VS001 LHR-EWR 24 Oct 09 (Upper)
Posted: 30 Oct 2009, 01:45This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
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Just over a year ago, on her ?0th birthday, MrsPJH decided that life's too short, idling about is, well, idle and ?0 significant things were to be done in her ?0 + 1st year. So when a UCS sale came up in May and dates were available to cover a trip to NYC the end of that year, it seemed fate was whispering in my ear (something along the lines of '...and you won't have to worry about what to buy for her birthday!' if I recall correctly). Tickets were purchased, a hotel reservation made, bookings made for various shows and a cat placed firmly in a bag. Discussion was subject to an embargo, save for a cryptic 'Away' marked on the house calendar. As the time to depart grew ever closer MrsPJH began fish for clues, dropping the occasional comment or question into conversations. All to no avail however as I stonewalled in best chap fashion:
She: 'But what shall I pack?'
Me: 'Clothes'
She: 'And what shall I wear on my feet?'
Me: 'Shoes'
etc.
I did, however, have to give two things away. First that was that there was a flight involved as the 100ml rule had to be mentioned, and second when I said we needed to be ready at 9 am then we needed to be ready at 9 am as we were being collected; when travelling, 'Ready at' chez PJH is usually a worthy aspiration rather than a target anyone expects to meet. The plan was, however, still to keep the destination and the UCS bit a secret until the point of check in. The cat had to be kept firmly in the bag, regardless of its complaints.
And at 9 am the car did arrive; with an immediate threat. Our driver was someone MrsPJH knows, having taught their offspring. Hugs, chat and nearly a reveal...only MrsPJH's '..and it's all a surprise!' forestalled potential derailment of the plan. The hugs caused some consternation amongst our offspring, who were moved to send a text enquiring 'what were the hugs all about then?'; I'm not sure that the reply that I'd booked 'Swingers' Cabs: for *all* your needs (nudge nudge)' went down too well.
Once on the way, catching up was the order of the day and so I managed to avoid any further quizzing about the trip. That we took a bit of a magical mystery tour helped keep the destination a secret; our driver didn't follow our 'normal' A1 / St Albans / M25 route to LHR, avoiding most of the A1 (due to it being closed..) and then a trip around north Watford. And still we arrived at LHR T3 in under an 1hr 40m. Good work!
At this point the bag is about to prove unequal to the cat containment challenge and MrsPJH is out of the car and over to the check in screen to see where we're off to. I exit the car gracefully, adjust my lapels and do my best Michael Caine 'I belong here' stroll towards the terminal. After 5 steps, I think 'feck! I've left my bag with tickets in the car!'. Cue scramble across the road (slow motion 'nooooooooo!') to where the driver was still filling in the paperwork. Phew.
Dignity is soon restored, the unbagged cat scampers away across the concourse with barely a single vicious backwards glance, and MrsPJH says..'I knew it would be UC to NYC'. Oh well!
As we approach check in we're halted by a VS staff member bearing clipboard and some attitude. After answering the 'And to where are you flying today?' question I brace myself for the follow up '..are you sure you're flying UC?' only to hear her call upstairs to expect two guests to check in and then usher us towards the lift with a cheery 'have a good flight'. And so to what amounted to a private check in at the desk normally used for the drive through passengers. The agent was very chatty, and noticing that we'd done OLCI commended us for doing same. He said there'd been a great deal of overselling of seats and doing OLCI reduced the chances of being asked to take either a downgrade or another flight. He was quite cross about the overselling, saying that it then put the onus on the check in staff to manage the disappointments that would inevitably arise as people's holiday plans were disrupted.
I looked at my purple boarding passes, pondered our good fortune that we were able now travel UC, and found the only appropriate response to be: 'Mate - do I look like care? The proles can eat my dust, I'm off to drink the Clubhouse dry..'
And so through security, and off to the Clubhouse. It's quite busy, but once seated a member of staff introduces themselves to us and takes our orders for champagne and sparkling water. The same person serves us throughout our stay, save only for a short period when she's on her break (which does prove to be a bit of a service desert). Later on in the day she's moved to ask 'did you miss your flight?' wondering maybe why we were there for four hours..
We spend time people watching, deciding who we didn't want to be on the flight with us. No Zelebs in sight...perhaps that man with the three sons...no, they seem well behaved...ah, that fellow over there in the rugby shirt, shorts and crocs with the two toddlers and an attitude..him. Barking orders to the people serving him, unable to manage his offspring..yep, hope he's not on the flight..
A clubhouse burger, a couple of white wines and a mojito later it was time for treatments. MrsPJH has changed hers from a facial to nails, but I stuck with the shave I'd booked. At this point in the story please note: I've had a beard for 31 years. Currently it's short and grey, and that morning I'd trimmed it back. That was a mistake. Lying back, I was lathered up. 'Curious..' I thought 'she's lathering up my beardy bits. Probably a different soap so she can she see what to shave..' Oh no, that wasn't it at all and two quick strokes of the razor later it was too late to say anything except 'nice knowing you, prickly companion of the past 31 years...' and time to compose a complaint letter in my head to SRB playing the bearded brotherhood card. MrsPJH opines that had I not said that this had happened, she would have spent hours puzzling out quite what was different about me.
