This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
Ground Staff
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And this is where we found ourselves as this trip report begins in earnest, leaving dear old San Fran City in a chauffer-driven SUV the size of small tank, doing 85 along the freeway whilst our Russian driver jabbers away like a Bond villain on speed having two separate conversations into two mobile phones one in each hand. Very reassuring. Wed already risked invoking his wrath by having to turn tail after five minutes on the road to return to the Four Seasons, where my mother had rather kindly left all of her jewellery in her room always a generous tipper, my mum.
My inheritance retrieved, we were at SFO in about half an hour and were soon amassing our baggage mountain kerb-side. We bid Ivan a fond farewell as he departed with characteristic speed, possibly to meet someone in a sushi bar somewhere, and entered the terminal. My word it was quiet. It looked like a combination of my careful planning and the KGBs driver-training programme had got us there just a tad early. Not too bad though, check-in was due to open at half 12, and it was quarter to now. And please believe me, when youre travelling with my father even 10 hours early is preferable to 1 minute late.
Mum and I dawdled over to the SFMOMA shop to buy mdvipond jr. a new toy or two to keep her occupied on the flight. Tempting as the stainless-steel letter opener was, we opted for some magnetic stacking acrobats, which went down a treat. There was also a fantastic kids book which I really wish wed bought. It was called Thats Disgusting and had great pictures of a little girl partaking in various vile activities with tag lines such as, Dont make sculptures with your poo thats disgusting!. Sticking your finger in your cats behind was another personal favourite.
Check-in opened soon enough and after a very pleasant chat with the gentleman doing security (why is EVERYONE in SF so nice??) we were straight up to a queue-free UC desk. Having done OLCI the previous day, our seats were confirmed 6-7, A-K our luggage swiftly whisked away, and boarding cards and Clubhouse invites issued. Why cant everything in life be so easy?
We were the very first people into the Clubhouse and actually had it to ourselves for a good half hour. Small, but perfectly formed, this place is still a true haven of tip-top service, peace and quiet. We settled down at the far end by the dining tables and ordered a glass of champagne each whilst perusing the lunch menu. I decided quite quickly as, to be fair, there wasnt a huge amount of choice and instructed Mrs. mdvipond to order for me so that I could nip over to the PCs and make a quick post on V-Flyer. Id been sat there a few minutes, ensuring I had a decent supply of VS branded notepads, envelopes and mouse mats (they make ideal and very cost-effective gifts), when one of the two serving staff appeared behind me to ask if Id like him to fetch my champagne, which hed just delivered to the other end of the Clubhouse. I told him that would be very kind, and off he toddled, returning with my champers in hand. Ive always aspired to having my own valet, wonder if he can come back to Leeds with us. Wonderful, unpretentious service love it.
I rejoined the family for lunch which, despite the lack of choice, was very nice a spicy tomato soup with a mini chevre cheese quiche style thing in the middle, followed by a pretty good toasted club sarnie, all washed down with an Anchor Steam. They made up a grilled cheese and ham sandwich for jr., which she dismantled, tried on (as one might try on a hat) and then finally, mercifully, ate. I rounded things off with a big bowl of ice cream and choccy sauce, Mrs. went for a rather nice selection of cheeses, including more of that delicious chevre, which I kindly took off her hands. Feeling a little guilty about consuming such a glut of dairy produce, we headed outside for a cigarette, spying FAB coming up to the terminal as we left the Clubhouse, which meant V-Port. Looked like someone was due another trivia thumping!
Returning from our ahem breath of fresh air, I checked back on V-Flyer and found I was being instructed, in no uncertain terms, to approach the bar and demand some kind of Blue Drink. Blind obedience being one of my stronger points, especially when ordered to a bar, I asked for said drink, explaining the link to V-Flyer to clarify things and hey presto there it was, a vivid blue cocktail garnished with cherry on a plastic sword. And, despite appearances, very good it was too, mixing very nicely with the champagne and Anchor Steam. I just hoped I wasnt going to be struck down with a bout of airsickness later, cause if I was, it was sure as hell going to be one ugly colour
The call for boarding seemed pretty imminent so, as we had the unruly hang-glider in tow with us, we decided to get a head start down to the gate. While Mrs. mdvipond wrestled said contraption into its case, I scooted over to the Duty Free store to pick up some cigs to find it gasp closed! I didnt really expect an airport shop be shut at 4 oclock on a Sunday afternoon, but there it was. A little down heartened I made my way back to the gate where Mrs. had won yet another bout with the hang-glider and, with Priority Boarding signs clearly marked, we were straight onto Lady Penelope.
We were the first to board in the A zone so, being in rows 6 and 7 and consequently having no overhead bins, we quickly stowed our hand luggage in those over 8 (and maybe a little over 9). I know, Im sorry, whoever you were in 8A & K, you looked thoroughly p**sed off when you got on and had nowhere to put your bags, but knowing the demands of Mrs. mdvipond and jr. I was going to have to get them back down again at least 12 times in the next hour alone and there was no way I could let an FA take them away. Once again, sorry. Were good people really, please dont judge us too harshly.
