“You just made history,” I told them.
But I still had my eye on the future. I emailed the Galactic management team, telling them, “We should invest in increasing the size of the initial fleet of spaceships from two to three, and put a team at work on beginning the second SpaceShipTwo as soon as possible.” I didn’t know then how prudent that would prove to be.
CHAPTER 24
A Lost Night in Melbourne
It was like a scene from the film The Hangover, except with more of a thumping headache. I woke up feeling extremely dehydrated and somewhat the worse for wear. Where was I? I was in a hotel room, but which hotel, which city, even which country I wasn’t completely clear about.
As I stood up and staggered over to the window, I tried to pull back the curtains. Bad idea. I squinted in the sunlight, before closing them again, but at least now I knew where I was. Melbourne. Slowly, in the back of my mind, a memory began to stir. Motor racing, that was it: I was here for the Grand Prix. But then other less good memories began to surface. Jenson Button’s girlfriend. A baby in a restaurant. A man shouting at me in the urinals. I sat back down on the edge of the bed and tried to piece together what had happened . . .
—
The chain of events had started in March 2009, when I got an early-morning call from Ross Brawn on Necker. The celebrated Formula 1 maestro had started his own team, Brawn GP, and Ross felt they had a real chance of winning the championship. But Honda had pulled funding from their outfit and unless they got investment—fast—there would be no team at all. As I sat there in the morning sunshine, I listened as Ross explained they had an experienced driving duo of Jenson Button and Rubens Barrichello, and Ross was confident he had built a title-worthy car.
“So what can I do for you?” I asked.
“We’re short on cash,” Ross explained. “We need a sponsor to come on board if we are even going to make it to the start-line at the first race in Melbourne.”
I didn’t know much about motor racing but I knew a man who did: Sam’s friend James Rossiter, who just happened to be in Japan test-driving Brawn’s car. I tracked him down and spoke to him about what Ross was saying: Sam’s friend backed him up, saying the car was a winner, the fastest he had ever driven. On hearing that, I rang Ross straight back and said we were happy to back the team. We went through forty-eight hours of heavy negotiations, with Alex Tai securing a deal to get Brawn through the first race, with the understanding that, should they win it, we’d have our brand on both cars for the whole season for a nominal sum. We got extra branding space on the car and Virgin Atlantic provided tickets for the team and drivers, too.
With race qualifying just hours away, I packed my bag and dug out my passport. We managed to get some Virgin stickers printed up, which I shoved in my bag, and jumped on the first plane to Australia. I arrived in Melbourne on Friday, and hurried to the track to stick the logos on the sides of the cars. They had got a little crumpled on the flight, but looked great as Button and Barrichello went zooming around the track. Their cars weren’t quite as impressive, though, mustering only the sixth and fourth fastest times in the first practice session. However, in qualifying the next day they were transformed. Jenson just beat his teammate to pole position for a Brawn/Virgin one-two.
Slightly giddy from the team’s performance, the sun and the jet lag, we headed into town for dinner and a couple of drinks at Nobu. Ross and Alex came along, too. We were in understandably jubilant form and the drinks were flowing freely: because of the excitement of the day, we felt as if we’d won already, and had to keep reminding ourselves that we had only qualified first, not yet sealed the Grand Prix.
Jenson and his girlfriend were sitting at the next table, enjoying a far quieter evening as he had to race the next morning. By contrast, through a mixture of tiredness, jet lag and drink, I soon found myself very, very inebriated. This wasn’t like me: I can’t remember ever getting that drunk, before or since. Fueled by alcohol, I went over to Jenson’s table and sat down next to his girlfriend. I may have been slightly blurry-eyed, but was still able to realize how gorgeous she was. Foolishly, I then told her as much. Jenson understandably took offense and I decided to retreat quickly from the table (thankfully, we smoothed it out).
Meanwhile, a delightful couple came up to me with their baby and asked for a photograph. Happy to oblige, I took the baby in my arms and stood up to smile at the camera. The next moment, so I’m told (I didn’t find out until the next day), I was on the other side of the restaurant and the parents were chasing me—I had wandered off with their baby! Perhaps I was getting some early practice in for my own grandchildren. After finally reuniting the child with his mum and dad, it was high time I visited the bathroom: surely I couldn’t mess that up? But as I stood at the urinal, I realized a man had followed me into the toilet.
“Richard, it’s great to meet you, can I have your autograph?” he asked, sidling up next to me.
“Of course,” I said, turning to face him, completely forgetting that I was still relieving myself. Before I knew what was happening, I had managed to piss all over the guy’s trousers—not exactly the memento of meeting me he had been hoping for. After that debacle, I’m afraid the rest of the night is a complete blur, which is probably for the best.
As I recalled each of these incidents, my embarrassment increased. I was incredibly thankful—and lucky in this day and age—that none of my antics had made it onto social media. Sobering up as best I could, I made my way back to the Grand Prix circuit for the race. There were cameras pointing at me from every angle and I felt even more self-conscious.
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m giving up alcohol for six months.” I stuck to it, too.
