This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
Ground Staff
Food & Drink
Entertainment
Seat
Cabin Crew
VS45
Boeing 747-400
Seats : 16A and 17A
After a quick journey around the M25 we arrived at Terminal 3 shortly before 10am. With a cold snap predicted whilst we were away, I had changed our pre-booked parking from valet to the short stay car park. My rationale was that the short stay car park would afford the car a little more protection from the elements than the valet parking lot which might be outside. We found a space near the lifts and loaded up a nearby trolley.
I hadn’t been to Terminal 3 since we last flew Virgin in 2007 and on that occasion we were dropped off in a taxi. As we began the long walk through arrivals and then outside towards zone A I felt the beginnings of the icy chill that was to sweep through the UK whilst we were away.
In 2007, zone A was still a building site. The finished article looked impressive. We walked in bearing right towards the Upper Class check in area. There were three UC desks open and an UC ticket desk which was unmanned. The single queue for the three operational desks was about seven couples deep. A good friend of mine flies Virgin through LHR twice a month and suggested that if the UC queue was long, it was worth approaching the queue monitor to see if it would be possible to check-in upstairs. For those unaware of the setup at LHR, Virgin have a limo service for certain UC customers who are then checked in whilst in their car and enter via separate hotel lobby style check-in area located above the regular check-in area. My friend had been directed upstairs in the past when downstairs was busy and suggested that there was no harm in asking. The queue monitor said “no” and so we continued to wait in line.
Around 15 minutes later, we were called forward to a desk. At the same time, the queue monitor directed the group of four behind us (the back of the queue) to “use the lovely check-in area upstairs”. Our check-in agent was happy and enthusiastic as she apologised for the delay, printed our boarding passes, tagged our bags and then told us how to get to “our wonderful clubhouse!” We went up in the lift and scanned our boarding passes to enter the private security channel. The queue at security was long and it took almost 15 minutes to get through to the large retail emporium with gates that is, any terminal at Heathrow. I appreciate that airlines, like many other service providers, advertise their service as being some sort of wonderful utopia where lines are short and service swift, but the experience so far was somewhat at odds with the Virgin Terminal 3 microsite which suggested breezing through security and then entering the Clubhouse. The reality was that the security line was no better than the bravely named ‘FastTrack’ at Terminal 5 and the Clubhouse was as far a walk as the BA Galleries South lounge complex at T5, not just by security.
After a brief walk through the T3 shopping area we arrived at the Clubhouse. Both of the lounge agents were busy with a couple at each desk. One couple were having a really good go of trying to blag their way into the lounge. “But we booked with Virgin Holidays and they told us that everyone who does gets free access to the lounge”. When the lounge agent explained that wasn’t correct but that Virgin Holidays do offer a limit number of passengers entry to the Clubhouse for a fee and that she was willing to extend that offer this morning for £60 per person she was told to “F**k off”. The other couple were waved in and after showing our boarding passes, so were we. The agents each had a podium with a built in touch screen. The agent selected the appropriate flight and it showed all those who VS had on their system as eligible to enter the Clubhouse. I assume this means gold card holders who haven’t physically got their card on them are allowed to enter by simply confirming their identity.
Entering the lounge it was about 75-80% full but the dining area looked quite empty. I asked if we could have a table for two spying a number of empty tables but was told that they were full. When I asked how that could be, given that there were unoccupied clean tables, properly laid and waiting the question was ignored and we were invited to take a seat anywhere else in the lounge.
Mrs BiH and I took a seat at the bar where two barmen with a much friendlier attitude attended to us. Breakfast orders were taken and champagne offered and declined as we stuck to orange juice. As usual, I opted for a full English and Mrs BiH went for something more sensible, in this instance, smoked salmon and scrambled eggs.
By the time breakfast arrived, I cracked and opted for an early glass of champagne. The breakfast itself was of variable quality. The bacon was limp, bland and forgettable, the egg was soft and a little runny but the star of the show was the sausage. It’s the same sausage that Virgin serve in First Class on their trains and is a real favourite of mine. I savoured every last bite.
I asked for another glass of orange juice and we decided to have a walk around the lounge. A delayed arrival at Heathrow meant that we had about 30 minutes before we would need to head over to our gate. After a little walk around, we settled in the quietest area near to the library and the pool table. I wasn’t very keen on the lounge and nor was Mrs BiH. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but Mrs BiH did. She remarked that if she was with the girls on their way to a girly holiday or if I was off on a stag do with my mates, the lounge would be perfect. I concur. Frommers recently released a poll where the Clubhouse was rated 2nd best in the world behind the Wing at HKG and above the LH First Class lounge at MUC. If it’s horses for courses then I am the wrong horse, on the wrong course.