I settled into 6K and I have to say that the old seat was feeling a bit slack and saggy, and the trim had certainly seen better days. Mrs. mdvipond said the same of hers. Ma and pa seemed happy enough though and while I looked after jr. and gratefully accepted a glass of fizz, they and Mrs. nipped off to change into their recently acquired sleep-suits. Me? Well, in the light of a recent thread on the subject, I dont bother with them anymore (thats not to say I sleep commando, ladies) preferring to live with a creased shirt rather than adorn myself in second-hand PJs. This line of thinking was borne out when, half an hour or so after returning to his seat, my father found that whoever had been wearing his sleep-suit last had been less the careful with their soup/tomato sauce/bloody mary, evidence of which was clearly displayed across dads chest. More on this later
Take off was more or less on time, with a tantalising glimpse of San Fran laying dreamily in the dusk through the port windows as we turned and headed for home. Never mind, V-Port had just booted up, so there was triv to be played, and a brash young Aussie FA had taken my order for a Ten and Tonic, which arrived soon after with a little plate of miscellaneous crispy things (but no lime in the G & T grr!). The trivia challenge offered considerably more competition than on our outward flight, with the gentleman in 15A giving me quite a run for my money. Victory was mine in the end, but it went down to the wire, forcing me to up my game to the extent that, for the first time ever, I found myself on the leader board! 6th place! Mrs. mdvipond was suitably unimpressed, mumbling something about me being a over-competitive hick (??) and suggesting I should get a life.
Brash Young Aussie FA took dinner orders, at which point my father decided to broach the subject of his somewhat soiled sleep-suit in a style my father has, through decades of often bitter and occasionally justified complaining, made completely his own. I object, most strongly, he told Brash Young Aussie FA, to being made to wear a sleep-suit which clearly has someone elses dinner thrown down it, holding the offending portion of clothing toward the FA for his closer inspection. Brashs face made it clear that there was no way he was getting any nearer that sleep-suit without rubber gloves and, at the very least, some form of respiratory equipment, but did apologise before swiftly withdrawing to find dad a replacement. Of course, this is the part where my mother now lectures dad about not being so rude to the young man, but I quickly plugged myself back into the quietly cosseted world of my Bose QC2s and turned my attention to my G & T.
Dinner followed shortly after, with Brash giving my father as wide a birth as one can in the pointiest part of the pointy end of a 747. Id opted for the spring rolls which were tasty, but a little small and not very crisp followed by the lamb which, whilst rather square (something of a running theme with VS meat dishes) was really very tasty indeed. Someone please correct me if Im wrong, but I think I started wine-wise with a Slovenian Sauvignon Blanc, which was pretty good as I recall. With the lamb I was hoping for the Rioja, my request being rewarded with the rather disturbing news that I was getting the last glass out of the last bottle on the plane, as theyd not loaded enough at LHR. It didnt really matter, it was never going to be the same without Spanish FA Mrs. mdvipond plumped for two starters, the spring rolls and the smoked duck salad, the latter of which she declared as superb.
And so the majority of pax seemed to be beginning their bed-time routine which was, of course, the ideal time for mdvipond jr. to start carrying on as if someone had slipped her half a packet of No-Doze and a litre of Coke with a double espresso on the side. We honestly thought that this would be the easier of the flights, being more in tune with her body clock (by this time it was around 8pm PST). Well, as my dear old gran used to say, you know what thought did. She gave us a pretty crappy half hour although at the time it felt more like two hours and point blank refused to be placated. As a last resort, we administered a little pharmaceutical help (nothing stronger than MediSed, honest!) and she finally went off to the land of nod. I like to think that we felt she was being worse than was really the case, and none of our fellow pax appeared to be particularly put out, but it does make you feel bloody guilty as hell at the time
I ordered some Marlboro Gold (calling them Lights makes some people out there think theyre healthy, apparently) from Brash, which thankfully they had in stock. And only 24 quid for 400, which has to be cheap enough to take your breath away (boom, boom). Mrs. mdvipond bedded down with our now soundly slumbering daughter and I grabbed a glass of some non-Rioja red from the bar and returned to my suite to watch the remainder of Nacho Libre, the story of a tag-wrestling Mexican monk who fights for money to save his orphanage. Dad had watched it earlier and had declared it, Stupid, so I knew it had to be worth watching. Very funny, with Jack Black spot on, as ever. Even I was ready for some shut-eye by now, so I flipped the seat into a bed, and drifted, rather slowly, to sleep.
I must have slept on and off for two or three hours, and woke with a cracking headache and a mouth that felt like it had been used to launder my fathers sleep suit (Blue Drink was it you?). Brash spotted that I was up and took my order for a cup of tea, solids being the sort of thing I try to avoid when I can still taste stale gin and my body thinks its 1 in the morning. It was at this point that service on the port side of the plane the A seats took a turn for the worse. Dad and I, in our K seats, got cups of tea, orange juice etc. and even the offer to make my bed back to a seat (declined), whilst mum and Mrs. in their A seats got naught. Mum was about to complain, but the seat belt sign came on and she was more desperate for the loo than a cuppa, so let it pass (so to speak).
We waggled around and circled over London for a bit, before coming in for an unremarkable landing, just about bang on time. The jetway was quickly attached, and we lucky few, the UC punters, were off first. After a tearful reunion with unruly hang-glider, which we found waiting for us at the gate, we did the long hike to immigration. All of our luggage came through almost instantly and we were soon ensconced in Revivals. Mum and Mrs. mdvipond, being the female of the species, went for a shower, while dad and I decided it was late enough to tackle a full cooked breakfast, which was cracking, it has to be said.
So that was that. The great American Odyssey was over. All we had left was a hop up to MAN, and a limo drive back to Leeds. mdvipond jr. did manage to surpass our expectations one last time by befouling herself quite spectacularly only 2 minutes after getting onto the M62, but it had, to be fair, been a hell of a long day for her, so she was forgiven (under normal circumstances we would have beaten her). Another enjoyable flight, with the usual array of glitches and mishaps, but a pleasure by anyones standards, I would have thought. And thats it till BGI in May although those UC sales fares to SFO are looking rather reasonable. Now where did I put my AMEX card
