Red Menace Invades Bristol: Floating Harbour Terrorised by Gigantic Tomato-Boat!
Is That a Yacht, or Did Someone Spill a Red Paint Pot?
Bristol: Playground of the Rich. Who'd have thought it? Forget Cannes, Monte Carlo, Antibes, Puerto Banús - Marbella, Yas Marina - Abu Dhabi, Yacht Club Port de Plaisance - St Maarten, or Port de Gustavia - Saint Barts. Bristol is now the place for the super-rich to be seen. Because it's hip, cool, and trendy, you may ask? No, it’s the now world-famous 'Floating Harbour' brings them in.
You know, Bristol's millionaire playground. Yes, this one. Who knew? No, me neither! I mean, what millionaire in his, or her right mind, wouldn't sip martini cocktails on deck while looking out over the 'Matthew' and think "fuck that!" Well, apparently, wealthy mariners such as the owners of floating gin palaces, 'Miss Conduct' and the 'Akula' do.
Where to start first, I wonder! I know, how about the reported ‘rogue landlord’ owner of ‘Miss Conduct.’ By all accounts, Thomas Flight ripped off tenants while living on board the yacht with the helicopter on the roof.
Bristol, this quaint maritime tableau, where the salt-tinged air whispers tales of yore and… rogue landlords? Yes, indeed. Thomas Flight, whose nautical domicile, the resplendent yacht 'Miss Conduct,' graced the Floating Harbour with its helicopter-topped opulence, found himself entangled in the sticky web of tenant grievances and judicial reprimands in January 2023.
One might imagine Mr. Flight, a man of such singular taste as to anchor a New York restaurant-turned-pleasure-craft in the very shadow of the Matthew, to be a paragon of civic virtue. Alas, the reality, as so often, proved a tad more… baroque.
The council, those indefatigable guardians of tenant well-being, had levied a £12,000 fine upon Mr. Flight, and further demanded £25,000 to cover their rather thorough investigation. It appears Mr. Flight's property management dealings, conducted from the venerable address of 21 Portland Square, were less a model of transparency and more a labyrinthine exercise in obfuscation.
"Mr. Flight’s identity was hidden from his tenants, allowing him to keep security deposit money instead of returning it, and to avoid responsibility for a number of unfair commercial practices including charging banned and hidden fees to tenants," intoned a council spokesperson, with the sort of bureaucratic gravitas that would make a Roman senator blush. "Tenants would receive made-up landlord and letting agent information, including false names and addresses. Mr. Flight even went so far as to have a fictitious person registered as a director of one of his companies. Tenants who complained were then harassed with demands to withdraw their valid enquiries, until the local authority took up these complaints as part of their investigation."
The tale of the Hidden Corner bookshop and cafe, a bastion of inclusivity, added a particularly piquant note. Locked out, evicted, and left to protest, their plight serves as a stark reminder that even the most cherished of local institutions are not immune to the machinations of the real estate buccaneer.
Mr. Flight, when finally cornered, displayed a remarkable talent for creative narrative. "During this interview, Mr. Flight failed to cooperate with Bristol City Council, blaming the situation on an alleged letting agent who couldn’t be traced and is believed to be another of his inventions," the council spokesperson revealed. "At one of Mr. Flight’s Court hearings in relation to this case, he supplied further documents to Bristol City Council containing more landlord details that also proved to be false." One might almost admire the sheer audacity, were it not for the unfortunate tenants caught in the crossfire.
And then, there is 'Miss Conduct,' the floating monument to Mr. Flight’s… unique perspective. "Bristol has been good for us and our businesses, we have been lucky enough to have had great success in Bristol and we want to give something back to the city in the form of what we are good at - a little glamour, fun, connecting people and lots of charity work for good causes," the mysterious "Bristol businessmen" declared at that time, their anonymity only adding to the intrigue. "Our motto is 'if you can't set a good example to others then you must serve as a terrible reminder!'"