With little else to do we left the lounge when boarding was announced. Our gate was some distance away, a journey made a little longer by inbound passengers leaving an SAS aircraft. The design of some of the gates in T3 is such that inbound passengers have to cross an outbound corridor in order to reach their inbound corridor. In order to keep both parties sterile there are strategically placed doors that open and close to allow such crossings to take place. Everyone was content to wait a few minutes save for a woman with a massive rollaboard and three other pieces of handluggage. She barged her way past those waiting at the crossing until she was at the front of the queue (having heard her, I stepped aside knowing she wanted to be at the front) primed and ready. Despite the heft of her assorted baggage she managed to get to our gate first and then appeared perplexed by the tensbarrier; left for Premium Economy and Economy, right for Upper Class. As she dithered and eventually moved left, I veered right and stepped over her rollaboard which got me a ‘tut’! Our boarding cards were taken from us as I heard the same lady shouting “nobody told me I couldn’t bring all of this onboard’.
The jetbridge was relatively empty and we were soon onboard. Greeted at door 2L, we were directed ‘through to the nose’ where our seats were located. I had selected 16A and 17A as they were the only adjacent seats available in the nose when I booked our tickets. Were we approached by a member of the crew who asked if we were familiar with the seat and whether we would like a glass of champagne or orange juice before take-off. As the cabin filled, two men who were travelling together took 15A and 18A. After a few minutes of them walking to each other’s seats to talk to each other I offered to swop 16A for 18A so that they were sitting next to each other and I was still next to Mrs BiH. I was happy to make the offer because they hadn’t kicked up a fuss about sitting apart nor had they made any not so subtle hints.
The steward serving us came round and introduced himself. He was very friendly and asked if we needed a demonstration of the Upper Class suite. Both Mrs BiH and I had travelled on Air New Zealand and so were familiar with how it works. We were offered a choice of champagne, orange juice or water. I received my champagne promptly but Mrs BiH’s water never materialised despite a reminder. It was sadly a sign of things to come; throughout the flight requests were forgotten even when asked for a second time.
We pushed back on schedule and found ourselves on the active runway “rather more quickly than expected” to quote the First Officer. Once the seatbelt sign had been extinguished drinks orders were taken and then randomly dispatched around the cabin. Once again Mrs BiH had a request for water forgotten. Thanks to another useful website I had seen an advance copy of the menu on our flight. Mrs BiH hadn’t particularly warmed to any of the main courses and so opted for an Asian vegetarian meal. Mrs BiH is English, I am of Indian origin. The steward stood between us with a printed manifest in hand and I could see the pained look on his face as he wondered which of us had ordered the vegetarian meal; heart and head in clear turmoil. As he knelt down to speak to me, I asked him how the beef was and casually dropped in that my wife had ordered a special meal. He looked rather relieved.
THE MENU and WINE LIST (Missing I’m afraid)
I ordered the seafood starter and the braised beef wellington for the main course. On another forum, the starter had been described as ‘taking longer to say, than to eat’ and that proved to be apt. The few tasteless pieces of seafood were heavily dressed in order to remind the tastebuds that this was food.
I moved on to the main course. I really do deprecate the mis-description of food. A beef wellington is fillet steak wrapped in mushrooms (with pate and/or parma ham depending on taste) and puff pastry, baked in an oven. This was pieces of beef; adequately braised and encased in pastry, or as generations have known it, a pie. Like a hot gazpacho, the moniker was meaningless and an attempt to ‘posh up’ the humble pie. A good pie should be celebrated not hidden.
The ‘wellington’ was again very bland. The meat had no flavour whatsoever and was far too dry. The dauphinoise tasted mainly of salty cheese which left the vegetables as the most appetising items on the plate. I had a glass of red wine with my main course. It was all fruit and instantly forgettable (so much so, that I forgot to note down what it was!)
The unctuous sticky toffee pudding would however, redeem all. A visit to the village of Cartmel in the summer enabled me to sample several versions of what many now consider to be the gold standard of the much copied pudding. Rick Stein observed that when he added it to the menu in his many outlets in Padstow, it accounted for almost 50% of their pudding sales. Done well, the combination of moist sponge and just the right amount of toffee is perfection on a plate. With some trepidation I took a bite but was deeply satisfied with this specimen. The glass of port was superfluous as the sugary hit from the toffee altered its flavour. It was abandoned after a sip or two.
After lunch I decided to sit at the bar to see what the fuss was about. It was quickly apparent that the bar on this flight is where single people sat waiting to meet the archetypical bored businessman or woman. My suspicion confirmed when said business people appeared as if from thin air to make small talk. I took my drink back to my seat and watched some of the in-flight entertainment.
Soon after the crew came round to take orders for second service. The steward had clearly got the measure of me and simply said “sandwiches and scones” to which the answer was “yes please”. The sandwiches reminded me of those they served on Virgin trains in First Class when the catering was good; Decent brown bread, plenty of filling and just a little too much mayo.
I can never resist a scone with jam and clotted cream, nor did I on this occasion.
There was little I wanted to watch on the IFE so got out my iPad and enjoyed a little bit of the bald rounded head Manc genius that is, Karl Pilkington. I know that Ricky Gervais is like Marmite but I have always found him extremely funny. I kept the moving map on so that I could see where we were and before long we were closing in on JFK.
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) However that really and truly is the exception. Every other time I have been on my own or else there has been a maximum of two people there.
