VS029 LGW-BGI 28 SEP 13 (Premium Economy)
Posted: 18 Oct 2013, 21:25This is a Trip Report from the Premium Economy cabin
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As I said to the masseuse in the hotel’s spa: “Please be gentle with me!”
Before we begin, humble apologies to any Glaswegians reading.
And Northerners.
And Americans.
And West Country folk.
Oh, and I warn you now, the art of brevity is not a gift with which I’ve been blessed…
Let’s start at the beginning shall we? July was a balmy month: The weather magnificent and the days long and full of Pimms and barbecues. It was on one such day that I was chatting to an old school friend and we decided that, both being single, we’d ‘buddy up’ for our summer holidays.
With that agreed, we hoofed it into the VH concession in Debenhams with no particular thoughts about where we’d end up. The world was our lobster. Where to go? Dubai? Vegas? Cape Town? Land of the Mouse?
Frankly, I didn’t care: I just needed a holiday – I’d have been happy with a twin centre Damascus / Gaza Strip combo to be honest. I’d even have considered Scunthorpe via Manchester.
Actually, that last one is probably stretching it a bit.
It turned out to be none of the above – we were Caribbean bound: An hour spent with the nice people from VH and we emerged with two weeks booked in Barbados. We’d got a 4V hotel, all-inclusive, with PE return flights for a smidge under £2.5k each. With single occupancy supplements, private transfers, upgraded rooms and ‘VIP club benefits’ included, I didn’t think this was too bad. The price also included access to the Clubhouse.
So, to cut a very long story of anticipation, downloading ‘vacation countdown’ apps to my phone, longingly reading and re-reading the brochure and writing trashy poetry (http://v-flyer.com/forum/index.php?f=4& ... =viewtopic), short it was soon 10 weeks later. Having taken a meagre five days off work all year, oh boy, was I ready for a decent break!
I’d already pre-selected seats 24 H and K on the A333. However, 48 hours before departure, 20 A and C were up for grabs so I took those instead – apparently we’d get better views of the island on approach and we’d be quicker to disembark. Owing to a meeting that was really quite rudely scheduled to coincide with T-24, I was a little slow doing OLCI but still managed SEQ 12.
Packing was done the night before and Kindle loaded: The new Jack Reacher (not bad) a few Chris Ryan thrillers (fun), the latest Peter James novel (great) and mdvipond’s TR for his IAD-LHR experience (outstanding).
So, all set, we left Brighton at 5.45am (yes, I know that’s early for a 10am flight but hey, I wanted to max my time in the Clubhouse). We made it to Gatwick in little over half an hour and after one final cigarette, it was off into the South Terminal.
I’m sure some of you more regular flyers and business travellers might get a bit bored with entering airports but to me it’s the start of an adventure. I never grin quite so broadly as when I take those first jaunty steps into the terminal to head off on a holiday – for me it’s a sense of total, utter, unbridled joy.
With a fabulously friendly member of staff and no queue at the PE desk, bags were dropped and we were through the premium security lane with the rapidity of a Glaswegian starting his (or her) first fight of the weekend.
And so, we were into the departure lounge. I love the atmosphere of departure lounges – it just feels like you’ve entered a magic gateway to the whole, wide world with people heading off here, there and everywhere. It’s bloody marvellous!
This got me thinking about the UK airports that VS flies from (internationally); they’re all really distinct:
At LHR, for instance, the chatter you overhear is mainly about meetings and meetings about meetings and presentations and doing deals and getting ducks in a row.
At LGW it’s mostly people chatting about holidays and beaches and tea and coffee making facilities and ‘that funny foreign food’.
The conversations at GLA are… well, I’ve no idea as I can’t understand a bloody word they’re saying.
And MAN? No not a clue – never had my jabs, never been there…
Now that the Glaswegian and Mancunian readers have left us, shall we get back to the plot?
One quick stop before the Clubhouse; a trip to Dixons to acquire a new camera. The ‘helpful’ assistant offered to charge the battery in my nearly £300 purchase for ‘just’ £10. Politely declining (erm, laughing in his face if I’m honest) we made a beeline for a first ever CH experience.
And what an experience! WOW, WOW and thrice WOW!
We were made to feel really welcome from the second we walked in – the smile radiating from the lady who greeted us was even wider than my own (to the extent I actually began to wonder if I was ‘flying low’). A quick tour (and check of the zip on my jeans later) and we took seats close to the huge floor-to-ceiling window that afforded terrific views of ‘the action’.
