This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
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Wed done online check-in the night before and it was, as ever, a royal pain in the arse. Its a great service, dont get me wrong, but it only seems to work if youre travelling as a pair, both on the same booking reference, flying on a the second Wednesday in the month, your surname begins with a letter from M to P and your inside leg measurement is between 31 and 32 inches. We were, of course, travelling as a party of three (with mdvipond jr. in her own seat for the first time), on two different booking references and on a Tuesday, so no such luck for us.
Since March, wed had seats 6A, 6D and 7D requested. Having flown on the A346 in Upper a number of times, and after examining with a jewellers loupe the seat maps and photos on VF, I would have staked my dangly bits on the fact that 6A and 7D were opposite each other. This would give us a nice familial triangle with mdvipond jr. ensconced in 7D, meaning she had a parent to one side of her, a parent in front and the wardrobe to the other side. Ideal.
But this isnt a triangle by the geometry of Virgins OLCI system oh no. 7A must be opposite 7D, sure as eggs is eggs. It isnt; in fact the wardrobe is between them, but thats what we got allocated when we checked-in, necessitating a drawn out phone conversation with UC Reservations who, in turn, had to contact LHR as their system wouldnt let them split a family group up, which is bizarre, as thats exactly what they were doing. To be fair, although it was a time consuming operation, they did us proud, with the team at LHR over-riding the system and leaving a note for the check-in agent to ensure we got the seats we originally wanted. All well and good, I suppose, but would inputting an up-to-date seat map into their system at some point in the near future be too much to ask?
As more avid readers of my blithering posts may recall, we tried to talk the Senior Ponds into joining us in Oz over Christmas week to no avail thanks to my dads dislike of spending 24 hours stuck in a metal tube. But whilst father-dear couldnt be coerced into joining us in the-land-down-under at any point, he did at the very least agree to drive us over to the wrong side of the Pennines for our flight from MAN down to LHR, which was big of him. Yes, we could have flown from LBA, but that would have been with BMI who were offering us a baggage allowance so miserly that packing more than a pair of flip-flops and a clean pair of trolleys would have resulted in an excess charge, so BA from MAN it was.
Id love to say that theres some kind of desolate and mist-laden beauty about the Pennines in December, but I cant. To be fair, its rather like driving over a particularly large slag heap in interminable sleet. Still, its prettier than Manchester and makes Hull look like Shangri-la.
It was an easy run through to MAN, where we disgorged ourselves, our luggage and the unruly hang-glider from fathers thankfully cavernous vehicle. We bid him the fondest of farwells, dropped our bags and a slightly crestfallen looking unruly hang-glider with those nice people at BA and indulged ourselves in a couple of pints and a round of sandwiches, the bill for which came to only slightly less than the defence budget of the Netherlands.
A swift and uneventful flight down to LHR, our luggage back in our possession and unruly hang-glider back in the mode of mdvipond jr.s conveyance, we descended into the bowels of the airport to make our way from Terminal 1 to Terminal 3. Its another world down there, isnt it? All dank, dark corners, wreathes of twisting sub-terrainian mist blurring the outlines of strange halting, limping figures (who to be fair are probably just arriving longhaul economy passengers trying to get the feeling back into their legs again). You can almost imagine a cackling gin-addled crone or a top-hatted Jack The Ripper-esque figure lurking around each bend in the tunnel. Or worse still, a busker
We emerged into a brave new world of scaffolding, gaunt, cold looking smokers and a host of hoardings telling everyone that this was actually Terminal 3, which was undergoing a re-visioning (or something) at present and that BAA were doing a terribly good job of things thank you very much. Upper Class check-in awaited us somewhere within this jumble of metal-work. We soon found it, amidst the throng, and with only two passengers in front of us we were quickly seen to, told that the previous nights message had got through and we were given boarding passes for our originally requested seats. Huzzah!
