Sophie Law

Are you a ‘recliner’ or a ‘refrainer’? Do you ease your seat back on an aeroplane as soon as you can, or remain bolt upright and swallow your fury as the headrest in front is lowered a few inches from your nose? Or are you to be found in the slender oval on the Venn diagram; the waiting room between recliner and refrainer, hanging on until the food service has finished before caressing the recline button? Whose armrest is it? Nobody cares anymore. All anyone wants to know is will the person in front of them recline their seat?

‘Work 1’ of the 258th Summer Exhibition greets you before you have even passed through the portals of the Royal Academy. Rainbow-striped letters arranged in an arc, the words ‘THE SONG IS YOU’ are displayed on four grey metal rods in the courtyard of Burlington House. By exhibitor Ugo Rondinone, the price for the installation is ‘on application’, for which read: not for the likes of you. No matter, I’ll save my pennies, thank you very much. Not being able to work out WHICH SONG I AM, I carried on regardless, conscious that I had 1,850 exhibits still to view.

The story must have been a sub-editor’s dream. The Telegraph could barely resist with its headline, ‘Bag snatcher poaches £2 million Fabergé egg’, while the Times opted for the less playful: ‘Police on a Fabergé egg hunt after pickpocket strikes at West End pub.’ Frankly, I’m disappointed: a story about a stolen Fabergé egg appears during Lent and that is the best they come up with? Pressure on The Spectator’s sub-editor for this article aside, the story is glorious clickbait, teasing as it does with the terms ‘Fabergé’, ‘millions’ and ‘theft’. One can’t help but think of Octopussy, museum heists, fast car chases and suitcases full of cash. The public is crying out for the glamour of it.

Can’t get an appointment with your GP? Nowhere to sit in surgeries crammed with the ill and infirm? Spare a thought for your local auctioneer who is also dealing with the effects of a long winter of discontent. The cost-of-living plague, from which almost nobody is immune, has prompted people to rummage around in their cupboards for treasure and to wonder whether they really want to continue to insure that Raeburn or Lawrence at vast expense. Throw in the epidemic of rocketing gold and silver prices, and you’ll struggle to get an appointment with an auctioneer, busy as he is weighing Georgian candlesticks and making house visits to inspect the family portraits.