Having unpacked my new camera and plugged it in to charge, my usual LGW Weatherspoon’s pre-flight pint of bitter was substituted for the first of several glasses of Champagne.
For breakfast, I thoroughly enjoyed the Eggs Royale (washed down with a Red Head). And to rekindle fond memories of last year’s trip to Cuba, I also had a Mojito at one stage. Actually, it might have been two. Things were a bit hazy at this point.
The song may well go “It’s five o’clock somewhere” but, by 9.15am, this V-Flyer was feeling a little bit squiffy on this particular Saturday morning. In fact, I was very, very clear with myself that I really should switch to soft drinks from this point forward.
No sooner had I decided on this course of action, our flight's first call came.
And this was my cue to immediately order another glass of champers.
Then, sadly the second call came. Now, relying on proven V-Flyer wisdom, this meant it was time to bid a fond farewell to the CH and head for the gate.
The last time I flew Virgin from Gatwick, Ruby Tuesday whisked me to Havana from gate 13. From the departure lounge, gate 13 is a distance that even an American could cover without feeling compelled to stop for a burger. I can’t remember the gate that VS29 went from on this particular day (and given the alcohol consumed dear V-Flyers, frankly I think I’m doing rather well remembering the details above). However, what I can tell you was that we were to depart from what used to be known as the ‘satellite terminal’.
Now, way back when, this was a monorail ride away. (And I do mean ‘way back when’ because the last time I flew from there it was on a BAC 1-11 operated by Dan Air). Anyway, the monorail has been replaced with corridors. Miles and miles and miles of bloody corridors. No matter, a brisk walk (read: ‘stagger’) later and we were at the gate, straight down the jetway and on to G-VINE.
Once in my seat I was ever so mindful of what I had consumed whilst in the Clubhouse.
So I immediately accepted a glass of sparkling wine. In a glass. Fashioned from glass no less.
With a manual safety demo complete, push back was bang on time and after 15 minutes or so taxiing, it was time to go.
Good God! I love that sensation of accelerating down the runway! I will never, ever, ever tire of it. In short order, Champagne (how apt) Belle went airborne (confirmed by the sky map I’d got up on the IFE) and we were smoothly climbing up crossing the M23 before banking left to turn tail and head west toward Portsmouth, Southampton and the West Country. Then we headed out over the Atlantic before some rustic, Cornish farmer tried to fire his shotgun at what I’m sure he described as [start Cornish accent] “a strange, metal, flying beast that soared over my head and attacked my wife and my sister. An’ it might have got ‘er too”…[end Cornish accent].
Either I’m getting increasingly deaf in my approaching middle age or the two Rolls Royce Trents bolted to each wing are exceptionally quiet. Especially, that is, for a brace of motors that can hurtle umpteen tons of aluminium, hundreds of passengers and stacks of cases and cargo at 500+ MPH. And effortlessly at that. And I’d lay a bet that they could perform just as well even if there were a few Americans on the manifest.
Menus were soon handed out and the first drinks service began. By this point, I was incredibly conscious of what I’d drunk previously.
So, heeding the CC’s warnings of the heightened affects of alcohol at altitude, I settled back to enjoy a rather lovely glass of Sauvingon Blanc. In a glass made of, um, glass!
Whilst enjoying the vino, I spent some time exploring the IFE. If you’ve not had the pleasure of the VERA system yet, I promise you that you’re in for a treat when you do: it’s fabulous! A vast array of films, TV programmes, music and games for you delectation and also ‘Aeromoblile’.
And Aeromobile only bloody works!
Now, I’ve only briefly touched on this so you may have missed it but by this point, I’d enjoyed a couple of drinks. As a result, I thought it would be a great idea to test the aforementioned Aeromobile. This ended with me sending a dozen or so text messages and even spending a few minutes chatting to my brother. To holler “I’M ON A PLANE” into my mobile was so much fun! At least it was at the time. The phone bill, however, when it turns up next week, is likely to be not quite so much fun. ‘Horrific’ is the word I have in mind. Indeed, I’m living in fear of it.
Acknowledging that it was scarcely 11am and I had a long day ahead, I opted to forgo another glass of wine as my pre-lunch drink.
However, I enjoyed the G&T just as much. Although the glass glass was now a plastic glass.
If you see what I mean.