I managed a smile for the press, but it felt like an F1 engine was revving inside my brain. Inside the circuit, it seemed as if all 80,000 spectators were screaming at us as we walked down to the pits. Thankfully, the talent of our drivers took the edge off my headache. Jenson, the model professional and a seriously talented driver, was ready for his big moment on the starting line and led the race from start to finish: to cheers from the crowd he pumped his fist in delight as he took the checkered flag. Rubens followed close behind in second place for an unbelievable one-two. I was stunned: this was a team that had gone from the brink of folding to the top of the world in a matter of days. While the drivers got ready for the presentation, I charged down past the finishing line high-fiving fans as they chanted “Richard! Richard! Richard!” For a minute, I felt like one of the rock stars we’d signed for Virgin Records. It really was a miraculous performance from Ross and the team, going from rank outsiders to title favorites. I was delighted to be part of it, though waved away the celebratory champagne!
I joined Brawn for several more races during the season, most memorably in Bahrain, where we added Virgin Galactic branding to build awareness of our spaceline in a new market. As I watched the car speeding around the track, I was concerned the logo just didn’t stand out.
“Has anybody got a pen?” I asked, racing round the pit. “I need a black marker.”
Just before the race was about to start, a helpful lady pulled a Sharpie out of her handbag. I grabbed the marker, jumped onto the track and colored in the logo more—now it shone out as Button cruised through the field to take the checkered flag.
It was a hot day as always in Bahrain, but made doubly so by the heat from the engines. We were all dripping with sweat as the race ended and TV crews started swarming around the pit lane. Realizing I was going to be interviewed, I whipped my drenched shirt off to replace it with a dry one. But the TV crew chose that moment to begin their interview, leaving me half-naked while broadcasting to millions, but with a huge smile on my face after a wonderful Grand Prix.
Jenson went on to win six races and claim the World Drivers’ Championship, while Rubens won two and helped the team cruise to the Constructors’ title. Brawn GP was rebranded and sold at
the end of the season, thus becoming the only team ever to achieve a 100-percent championship success rate. It just goes to show what you can achieve with a talented team, the willingness to take risks, belief in what you are doing and a healthy helping of luck.
“Today was as high a day as I can remember,” I told the press after that first race in Melbourne. While it was true in a sporting sense, too, they had no idea what I’d got up to the night before. For that matter, sadly neither had I!
—
Strange as it might seem, that night in Melbourne wasn’t the craziest experience during my involvement with Formula 1. That came a few years later when I found myself sitting in a packed Perth bar in my pants, having my legs shaved. I should probably explain.
After such an amazing experience in Formula 1 sponsoring Brawn to the world championship, we were keen for more—this time as part of the Virgin brand outright. But we quickly discovered we didn’t have the financial clout to compete with the big boys like Ferrari and McLaren, who spent hundreds of million on their cars. Instead of going for the title, Virgin Racing had fun battling another new team, Lotus Racing. Their owner, Tony Fernandes, is an old friend who used to work at Virgin Atlantic and Virgin Records. He has done a superb job building up AirAsia, an airline we took a 20-percent stake in, and it was he who suggested our own competition.
“Richard, our teams are never going to get onto the podium. Let’s start a competition of our own. If my team finishes higher than yours, you have to serve as cabin crew on an AirAsia flight. If your team beats mine, I’ll serve on one of your flights.”
“On one condition,” I agreed, confident we’d win. “The loser has to dress in a stewardess’s uniform.”
It seemed a good idea at the time, but I regretted that at the end of the season, when we lost the bet. Back in Perth, Tony had a massive grin on his face as he ordered me to take off my trousers.
“I’m going to enjoy this.” He smiled, razor in hand.
“I’m not!” I yelped.
Duly humiliated, I headed back to the hotel for some rest before the early flight to Kuala Lumpur—and my crew debut. As I left my hotel for the airport at 4 a.m., Tony was only just returning from a casino, looking slightly the worse for wear.
“Hurry up, Tony,” I joked, “or you’ll miss the plane!”
We made it to the airport, where a makeup artist ordered me to sit still as she tried to apply some bright red lipstick to me. It was a tough job because I couldn’t stop laughing. I soon mastered the pout, though, and emerged from the dressing room resplendent in drag. I had a vibrant matching red jacket and skirt, as well as tied-back hair and fishnet stockings. I was most proud of my red shoes, though. Unable to find red high heels to fit my feet, we picked some up from a drag queen shop. I carried them around in hand luggage all week before the flight—and got one or two strange looks from airport security along the way!
When Tony saw me, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Richard, you look far too pretty, despite the beard,” he said.
“Well, you took terrible,” I replied. “Come on, let’s have some fun.”
Flashbulbs lit up my mascara-enhanced eyes as we entered the airport lobby. I planted a kiss on Tony’s face, smearing lipstick all over him. He hoisted me up (it made a change from me lifting ladies on our own airline launches!) and we headed onto the flight. After the exertion of picking me up, and with a mammoth hangover to nurse, Tony settled down into his seat to enjoy my service. Armed with a tray full of smoothies, I sneaked up on him.
“Should I do it?” I shouted to the other passengers, the tray balanced precariously in one hand.
“Don’t you dare!” exclaimed Tony.
