Author: Andrew Greenhalgh

I last saw Jean-Noël Hardy in 2018 at a satellite conference in Rio. He snapped this selfie on my phone… to send to his former Airbus PA, Alessandra. I’m glad I kept it.

Jean-Noël took me under his wing when I visited Sao Paulo several times between 2013 and 2015. He was the boss of Airbus Space in Brazil, and a long-time resident of the country. A proud Frenchman, passionate about representing a great French business. Equally passionate about his family, who I heard much about.

Above all he was a story-teller. I vividly remember a splendid champagne lunch at the Hotel Le Meurice in Paris in 2015. Jean-Noël was negotiating his retirement from Airbus and happily put the bottle on one of his last expenses claims. 

He told me how the last German Commandant of Paris used the Meurice as his command HQ in the war. He visited the hotel again in the 50’s as a civilian and was recognised by one of the waiters… who offered him champagne. The General was thought of warmly, mainly for ignoring Hitler’s order to burn Paris.

Jean-Noël, who died recently, will also be warmly remembered.

They say the new European entry and exit rules are delaying British passport holders. But it wasn’t too bad for me travelling between Manchester and Pisa this week.

At Pisa there’s a new holding section outside the non-schengen arrivals entrance. Ominous. Especially when we landed 5 minutes after another UK flight. Their passengers snaked their way into the building and we slowly followed.

Inside there’s a new bank of machines where you enter your biometric data. They must have taken mine before… as it spat out ‘authorised’ as soon as I scanned my passport. An attendant handed me a green card and directed me to the usual arrivals hall where the ‘Other Passports’ lane was backed up with frustrated-looking Brits.

Luckily, a frustrated usher started directing people with green cards to the empty European lane… and I crossed the border in a moment. I didn’t look smug at the other queue… that could be me next time. 

Leaving Pisa a week later wasn’t as smooth. We’d been warned to arrive earlier than usual and yes… the airport was busy. Security took 40 mins instead of the usual 15. Passport control took 30 mins instead of 10. But we can live with that.

I had an early breakfast in Florence and made it home to Shropshire in time for a late lunch. Earlier generations would have found that extraordinary.

‘I’m not sure these old legs are going to get me up here.’ Not ideal words to be muttering 30 mins into a 2-hour hilly bike ride in Tuscany. 

Luckily, my bike has an accommodatingly small bottom gear. And after a few harrumphs I also accept my body’s performing like the middle-aged, under-trained example that it is. Trouble is, we remember the glory, pain-free days of youth.

Plenty of people discover fitness in middle-age and achieve physical heights never previously attained. But that requires dedicated focus. And cycling is only one of my interests. Watching snooker is another. So is chocolate.

These days there are three things that make for a good ride on beautiful roads. Getting up hills without having to stop… staying dry… and arriving home safe and sound. Today was a close thing on the first one.

I blame nostalgia and this year’s Giro D’Italia for today’s route choice. Both conspired to make me ignore my current fitness level and choose the best roads I know. Hilly, enjoyable roads. Only problem is, you don’t enjoy them so much when you’re creaking up the inclines like an aged tortoise. 

But then a few hours later you do. You forget the painfully slow pace and remember the achievement. 

I shouldn’t expect to get up these hills like I first did on discovering them 15 years ago. I should just be grateful I can still get up them at all. 

There is an inch of leg room I’m not using on this Ryanair flight to Pisa. Luxury. 

Not really. But I enjoyed this flight more than expected. I put that down to driving it last time. A cross-European odyssey that took two full days door-to-door. Two pleasing days. Not without anxiety or delay. But an enjoyable introduction to slow and meaningful travel.

Manchester to Pisa by budget airline is neither slow nor meaningful. Nor a novelty. I’ve done it so often that I could easily resent the airport experience. 

The flight could also easily grate. But not today. I’m leaning into the ‘marvellous to get from Shropshire to Florence in 8 hours’ thinking. Seems like a miracle after driving it. Cheap too – less than half what it cost by road. 

There’s also a little boy in the row behind me enjoying his every minute. Which is helping me enjoy mine. Eyes wide and nose tight to the window as his Mum points out the clouds, the Alps and Livorno as we come in to land – each new sight getting a well-deserved ‘Wow!’ 

Reminds me when I flew this route 15 years ago with my sister and young niece. ‘Look Mummy… it’s Italy!’ sang out Isabella as we taxied into Pisa. Possibly the most boring bit of land in Tuscany. But not to a 3 year old seeing it for the first time. 

That’s what novelty does for you. Makes things wonderful. I can’t enjoy flights anymore like that little boy did today. But maybe driving the route now and again will remind me that budget air travel has its upsides. 

What a delightful ‘The Rest is Entertainment’ episode where Richard Osman and Marina Hyde fail to hide their glee at snagging Sir Paul McCartney. This wasn’t just deferential respect being paid to a cultural icon. They used the ‘listeners have written in with their questions’ tactic. It worked well… Macca now responding to fans and not hardened journalists.

On how being famous has changed since the early 60s Beatlemania… Paul mimed pulling something out of his front pocket and said ‘phones.’ He refuses to pose for selfies with fans. And if asked why, he gives a story about a man in St Tropez charging people to pose with his monkey. Paul doesn’t want to feel like the monkey.

Paul also admitted there were songs he wasn’t especially proud of. Bip Bop – an early Wings number – being one he couldn’t believe he got away with. But then he said how producer Trevor Horn – no stranger to a great composition – told him he loved that song. I paused the podcast and listened to it. Sorry Trevor… I’m with McCartney on that one. 