Now, the next bit was one element we'd most definitely been looking forward to - the exclusive security lane in the new Upper Class Wing. However, whilst waiting to check-in I'd overheard something about a fire alarm going off in 'The Wing', so checked with the agent as to whether we'd be able to use it or not. Bad news; I'd heard right, a fire alert was in effect. 'The place is full of fireman' the agent informed us with a dreamy faraway look on her face and the slightest trace of a whimsical smile which somehow belied that fact that she was, for us at least, delivering some rather disappointing news. What the hell is it with women and firemen?
Well, in the interests of offering you, dear reader, the most full and informative trip report possible, we enquired of the agent - who was probably by now wishing she was in the Upper Class Wing suffering the effects of smoke inhalation - how quickly the security lane might be re-opened. We were told it was clearly a false alarm and would be open again in ten minutes, so we popped outside for one last cig, which seemed remotely ironic.
Upon our return the Upper Class Wing was indeed open again and, it has to be said, the security lane is a breeze. Every airline should have one. We were through in less than ten minutes, which is, quite frankly, amazing considering the security staff had to contend with not one, but two unruly hang-gliders (the family in front of us being similarly burdened as ourselves) neither of which were going to go through the X-ray machine without putting up a decent fight.
Soon enough we were entering the hallowed portals of the Clubhouse and quickly settled ourselves near the massive TV screen. I had something of a 'yen' for the sushi and a refreshing mojito, but was told by a rather sullen faced girl at the deli counter that Im not doing sushi anymore. Whether she meant this on a personal level and was foreswearing from all raw fish products in general, or whether this meant she couldn't be arsed to prepare anything for me, I know not, but I guessed I wasn't going to get my sushi, so went for a plate of pies and p_t_s and things. And the mojito, of course. Both were delicious.
Once we'd scoffed and washed things down with a glass of champagne the-now Mrs. mdvipond disappeared to have her nails messed with and jr. and I headed for the children's area in the far corner of the Clubhouse. We didn't stay long. It was already occupied by one of those oh-so-polite mothers whose child, invariably named Oliver, must be treated with the softest and fluffiest of kid gloves at all times. Hence: 'Oliver darling, don't do that please. Oliver sweetie, stop that. Stop that, Oliver, you're making mummy sad. You don't want to make mummy sad do you Oliver? Now Oliver dinkums, don't stab mummy with a colouring pencil, that might make mummy cry. You don't want to make mummy cry do you?'. Well, I don't know if it would make Oliver cry if I put the colouring pencils where I had in mind, but it would sure as hell make his little eyes water.
We escaped back to our table to await the return of the-now Mrs., and I treated myself to another glass of champers and jr. to an apple juice. Christ, she loves the stuff almost as much as I like mojitos. Calls it Bapple Jooce! and can get really rather demanding if its not brought to her forthwith. Must keep an eye on her to ensure it doesnt turn into a Scrumpy habit The-now Mrs. mdvipond returned for the Cowshed waving her hands in the air and blowing on her nails, and managed one more glass of champagne herself before we decided to get a little ahead of the scrum and make our way to the gate especially considering we had the unruly hang-glider to dismantle and place into the care of the staff at the gate, the poor, unsuspecting souls.
Priority boarding was, thankfully, in place and we were swiftly on board and settling into our hard-fought-for seats. For anyone who finds themselves travelling with a wee one in J on an A346, they really are spot on. 7D is very nicely cocooned away next to the wardrobe and can be clearly observed from both 6A and 6D, but not from any other suite.
mdvipond jr. took to her seat with the aplomb of any 2 year old who was about to embark on their ninth Upper Class sojourn; open the cocktail tray, close the cocktail tray, open the cocktail tray, close the cocktail tray, open the cocktail tray, get told by her mother that if she does that ONE MORE TIME, god help her; release the TV screen, stow the TV screen, release the TV screen, stow the TV screen, release the TV screen, then (for some reason) kiss the TV screen A crew member intervened at this point with a handy little cover intended to stop jr. releasing her own seatbelt (yeah, like that was going to work!) and a couple of pillows to make the whole thing a snugger fit like her dear father before her she has something of a sylphlike form.