Indeed. A terrible reminder, it would seem, of the perils of unchecked ambition and the delightful chaos that ensues when the worlds of high-seas glamour and low-rent shenanigans collide.
Cllr Tom Renhard, Bristol’s housing chief, offered a suitably stern pronouncement. “We are committed to protecting people across the city from rogue landlords, especially during the national cost-of-living and housing crises,” he said. “Mr Flight took advantage of tenants, and that is simply not acceptable. We will continue to do all we can to pursue unscrupulous landlords where evidence of criminal exploitation is found.”
And yet, despite the fines, the investigations, and the protests, Mr. Flight remains free to continue his landlordly pursuits. After all, as the saying goes, the show must go on, even if it's a rather peculiar, and occasionally litigious, spectacle.
Now, almost fifteen months further on, the ‘Akula’ (translated from Ukrainian to mean ‘shark’) arrives, and our tranquil, historically charming Floating Harbour has been rudely interrupted by… well, let’s just call it a "statement piece." Think "fire engine red" meets "slightly seasick tugboat" and you're halfway there. Yes, folks, the Akula, a £30 million (or 35 million euros, if you’re feeling continental) behemoth of maritime… something, has graced us with its presence.
This crimson titan, rumoured to be the plaything of none other than Jonathan Faiman, one of the wizards behind the digital grocery empire Ocado, sailed majestically (or, depending on your perspective, lumbered) into our beloved harbour. Apparently, after delivering countless grocery orders to our doorsteps, Faiman decided to upgrade from delivery vans to, shall we say, a slightly larger delivery vehicle.
The Akula, a 59.4-meter-long testament to conspicuous consumption, forced the Cumberland Basin’s swing bridges to perform their awkward, mechanical ballet, much to the delight (and mild annoyance) of local commuters. It now sits proudly at Wapping Wharf, casting a scarlet shadow over the quaint, hipster-infused surroundings. One can only imagine the conversations over flat whites and sourdough: "Darling, is that a floating tomato?"
And let's not forget the sheer, unadulterated audacity of this vessel. It dwarfs even the infamous Miss Conduct, the yacht previously owned by local rogue landlord Thomas Flight, complete with its own helicopter. It’s like a maritime game of "my yacht is bigger than your helicopter," and the Akula is winning by a landslide.
Apparently, this floating monument to excess is on its way to the Arctic. Because, you know, nothing says "eco-conscious exploration" like a bright red, multi-million pound superyacht burning who-knows-how-much fuel. The owner, in a recent interview with Boat International (because of course there's a magazine dedicated to this sort of thing), mentioned a grand tour of Scotland, the Faroe Islands, Norway, Iceland, and Greenland, before heading down the East Coast of the US to the Caribbean and Central America. One can only assume they'll be delivering organic quinoa and artisanal whale meat to the polar bears as a priority.
The Akula, registered in the tax-haven paradise of the Cayman Islands (presumably because Steepholm doesn’t yet offer such a facility), is a stark reminder that while we’re all struggling to remember our reusable shopping bags, some people are living their best lives aboard a floating, red… thing. It's a bit like a giant, floating "unsubscribe" button for the planet.
So, if you’re in Bristol, grab a selfie with the Akula. It’s a sight you won’t soon forget. Or maybe you will, after the inevitable sea-sickness induced by its sheer, overwhelming redness that would put you off the colour for the remainder of your life. It’s like a big, red ‘stop’ sign. You cannot possibly miss it. Polar bears, though, well, they might. While polar bears can see red, they may not see it as well as humans, and some studies suggest they might be less sensitive to red than to other colours. Awwww, he’s being kind! Well, perhaps before he shoots a few to keep the on-board chef happy.
Anyway. Remember, folks, next time you’re waiting for your Ocado delivery, just imagine the groceries arriving by a super-hideous-looking tugboat. It’s a far more entertaining mental image, isn’t it?
