In the early eighties my paternal grandfather was having to go back and forth between London and New York quite regularly for business; pressing issues like the Brazilian foreign debt and trying to persuade Argentina not to default on her loans. One year – perhaps 1983 or 1984 – he famously flew Concorde return over thirty times. He got to know the pilots and cabin-crew quite well.

On one occasion I believe they were waiting on the apron at Heathrow in London and the flight was over thirty minutes delayed. The Old Boy was getting a bit impatient and he hailed one of the stewardesses.

“What the hell is going on? I have an important meeting to get to in a few hours.”

“We are so sorry Mr Huntrods. We’ve been waiting for Michael Jackson to arrive.”

“And who the fuck is Michael Jackson???!!!”

A gloved hand reached over from the seat behind him and touched his shoulder.

“I’m very sorry I’ve kept you waiting” he piped.

Sacha never forgave my grandfather for not getting his autograph.