This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
Ground Staff
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She also took great pleasure in feeding the birds each day, and excelled in helping out the hotel gardeners in tending to the plants in the grounds. And so, as our two weeks of R & R came to a close, we prepared to bid a sad farewell to idyllic Paynes Bay, to the now morbidly obese local bird life and to the indigenous flora which will barley have enough time to recover before our return next year, and reluctantly allowed our thoughts to turn to our trip home.
Having a departure time of 19:40 was pretty good, meaning that we had the best part of a full day on the beach, and the hotel had been kind enough to let us keep our suite on until we had to leave, with our car booked for about 5 o clock. I was intent on making the most of this last day, and attempted to squeeze each of my favourite holiday elements into the final eight hours: breakfast on the terrace, carry mdvipond jr. up the beach, swim with jr. in pool, ditto in the sea, hand jr. onto Mrs. mdvipond (What do you mean wheres her hat? In the sea, I think, no time to go back for it now!), snorkel the reef, lunch by the pool (ordered soup, no time for chewing!) drink a Banks and smoke a cig whilst reading a chapter of my book on the beach, say No thanks to the guy selling carved humming birds (and other sundry items), then stare wistfully at that blue, blue Caribbean Sea before heading forlornly back to the suite, wiping a bitter-sweet tear from my tan, sandy cheek
Wed considered trying online check-in again, but felt that this might prove to be something of a foolhardy endeavour after our experience on the outbound trip, so consoled ourselves by ensuring our requested seats were still showing on the website. They were; 7A & K, as our beloved row 6 had been snapped up by some beavers even more eager than ourselves (bearing in mind wed booked back in August). Damn their hides. I would make it my mission to give them a particularly hard stare when we boarded.
The car arrived on time, well, more a minibus than a car, which was deemed necessary thanks to our profusion of weighty luggage and the unruly hang-glider, now supplemented by a few kilos of rocks, shells and coral collected off the beach, at Mrs. mdviponds insistence, for jr. The journey to the airport was marred only by our drivers obvious fondness for the Alexander ONeil/Luther Vandross school of music where the singers lurrrve their sexy laydees up and want to light candles and take baths with them and stuff which was playing incessantly on CD (most likely from some Lurrrve Your Laydee Up box set collection that isnt available in the shops). Dreadful. Fortunately, the traffic was light and we only had to put up with half an hour of hearing of how the singer wanted to towel his womans body down and sprinkle it with hundreds-and-thousands before we were pulling up at BGI.
With a distinct absence of Red Caps (I think they all took one look at our luggage and hid) we were left with no choice but to manhandle our cases, mdvipond jr. and the unruly hang-glider toward check-in ourselves, until a kindly fella from behind the VS desk dashed out to help us, bless his poly-cotton-mix socks. There was no queue at all and check-in was swift and efficient with the agent confirming that all was good in the world and we still had 7A & K (no chance on row 6, though we did ask).
Then the first bit of bad news there was a delay; only about an hour and a half though and we were informed that we should be departing about 9 o clock. Not a major problem for Mrs. mdvipond and I, but not ideal for jr., as perhaps a tad foolishly we hadnt packed any food for her in our hand luggage. Wed assumed that wed be on the plane at more or less around her dinner time and could feed her then. I know; school-boy error, but what can you do? Not to be down-heartened about such things, we made our way from check-in to the luxurious and hedonistic surroundings of the Club Caribbean Lounge and its famed selection of cheese (Cheddar), biscuits and for some reason a large bowl of spicy tuna mayo. Its basic, but it has a bar and keeps one away from the crowds.
The plan was to enquire in the lounge as to where we could get a snack (other than spicy tuna mayo) for mdvipond jr., and we were rather shocked to be told by the lady on reception that we could, by all means, buy food in the airport, but that we couldnt bring it back into the lounge. You can feed her outside, we were informed. Perhaps spotting the look of incredulity on Mrs. mdviponds face, she added, there are plastic chairs, as if this was going to somehow make the prospect all the more acceptable and appealing. We decided that now wasnt the time for starting a ding-dong (or even its close relations, the kerfuffle or the hoo-har), that would come later. Mrs. mdvipond, therefore, dutifully took jr. out of the lounge to indulge her hunter/gatherer instincts and I made a mental note to e-mail VS on our return.
