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Hot stories.  Hot action.  Hot nonsense.  

Disclaimer:

Breaking Jersey News is a satirical website.  All content contained within it is entirely fictional.  Whilst some of the public figures may be real, all of the stories contained within the site are fictitious.

 

Working lunch: Mr Roman Abramovich on life, Jersey and battered haggis

Working lunch: Mr Roman Abramovich on life, Jersey and battered haggis

As oligarch and oil tycoon Roman Abramovich is granted residency in the island, Breaking Jersey News’ deputy Russian affairs editor Maisie Starch meets the man behind the myth

I meet Mr Abramovich outside the Crab Shack.  It is a beautiful sunny afternoon and he is wearing a plain white polo shirt and jeans.  He looks totally at ease in his surroundings.  He compliments me on my jacket as we make our way inside.  We sit in the centre of the restaurant.  He chuckles to himself telling me that his security insists he avoid window seats. 

He orders a large glass of Merlot, and I a sparkling water.  As we peer over the menus I ask him where else he has eaten in the island.

Mr Abramovich:

We got in late on Monday.  I spotted a fish and chip shop on our way to the hotel.  ‘Wally’s’.  I had haddock and chips, mushy peas – and a battered haggis.  Everyone took the piss out of me, but was then jealous when i started eating it.  Dimitri snaffled most of it when I wasn’t looking.  Shitbag!  

Me

Ha!  So what have you managed to see since you have been here?

Mr Abramovich:

We’ve been to a few properties, but between doing that, we’ve had a look at Gorey Castle.  We got about half way up, then sacked it off.  It was so windy up there.  Georgis lost his hat, so we just went for a drink instead.  Ended up at ‘The Dolphin’.  Just like home in there.  Loads of weirdos.  Anything-goes sort of place.  Great stuff.  We ended up staying there all afternoon.  And the best thing?  No-one even knew who I was. 

Me:

It certainly enjoys something of a cult following

Mr Abramovich:

Other than that, we went to the Arts Centre yesterday to see Dick Whittington

Me:

And how was that?

Mr Abramovich:

What they have achieved with a small budget is phenomenal.  I couldn’t have imaged that such a small production could be so engaging.  Moving, even.  But I suppose I’ve always been a sucker for amateur dramatics.  Just ask Dasha!  ….Although, probably best you don’t actually.

Me:

Have you told them how much you enjoyed it?

Mr Abramovich:

Oh yes.  I think they are hoping I will give them a bump on social media.  And I will.  I have to tell you though: we very nearly didn’t make it at all. 

Me:

What do you mean?  What happened?

Mr Abramovich:

We had been on the seafront, near la Fregate café in the afternoon.  The upturned boat thing.  My PA, Peter, had spoken to the owner of the passenger train and had got me a ride on it.  It was great!  I even had an ice cream.  Anyhow, we had all finished up there, and had made the decision to check out the Amaizin’-Maze, up in St Peter.  Heard a lot about it.  So, we were heading in that direction, and had just gotten in to Beaumont, and had approached the small roundabout at the bottom at the bottom of the big hill, just outside that ‘goose’ pub, and my driver just followed the lead car – which had my security guys in it.  And all of sudden this Range Rover came roaring up to us from the right.  It was a woman, who hadn’t been indicating, and she was going crazy.  I mean crazy!  Throwing her arms about.  Screaming.  Hissing at the windscreen.  You could actually see her screaming at us, spitting, beating her fist onto the dashboard.  I could just make out some kids’ faces in the back of the car.  They were terrified.   It was awful.  We were stationary at this point.  Before I knew what was happening, she was out of the vehicle and bearing down on us.  Two of my guys were sprinting back down the road.  I could see them.  Kamil, who was in with me, shoved me to the far side of the car – away from the window – and he had his gun out.  I was shouting to her ‘We didn’t know!  We didn’t know!  We didn’t know it was a filter-in-turn!’  But she wasn’t hearing anything.  It was just…….… rage.  I was so scared that one of my men was going to shoot her.  Image the JEP!  Anyway, a lady came running out from the shop on the corner.  The wedding dress makers.  She was incredible.  Anna, she was called.  She managed to calm her down enough to get her to drop the tyre lever…… and soon after that all the traffic got moving again….. Shocking. 

Me

It is the island’s dirty secret.  Analysis has actually shown that that ten square meters of road has a higher reported rate of aggravated assault than Kingston and Bogota combined

Mr Abramovich

You’re not kidding.  It was like being back in Moscow.

We are interrupted by banging on the window from outside.  Three inebriated men in their twenties wearing baby blue football shirts are jiggling up and down and gesticulating at Mr Abramovich.  ‘City for the treble!’ they are shouting ‘City for the treble!  City for the treble!  Antonio Conte’s a welcher!’  One of the men exposes himself, and they run away.

Mr Abramovich:

Doesn’t really faze me anymore. 

 

   
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    The fruits of power: Mr Abramovich riding in the driver’s cab of Le Petit Train

The fruits of power: Mr Abramovich riding in the driver’s cab of Le Petit Train

Our meals arrive.  I am amazed at his temperament.  The waitress thinks she recognises him.  He gives her a warm smile as he takes delivery of his seafood platter.  I get my risotto after his, and then she is gone.  I see her whispering to one of her colleagues and pointing discretely in our direction.  I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t revelling just the smallest bit in the attention.  Mr Abramovich shoots up from his crab claws to catch my eye.

Mr Abramovich:

How could I forget?!  We went to the Jersey Heritage museum in St Helier yesterday.  They had a special exhibition on.  It was supposed to have finished at the end of December but they extended it.  It was all about Jersey in the eighties.  We all went.  Me and the boys.  They all love Bergerac so they were in their element.  I never realised that Jersey had hosted so many big names back then.  I saw posters:  The Nolan Sisters.  Kenny Rogers.  Jimmy Tarbuck.  And Keith Chegwin!  I loved that guy!  And his duck!  What was the name of his duck?

Me:

Orville?

Mr Abramovich:

Orville!  That’s it!  I loved those guys.  I used to get my wife to record their show if I was caught up at work.  ‘Cheggers’.  I still can’t believe we’ve lost him.  So many last year, no?

Me:

Too many

Mr Abramovich fingered thoughtfully through his prawn tails.

Mr Abramovich:

I want to give something back. 

We sit in silence for a brief period.  His spirits appear to lift when a family of four seat themselves at a table adjacent to us.  I ask Mr Abramovich whether rumours that he is interested in acquiring St John’s FC are true.

Mr Abramovich:

Now that, Maisie, is something that I cannot speak about.

He winks at me, smiles, and begins to tell me about his kids.

I almost resent him for charming me.  And for that, I resent myself.  Whether he buys a local football club or not, one thing is certain: there is a new kid in town.  And one can only image that for the Dolphins and the mazes and the chip shops and the museums, he could well be a force for the good.

 

   
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    Mr Abramovich and his security taking a stroll down the Five

Mr Abramovich and his security taking a stroll down the Five

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