As soon as the treatment is done, and before I can avail myself of further strong drink to assist my trauma management programme, boarding is called. We're still not used to the idea of waiting until the second call, so off we trot. When they've been making calls for other flights the announcement has included instruction to 'go to the head of the queue'. Now, I'm thinking I'm not going to find this a very comfortable thing to do, but when we get to the gate there's a priority line set up and, oh, do I enjoy using it. No secondary search, and just when we pass into the gate area the announcement is made to make way to the aircraft. What will it be like, this turning left malarkey ? How much purple will be involved ? Do the wardrobes have secret passages to lands of milk, honey, T10 and slightly odd Christian imagery?
After a 'welcome back' (?) As we're only second or third into the cabin we can do a bit of unconstrained gawping before we take our seats (10A and 11A). First impressions...it feels a bit like being a pampered battery hen. Very comfortable, but it doesn't feel quite as spacious as I'd expected. The suites themselves look like they could do with a good service (in my suite someone has evidently been attempting to write like Hendrix used to play the guitar, judging by the pen marks above and behind my left ear) and MrsPJH's table doesn't work. But the seats aren't overlooked, to be able to put my feet up on an aircraft....bliss....and any other potential interfering downside is vanquished by the service. The member of cabin crew introduced herself, procured a drink for us and went over the seat operation with us. On mentioning the table to her, she apologised profusely, explained that the FSM had the knack and would be along at meal time to get it to work.
MrsPJH settled in to her OFSTED paperwork (huh, the holidays these teachers get), I sat and poked and prodded at various things and planned my viewing. Did some more people watching. Quite a number of singleton business types, but a fair sprinkling of couples and families. I'm particularly intrigued by one character who holds her mouth in that particular way that suggests that something very unpleasant is hovering somewhere close. Granted her male companion did have a very unfortunate combover, but her offspring seemed to be charming and well mannered. No one else in the group seems to be in distress so I assume that it isn't a trip related to some family disaster and I couldn't quite see what should be so unpleasant about flying UC.
We're lined up for an on time departure, ground staff asked to leave the aircraft, but they don't. In fact one seems to be deep in conference with the flight crew, occasionally leaving the aircraft with a worried look and a phone or radio clamped to his ear. This doesn't look particularly good, and after a few minutes this is confirmed from the flight deck who inform us that we're awaiting the arrival of a 'specialist piece of cleaning equipment'. Oh dear. More ground staff turn up and bustle around. 40 minutes later a van pulls up, out pops a chap with what appears to be a Little Henry vacuum cleaner and a mop. He's frisked, climbs the steps and then two minutes later we're on our way. Curious. I presume some kind of point was being made.
The feeling on take off takes a little getting used to, with the slight sideways, rather than straight on, push and the need to crane the neck at an odd angle to look out.
Our delightful cc pays us a visit and takes drink requests. I opt for the South African red. Soon after everyone is refreshed, and the extras basket brought round by the FSM (MrsPJH takes one item only; opines it's greedy to do otherwise) dinner service starts. Orders had been taken on the ground and we'd been warned that 'as beef is popular there isn't enough to go round'. Mmmmm. So, it's mushroom stroganoff for me, fish pie for MrsPJH, two main courses for the chap in 9A and another red to accompany. The stroganoff is good, the mushrooms a bit stringy, and both the rice and curly kale done properly. MrsPJH not keen on the fish pie, bur declares it well done, just not to her taste. We take dinner together, which was excellent fun, but are the only people to do so. Cheese, biscuits, port, chocolate ganache and brandy follow (between us, I hasten to add) and then it's back to our seats to set up V:Port.
EDITED TO ADD; MrsPJH also gave a big thumbs up for the feta cheese and chorizo salad. Fresh, crisp and not drowned in dressing.
First up, it's 'The Hurt Locker', an intense film about a bomb disposal squad in Iraq. It's also last up, as 10 minutes in the alchohol and beard related tramua catches up with me and I'm out like a light for the next two and a half hours. Luckily I don't appear to have been dribbling, and as no one has tried to smother me I've probably not been snoring either; I'm sure the cc member was just adjusting my pillow. I opt for The Simpsons to help me shake off the fuzziness, which starts to dissipate when the ham sandwiches (a little on the chilly side, methinks) and scone hit home. Shame the coffee is as cr*p in UC as it is back in Economy.
Soon the i:Map tells us we're close to NYC. That's the only way we're ever going to tell, as the cloud is unremitting. My secret plan and clever trick of choosing the left hand side in case we track the Hudson has come to naught. It turns out the weather is so bad we're put into a holding pattern for nigh on an hour, with V:Port off and a soundtrack of the rising and falling whine of the engine. Eventually we break cloud cover, and land in a very, very, rainy Newark.
We're disembarking within a few minutes of reaching the stand, and through immigration in a few more; one of the major advantages of EWR over JFK I guess. UC and PE bags are quickly on the carousel, and we're out of the door and in a fixed price to the city cab. Lights from the cars and the streets fly past, and soon we're in the grid madness of Manhattan. Some of the cross streets are temporarily closed (we see lots of filming going on in the city over the next few days) but it means we get a trip past some landmarks (Radio City Music Hall, St Patrick's Cathedral) with that particular assault on both sight and hearing of lights above reflecting on the water in the streets and every car driver at every stop hooting their horn.
By about 9.30 we're finally in our room at the Waldorf and frankly too weary to hit the streets, particularly as we're a good few blocks north of where we've stayed before and there only seem to be bank buildings around us. Instead we sit and chat about the exciting day we've just had before turning in, ready to carpe diem after a sleep.