The ladies in my life returned only a matter of minutes later, with Mrs. mdvipond looking, to say the very least, most dischuffed ('seething' would be a better description). It transpired that buying food in the airport actually meant having to go airside, through security, with no way of getting back through to the lounge. Mrs. mdvipond had enquired of the VS staff landside whether they could help in laying their hands on some fruit or, at the very least, if someone could go through security for us and bring back a sandwich or suchlike (which we would, of course, happily pay for). Their reply? No. You want to feed your daughter, you sort it out yourself. Charming.
On hearing this news, rather than following my instinct and going down to check-in to bang one or two heads together, I realised that the priority was to sort mdvipond jr. with some food before she got cranky and started to upset our fellow lounge dwellers. And if she got upset now, it certainly wasnt going to bode well for the flight itself. I remembered passing a Shell petrol station on our way into the airport, so I hot-footed it outside narrowly avoiding getting knocked down by a couple of taxis and a bus on my way and returned with some ham, biscuits and a muffin for jr. (you try finding anything more nourishing in a petrol station!). Mrs. mdvipond was by this time in full hoo-har mode, on the phone to a lady in the VS office within BGI, being told that if our daughter was as hungry as we were alleging then we should take her airside and stop wasting everyones time by complaining.
After admitting defeat and taking the lady-in-questions name (and she was rather reluctant to give it, for some reason) I proudly presented the Mrs. with my hoard. Well, I better take her outside so she can eat something then, she said. Hold your proverbial horses, quoth I. No way, Jos_. That aint going to happen. After what wed been through and considering how much of our hard-earned was being spent on this flight, mdvipond jr. (who, lest we forget, was an UC pax too) was going to enjoy her ham/biscuit/muffin combo in the bland, yet relatively pleasant surroundings of the Club Caribbean Lounge and if any of the staff within the afore mentioned lounge wanted to grapple the food out of the hands of my 20 month old daughter, they were welcome to try. Hell, Id even get my camera out and take a few photos of the moment for posterity. They (most wisely) didnt, and jr. merrily tucked into her impromptu picnic with the exceptionally kind addition of an apple from a fellow passenger who admitted, with fretful glances over her shoulder, that shed been too scared to give it to her earlier with the staff watching.
With that little melodrama behind us and mdvipond jr.s appetite temporarily sated, we had time for a quiet G & T and a chat with some of the folk in the lounge who, without exception, had been very kind and supportive throughout. One particular couple who travel to their villa on Sandy Lane estate five or six times a year (take that, bottle-blonde and the Bragathon entrants {see previous TR}) claimed that they were hardly surprised with our treatment as, in their opinion, Virgin are crap and they seldom have a flight without something going wrong. And these guys were Flying Club Gold. Yikes.
Wed been informed that we should be boarding at about 8 o clock, and confirmed this in the affirmative with the lounge receptionist who was wait for it eating a pre-packaged sandwich! Being in no mood for any further aggravation, and with it fast approaching ten to the hour, we departed the lounge safe in the knowledge wed left enough time for security and picking up our duty free.
Security was a breeze (although I found it disconcerting that I got through with a cigarette lighter and a bottle of water), our duty free was dutifully collected and we headed for our gate which without a number showing on our boarding card we assumed to be the one with a couple of hundred Economy and Premium pax sleeping around it. Great. We checked at the gate itself to find out what was happening and were told that an announcement should be made at half past eight. So why, on Gods clean earth, wasnt I still ensconced in the lounge quaffing gin and gorging myself on spicy tuna mayo?! After a quick word with Mr. & Mrs. VS are crap, who were the last out of the lounge and had just joined our not-so-merry UC throng, it transpired that the staff who had told them the flight was boarding had been chomping strenuously at the bit to go home and put their feet up for the night. They were actually turning the lights out whilst Mr. & Mrs. VSaC were collecting their bags to leave!
