MY MOMENT OF MADNESS

Antony Worrall Thompson on how shoplifting almost ruined him - and cooking saved his life

There are four ovens and a couple of mighty, silver fridges in Antony Worrall Thompson’s kitchen at home, but as the tea steeps he announces: “Bad news. We’ve got no biscuits.” When it comes to bad news, this man has delivered far worse. For instance, three years ago this month he sat in the manager’s office at a Tesco in Oxfordshire. He had the phone to his ear and was calling his wife, Jay, to tell her that he had been nabbed for shoplifting from the supermarket. It was a moment that led him to make front-page news, virtually destroy his career – and lead him to contemplate suicide. Life would never be the same again for the husband, father, celebrity chef and restaurateur. However, here we are, on stools at the kitchen island in his exquisite Georgian house in the countryside not far from Reading. The open-bricked room is scented by orchids and daffodils; the dogs – Flossie and Rodney – sit at our feet. Daughter Billie, 17, is at boarding school and son Toby, 19, is at university. As Worrall Thompson pours the tea, he starts to talk frankly about “the moment of madness” and its consequences. In terms of teapot confessions, this particular one is a compelling tale of anguish, struggle and self-destruction. Ultimately, it is the story of how the theft of food destroyed a cook, and of how the rediscovery of cooking in a professional kitchen would restore his sanity and wellbeing. The shoplifting, you may recall, amounted to five episodes of Worrall Thompson pinching goods from Tesco. The first incident was a few days before Christmas 2011, and he takes me back to that day: “I used the self-scanning thing, and then came home and was sorting through the bags. I looked at the bill and thought, God, I’ve got some items here that I haven’t paid for. Do I go back and pay? Hmm, it’s Tesco, they can afford it. “After that, I’m not sure. Was it a challenge? Was it something that sparked my naughtiness, or my desire to live on the edge? “I didn’t know I did it the first time, but after that I knew I was putting stuff through without scanning it. It was deliberate – but why? I own restaurants – it’s not like I needed the food!” On the fifth and final incident, his booty was three onions, two packets of coleslaw, a ciabatta, a newspaper and a sandwich. He was no Ronnie Biggs. “I was in the car park pushing the trolley to my car when two men came up to me. They were store detectives. They had brought in the big man – the top store detective – from London, and I later found out they had set up two extra security cameras just to watch me. It was a sting. They had waited for the cameras to be installed before they pounced. They said, ‘Can we see your receipt and can we look at what’s in your trolley?’ “I put my hands up before they even looked at the receipt. I said, ‘OK, fair cop.’ They said to me, ’Would you like to come to the office?’ Once I was in the office I phoned Jay and said, ‘I’ve been done for shoplifting.’ “I was taken off to the police station. The police were very nice, wanted to keep all the other hoods away from me. “They put me in a cell for a short time until questioning me. It’s not nice. I couldn’t say to them, ‘May I borrow a magazine, or can I read a book?’ I just lay there asking myself, ‘What have you done?’ I was thinking of my family, what with the kids in school and my wife and the embarrassment she’d have to go through. “I realised I had completely screwed up.” He sighs. “I was full of remorse.” Over the five incidents, the total value of stolen goods was £70.68. He was not charged – it was his first offence – but he admitted guilt and was cautioned and, as far as the police were concerned, that was the end of the matter. Or rather, not quite the end. “When I was leaving, one of the police officers asked for my autograph and I said, ‘Why do you want my autograph – you’ve got my fingerprints?’” What followed serves as a study of celebrity downfall. Had Worrall Thompson not been famous, it is possible that even his neighbours would not have known of his misdemeanour. Yet this was Wozza, the dinky, bearded blond of culinary entertainment; the nasal-voiced chef who, over a couple of decades, cooked a zillion dishes on shows such as Ready, Steady, Cook! and Food and Drink and Saturday Kitchen. He was famous, posh, and rich enough not to have to steal from Tesco. His intriguing crime drew front-page headlines such as “Ready, Steady, Crook!” “I had a group of prison officers booked in for a dinner party and they phoned to see if I still wanted to go ahead with it. I said, ‘Of course. I’ve got to face up to life and my life moves on from here.’” But it didn’t. Worrall Thompson was subjected to national mockery. He lightens the mood: “There was a fantastic spoof video on YouTube based on The Shawshank Redemption – it was called The Lambshank Redemption. And it was me with a Morgan Freeman voice-over, and I was being dragged out of my cell and beaten up. I thought, ‘Someone has spent a few thousand pounds doing this, it is unbelievable.’” Off the coast of Italy a ship capsized, removing Worrall Thompson from the news agenda, and there the story would seem to end. We all got on with our lives and assumed