We then sat back and relaxed with our champagne and Bapple Jooce! and had a slow taxi out prior to a more-or-less on-time take-off. Our dear daughter was away with the fairies before the seatbelt sign was turned off, which was a sizable mercy to be thankful for. Wed already declined a treatment from the beauty therapist, hoping instead for a decent kip, but we were more than happy to provide our respective, cheery crew member with our drinks and dinner orders. I asked for my obligatory Tanqueray No. 10, full-fat tonic and slice of lime (not only my favourite drink, but also something of a test for the crew) which came for once as ordered. Dinner was to be the smoked haddock p_t_ followed by the pie n peas who says J class food has to be posh?
I watched a couple of outrageous Family Guy episodes (one of the few cartoons I most definitely wont let jr. watch!) whilst waiting for dinner to arrive, followed by a quick game of on-board Triv, trouncing the Neanderthal in 40-something-K so comprehensively he quit half way through (or maybe Im just over-competitive and his dinner had arrived?). My p_t_ arrived soon enough and it was spankingly good; very smoky and fishy (in a nice way). The-now Mrs. mdvipond had the soup which she declared as OK in that warm gloopy kind of way that Virgin generally do their soups. We then both had the pie, with mushy peas and mashed potato. If theyd been good enough to pop the pie in a blender we could probably have foregone the (plastic!?) knife and fork and managed quuite comfortably with a straw. It was bloody gorgeous though perfect comfort food. The wine was decent, though I cant recall what it was. Red and wet comes to mind.
After this we both felt there was little room for cheese or desert without the prospect of a very uncomfortable night ahead, so I opted for another glass of plonk and The Simpsons Movie. I am a huge, huge Simpsons fan, and it was very funny indeed, but I was left with the feeling that its better suited to a punchier 22 minute-or-so format. Spider Pig was good though
As is always the case nowadays I eschewed the offer of the pre-worn, polyester sleep suit and changed into my own cotton PJs. I had one last slurp of the red stuff and then drank as much water as I could lay my hands on in a doomed attempt at stop my tongue feeling like it had been on loan to Pete Docherty. I then bedded down and was out like the proverbial light (it had been a long day and well, to be fair I was hammered).
I awoke some 6 hours later to discover that the rest of the family hadnt fared so well; mdvipond jr. had woken soon after Id dropped off and whilst Id slept on the-now Mrs. mdvipond had joined jr. in her suite and had been watching kids TV through the night, the poor dear. We declined on the offer of breakfast, as it was fast approaching 5 in the evening local time and just didnt seem right. I managed an episode of The Simpsons before V-Port was rudely turned off, and within the next half hour we'd been 'plomped' gently onto the tarmac of a misty Hong Kong airport.
We were quickly off the plane via the front doors, which was a change, and prepared for the long trek down to immigration. This is where we were very pleasantly surprised; we were staying at the Four Seasons and Id arrange for them to provide us with a limo pick-up a few days before. Expecting the usual chap holding a card with our name on it at arrivals, I was delighted to be met and greeted straight off the plane by a delightful young lady who escorted us to our waiting buggy you know, one of those airport cart things with a twirly orange light on top that usually try an run you down whilst whisking fat or elderly people to-and-fro. It was wonderful charging down the walkways of Hong Kong airport with the wind in our hair. It brought mdvipond jr. rather nicely out of her sulky slumber and put a great big grin on her little face to boot.
They dropped us at immigration, but not before taking our baggage tags so that by the time we'd queued for a while, flashed our passports and had our landing cards stamped they were waiting at the other side with all of our luggage loaded onto trolleys. Even the unruly hang-glider seemed quite relaxed and pliable in the face of such sterling 5 star treatment. Two more staff then took over, and led us out to our waiting limo. The driver, after offering us chilled towels and mineral water, transferred us swiftly to the Four Seasons on Hong Kong island, where we were greeted as soon as we stepped from the car by name and taken directly up to our harbour view suite (an upgrade and a very nice surprise).
All of our checking in formalities were taken care of in our suite, whilst complimentary champagne and strawberries were being laid out for us. Stunning simply stunning. The cost of the limo service? About 70 quid, believe it or not. God, I love Hong Kong.
Well that's the first of what should be three trip reports - hope that one wasnt overlong. Hong Kong to Sydney next, if anyone has the will to read it after this one