Lunch was served soon after. By now, what I really wanted was a large donner kebab but beef bourguignon would have to do. This was served with ‘herb dumplings’. These had the taste and texture of unbaked Paxo stuffing balls. For the life of me, I cannot remember what the starter or desert was. I’m not going to deride the food; it’s aircraft grub and was perfectly palatable, nicely presented and went down very well with wine that accompanied it (in a glass glass again). And then a Bailey’s. In a glass made of plastic.
Trays were taken away and then, strangely, I fell asleep for a few hours. Must have been all the excitement of going on holiday…
Awaking somewhere South West of the Azores with a raging thirst and in need of stretching my legs, I made my way to the galley and availed myself of a grape juice.
A perfectly fermented one at that.
In a plastic glass.
It was during this uncharacteristic act of getting off my backside and taking a short walk that I took a peek [start voice used in a trailer for a horror film] “beyond the mysterious curtain…” [end voice for a trailer for a horror film].
Having flown VS on both variants of the A340 and a leisure fleet 747, I was shocked:
I know a lot of you fly UC. On anything other than an A330, I can certainly understand why you do so. However, if I had paid that amount of money and then had that amount of space would I be pleased? At the very least, I’d feel a bit cheated and more likely, I’d be furious. I can only imagine that they call it the ‘Dream Suite’ because once ensconced in it, you’ll be dreaming of the regular suite…
Certainly, if you’re doing a day flight and you’re on an A330, I would seriously recommend you consider saving a few quid/miles and going PE. Yes, the bar looks fantastic but the cabin looked more cramped than the W one.
Oh, for any Mancunians reading this, UC is a class of service offered on A330s down south. There is no need for you to worry about this.
I had a great chat with a few of the CC (to a man and a woman, they were brilliant – jovial, approachable and (most importantly) fun! They were an absolute hoot and a credit to Virgin. And for the record, they all agreed that the UC cabin was awful and they hated working in it.
Continuing to chat to them, a few of them even knew a CC member who I was lucky enough to date for a while a few years back – they were happy days! It’s those particular ‘happy days’ though that make me really appreciate how hard these guys n’ girls work. Being CC isn’t glamorous – it’s seriously hard graft that messes with your body clock and wrecks your social life. And you’re paid diddly squat for doing it. So next time you’re on a plane and need of some refreshment, rather than reaching for the call bell, a little trot down the aisle wouldn’t hurt would it? Just saying! Anyway, I confided in the CC (and now in you too dear V-Flyers) that I fly VS as often a possible partly, at least, in the hope that one day my ex will be CC on my flight. Even if I just get to smile and say ‘hi’ that’d be enough.
As the CC began to pack the drinks away, I took my leave and went to return to my seat. As I did so, I was offered another drink which, given what I’d already put away, I am proud to say I declined.
In my head.
So, one final Sauvingon Blanc and we started our decent into BGI. As advised, the view from 20 A, was stunning as we headed down the West Coast of this magnificent island.
No Love Hearts but we kissed the runway gently (do you see what I did there?) and taxied to the stand. No jetways at BGI but an army of ground staff were ready to swing into action. UK airports take note! UC were swiftly off the plane and PE disembarked straight afterwards. I thanked the crew and took my first tentative steps into the wonderful Caribbean air. And my word it was WARM!
Immigration was a doddle, bags arrived faster than I could say “rum punch”, breezed through immigration and on to the Virgin desk. And this was a nice touch – a bottle of ice-cold water was thrust into my hand. Normally, I never touch the stuff but on this occasion…
So, the verdict? A fabulous trip. Check-in staff, Clubhouse, PE seat, IFE, CC and the VH arrival greeting were all completely wonderful, completely brilliant and it was a joy and a pleasure to spend 10+ hours in their company. Or, put it this way: two years ago, I went to Turkey (nice but too many Russians). It was a three-hour flight with Thomas Cook – A flight that I thought would never end. It was ghastly. The 8+ hours on VS29 that day actually seemed to be shorter. It was certainly far, far less painful and a whole heap more fun.
As a postscript, we got into the taxi. The driver’s name was Ian and he was a really, genuinely lovely bloke who told us so much about his country in the short drive to the hotel.
Anyway, to end this ridiculously long TR, he asked me if I’d ever been to Barbados before. When I said “no”, he turned his head towards me and, in his wonderful Bajan accent, said:
“Then, my friend… welcome to paradise”.
He wasn’t wrong.
