glasgow airport had hordes of the great unwashed hanging out on the pavement in the drizzle whinging about pints of Stella left half undrunk. Once the all clear was given, there was a huge queue for the (heightened) security clearance -- lots of random bag checks, shoe-sole examinations etc.
 
Quite understandably, we never got to find out why the alarm went off, but in these post 9/11 days it doesn't take much to get you looking sidelong at other people's shoes and giving bearded men (even ginger ones with kilts on) hard and slightly paranoid stares.
 
Cue Captain Charm, with a voice like cut glass: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to flight BA 123 to London Heathrow. Slight delay in take off this evening, for which sincere apologies, but apparently there is 'high demand' to land at Heathrow this fine evening. High demand, that's what it says on this piece of paper in front of me. Now I'd argue that there's always high demand, so perhaps another runway might be in order, but no, we are British so we will jolly well make do with what we've got.
 
"I am not flying myself this evening, you instead have the immeasurable privilege of being flown by my co-pilot (insert posh girl's name here), whom actually I am rather annoyed with because she's better at landing than I am and she eats chocolate in the cockpit without offering me any. Anyway, it's bound to be an absolutely splendid flight as soon as those air traffic control people decide to be reasonable and let us get on with it. And now over to the frankly exceptional cabin crew who will I am sure meet every expectation you could possibly have. Trust me."
 
And trust him I did. Seconds later, the estuarine tones of the head of cabin crew came over the intercom, annoucing the safety demonstration in similarly light -- quite probably similarly manufacturedly light -- mood, but he just couldn't compete. When you find yourself in times of trouble, you want a grown up public schoolboy with stripes on his sleeves to make you feel all right.
 
All that breeding, all that training. There's a lot to be said for accomplished posh boys. They'd never come up with anything as vulgar as 'shock and awe'. Not that they need it with their advanced combination of mild disbelief, stiff upper lip, consummate skill and artful understatement.
 
And what's more, he was right. The landing was superb: in over the east of London, gentle low cruise along the Thames checking out the sights, and a touchdown you almost didn't feel. She really knew what she was doing. Which seemed a fitting end to an interesting day arguing the finer points of gender equality work. Of which I am glad, as until that point I was feeling remarkably politically incorrect with my unashamed appreciation of her colleague.
 
joella