But I couldn’t resist, soaking him from head to toe. “I guess I’m not good at taking orders,” I smiled.
“Damn you,” laughed Tony, as he stripped off and wandered around the plane in a daze, wearing only his pants.
Then it was down to work, carrying out the safety instructions, serving drinks (without too many more spillages), and helping the other passengers. “Coffee, tea, or me?” read the crew’s t-shirts, in a nod to the famously lascivious fictional memoir of Trudy Baker and Rachel Jones, two sixties stewardesses. Thankfully, none of the AirAsia customers chose the third option.
“I’ve looked up to you for years,” one Aussie passenger quipped, “now I’ve looked up your skirt!” I laughed, but when he started talking about me having the whole package, I moved my trolley swiftly along the aisle.
“Why haven’t you shaved your beard off, too?” asked another flyer.
“The only time I did that was to launch Virgin Brides,” I explained, “but Joan didn’t like it—I’ve never been tempted to go clean-shaven since.”
The flight became even more surreal. I was soon spoon-feeding Tony dinner and then listening to some business pitches from budding entrepreneurs. We managed to raise more than $300,000 for the Starlight Foundation from that flight. It was odd sitting in full drag giving serious business advice to people on everything from solar panels to internet start-ups, but it seemed to work.
Finally, we arrived in Malaysia and all got well and truly soaked in champagne. As I removed my makeup in the bathroom, Tony popped his head through the door as I turned on the shower.
“Thanks for being such a good sport, Richard. And just to confirm: you are sacked.”
CHAPTER 25
Shoes
One quiet December evening I was sitting on Necker browsing through my iPad when a tweet from a young lady in the US called Shannon Smith jumped out from my screen. She simply said she would like to spend a day in my shoes.
“Will send shoes,” I replied.
Without hesitation, I took my shoes off, walked over to the office and set about sending her my size elevens. We flew the shoes from Necker to the UK, then from London to New York. From there, Virgin America flew the shoes (and a book and t-shirt as Christmas presents for Shannon) to the West Coast. Then some of our Virgin America teammates hand-delivered my shoes to Shannon’s door.
“You can keep the shoes on one condition,” I told her. “You have to wear them for a whole day, or I want them back! Happy holidays.”
Shannon was more than up for the challenge, and upped the ante, too. Not only did she wear the shoes for twenty-four hours, she did it on Christmas Eve while performing her day job, then going on to volunteer at the Ascencia Winter Shelter in Glendale, California. She shuffled around in my too-big trainers while serving homeless people Christmas dinner, handed out gift bags and I’m sure put a huge smile on the faces of many people in need. She even made a video of her day, and doubtless collected some blisters and funny looks.
I was so impressed that I wanted to take the challenge further. Youth homelessness is an issue close to all our hearts at Virgin, and we have worked to tackle it through campaigns like Virgin Mobile’s RE*Generation. So, we called on everyone online to tweet the #shoeathon hashtag, and donated to the Ascencia Winter Shelter on behalf of those who did so.
This story, in a nutshell, encapsulates the power of social media: a journey that started with a single tweet read on my iPad ended up making a tangible difference in people’s lives.
—
Two of the big changes over the twenty years since I wrote my first autobiography have been the rise of social media and the way the internet has changed the way we consume information.
When I open my mouth I’m never completely sure what is going to happen next. However, “Joan, have you seen my iPad?” is something I regularly come out with these days. I read every day on my iPad. There will always be a place for the printed word, but it will be increasingly niche as even better tablets and phones are released. I did an interview with the New York Times on Valentine’s Day 2000, which they headlined “Taking Virgin’s Brand into Internet Territory.” “Richard Branson says the web is ready for his style of business,” ran the
subheading. The web may have been ready, but I definitely wasn’t, in many ways Virgin wasn’t, and this cost us a lot of time and money.
One of the biggest mistakes Virgin ever made was not being fast enough off the mark to become a digital leader. In the past few years one of my focuses has been putting our brand at the forefront of new technology. We put a lot of the errors to bed in the UK with the growth of Virgin Media and its unique business model. From our adverts with Usain Bolt to our WiFi offering on the Tube, it has become one of the main ways the brand is known in Britain. However, there have been many episodes along the way to learn from.
To begin with, we were extremely quick off the mark when it came to the iPad, and decided to launch the world’s first iPad-only magazine, called Project. I joined the team outside Apple’s flagship New York store, covered head to toe in newspaper—another one of Jackie McQuillan’s arresting outfits. The magazine was great fun, pioneering a new way for people to digest stories. Running Project became even more enjoyable when Rupert Murdoch launched The Daily—his own iPad publication—and we got some friendly competition.
“This is not a battle,” I said at the launch. “This is not a war. It’s the future of publishing. If you’d like to call it a battle, then call it a battle on quality. I think when you see the competition, you might agree that our team win hands-down.” However, as both Rupert and I quickly realized, we had completely misjudged the market and we were publishing into a void. The critical reception was positive, but there weren’t enough people with iPads, and certainly not enough willing to pay to read a magazine. Within less than a year, both publications were dead.
Finding My Virginity: The New Autobiography Page 23