When I flew back to Tel Aviv from Gatwick a couple of weeks ago, the plane had a large contingent of Orthodox Jews: black-hatters as I call them, or Stamford Hill Cowboys as they're affectionately termed in Hackney. And, as is their custom on such flights, at one point a quorum of men gathered at the front of the plane to pray. Halfway through their prayers, the chief stewardess interrupted them and ordered them to the back of the plane. So they dutifully marched down the aisle, past us all, still praying, chanting, singing. And boy, were those guys in the zone! It was as though the rest of us didn't exist. They have been my constant inspiration (and companions) ever since.