He’s also confident enough to laugh at his attention-seeking. Saying that when his kids accuse him of loving the adulation, he’s happy to concede ‘yeah.. you can ‘adule’ me any time you want.’ Perhaps Paul’s been famous for so long that he’s come out the other side and is now normal again. 

Or maybe he always was.

Took my Mum to Shrewsbury Market Hall. Always a good place for a wander. They won ‘Britain’s Favourite Market’ three years in a row between 2023-2025. The award organisers then decided that a hat-trick was enough and took them off the ballot for this year. 

Nothing against the 2026 winner – South Molton Pannier Market in Devon. Yes, they are Britain’s favourite market in a field of runners not including Britain’s favourite market. But big, unwelcome shoes need filling by someone… and I now have a town on my map I’d never heard of.

Shrewsbury took it well. It’s a compliment when you win so often they ban you from entering. They were allowed to compete in the ‘Best Community Market’ class instead. Won it, naturally. Let’s see if they can go for the big one next year.

What’s special about Shrewsbury Market Hall? It surprises… for one. The 1960’s building promises little from the outside, being typically concrete and square. These structures should have been pulled down by now or had the angular edges clad with a soft refresh. This one hasn’t. But once you enter and climb up – the market hall occupies the upper floors – any scepticism disappears.

An open and well-lit space. 60-ish proud independent traders in collective harmony. You’d sense it if they weren’t. Fresh foods, craft stalls and the smell of coffee. For a flat white I recommend the Moroccan place on the north-east corner. Next to John Bliss Butchers, who’ve been here since the market opened in the mid 60s. Steve, the current butcher being the grandson of the founder. Lovely they honour the original name by keeping it.

That’s part of the charm of it right there. A proud, generational English family butchers next to a Moroccan family making a go of things in a new country.

Maybe that’s the winning formula.

Two British classics. One retired to a Museum… the other still earning its keep on the road.

It’s not often I park the Jaguar next to something even older. Very happy to do so today at RAF Cosford, where this Hawker Hunter stands by the main gate to the Museum and shades us by a good few decades.

I’ve always loved a Museum. You take a nice drive out on a sunny day and see something new. Errr… or old. But you get the point. 

This was an especially nice visit with a purpose… as I was dropping off a poster depicting our satellite manufacturing facility and samples of cleanroom clothing. The excellent team in the learning centre are doing the place up. This will include an area where kids can dress up as our engineers who are building satellites for UK Space Command.

Delighted to help. 

Every year I invest two fraught weeks of my life in World Championship Snooker. The missed pots… the remarkable clearances… the momentum shifts. All pull me in unexpected directions. 

I surprised myself this year by heartily supporting 22-year old Wu Yize as he defeated a succession of ageing snooker grandees to claim his first title.

My first love is always Ronnie O’Sullivan. The best ever. He brings an elevated level of theatre to any match he plays. Usually brilliant. But loses often enough to be fallible. Once Ronnie’s knocked out I mourn… and then transfer my allegiance to a remaining player.

This year that went to someone far from my demographic. Wu Yize is a young man. We don’t share a language. He doesn’t seem to know what fear is. Or the significance of what he’s achieving. And he even said he just wanted to go to bed when asked how he was going to celebrate. Brilliant. 

Wu also said that his parents – who were there watching – were the real, deserving World Champions. And that he loved them very much. Brought a lump to my throat. 

See you next year young man.

I should pay more notice to this Monkey Puzzle tree in our garden. 

Monkey Puzzles are native to the slopes of the South American Andes… not Shropshire. They arrived here after a dinner hosted by the Governor of Chile in 1795, when naturalist Archibald Menzies was served pine nut seeds. He pocketed a few, they germinated on the voyage home and were planted on his return.

Someone said that climbing one of these trees ‘would puzzle a monkey.’ The name stuck… and these exotic evergreens became fashionable in Victorian country gardens.

Our Monkey Puzzle isn’t a 150 year-old Victorian specimen. It was a relative tiddler when we moved here in the 90s, planted a few years before in the kitchen courtyard rockery. My Dad loved it – thought it needed more space – and had a tree specialist transplant it to its current location. 

Those scale-like leaves look pretty but are rock hard and super sharp. As the tree has grown other well-protected specialists have occasionally been round to remove the lower branches. Otherwise Mum might injure herself when standing up from tending the flower bed underneath. 

My home office is in the corner of the house nearest the Monkey Puzzle. I sometimes see passers-by pausing to take in the sight. 

Reminds me to do the same.

‘Got to go, my tyre technician has arrived’… is a nice way to interrupt a work call. Sounds as if I’m running a racing team. Instead, Wayne from Hometyre Shropshire has pulled up in his impressive van to balance the wheels on the Jag.

Always a treat to see Wayne. When tyres are needed it’s far better having him come round than await service in a slightly grubby tyre centre.

I came across Hometyre in 2010 when they sorted out my Fiat Panda 100HP. Great little car… ate tyres. I’ve used them ever since. Wayne covers my area in Shropshire and has been calling round every couple of years. Feels like we’re slowly growing old together.

I like being around technical people… but don’t stand over Wayne as he works. Greet him warmly, offer a cuppa and then get out of the way. If he has a few minutes before heading off, we put the world to rights.

It’s easy for a car-loving office chap to think this kind of work is idyllic. Especially when the sun’s out and an appreciative customer brings out the biscuit barrel. It’s not always like that.

Wayne’s off to the next job. I’m back to the computer. 

Part of me wishes I was going with him.