And so our little band of UC refugees waited, relatively patiently, at the Priority Boarding sign. Half past the hour came and went, and still nothing. Then, at long last, an announcement: Passengers are reminded that they may take only one piece of hand luggage onto the aircraft and that this must be stowed in the overhead lockers or under the seat in front of them. That was it? That was our fabled announcement?? I was beaten by Mr. VSaC by little more than a head to the nearest member of staff who was, it appeared, about to experience one heck of a kerfuffle. He didnt last long, and quickly informed us that he would commence priority boarding. This was seen as a green light to the Y and W pax who, to be quite fair, had been hanging around a hot and humid terminal for over three hours, and a charge for the gate ensued. Fortunately we and Mr. & Mrs. VSaC were at the very front of this melee and the member of staff had the good sense to see what was coming and hurriedly opened the doors.
We high tailed it across the tarmac and into the open arms of Hot Lips (if youll excuse the mixed metaphor) at a little after 9 o clock. Quickly finding our seats and stowing our luggage, we were settled and awaiting our champagne which, under the circumstances, took much longer than it should to be delivered. There was also an FAs red jacket cast over the back of Mrs. mdviponds seat, which we decided to leave to see how long it would take for its owner to retrieve it. After ten minutes or so it was still laying there unclaimed, so I took it to the FA at the bar. Thank you sir, she said breezily. Could I have your boarding card, then Ill be able to give you your jacket back when we land. Good grief, I may be no GrinningJackanapes, but Im not so sartorially ignorant as to be seen sporting a bright red polyester jacket!
I believe, I said, surprising myself by the ease with which my face formed the most patronising of smiles, that this belongs to you. The FA blushed a colour somewhere close to the jacket in question, thanked me and I returned, wearily, to my seat.
After so much activity, take-off and drinks orders were something of a blur, but by the time the seat belt signs were off I found a Tanqueray 10 and tonic on my cocktail shelf and jr. asleep on Mrs. mdviponds lap. I took a deep swig of my drink and, finally, started to relax. The menu looked rather good and I opted for the carrot and ginger soup and saut_ed chicken breast with basil rice and some sort of teriyaki sauce. Mrs. went for the soup and grilled tenderloin on garlic mash.
Whilst we waited for dinner I noticed that the FSM was starting to move among us. He first approached the couple in 6A & K you know, the ones who stole our seats and seemed to be deeply apologetic and regretful about something or other. Rather amusingly, the lady in 6A had accidentally started to turn her suite into a bed at some point, and then pushed it back manually, meaning that her seat back was still leaning ever-so-slightly forward. I think it was the couples first time in UC and I from the look on her face Im guessing she was expecting the seats to be just a tad more comfortable.
Once the FSM reached us he was, once again, deeply apologetic and regretful firstly for the delay and secondly and this seemed to hurt him more than words alone could say because theyd forgotten to load any snooze-packs-in-a-bag. For this we were offered compensation of duty free (never found out how much) or miles 5K each. Opted for the miles, and requested an economy amenity pack for the sake, at the very least, of a toothbrush. Plastic Y packs were quickly distributed, much to Mrs. VSaCs disgust, who had also decided by now that her sleep suit smelt funny (I probably hadnt helped matters by telling her that sleep suits are laundered rather than - as she'd previously believed - replaced for each flight, a fact which seemed to unsettle her considerably).
Dinner arrived, and my soup and chicken were excellent, leaving me too full to contemplate cheese or a desert. Movie wise, I watched Stranger Than Fiction, where straight-laced taxman Will Ferrell suddenly realises his every move is being narrated by a female voice in his head. Emma Thompsons voice, to be precise, which I would personally find unnerving at the best of times. Really good film actually, clever and funny in equal measure. Mrs. mdviponds grilled tenderloin actually metamorphosed at some stage into what I vaguely recognised from previous flights as VSs take on beef bourguignon. Bored of complaining, and seeing very little point in doing so, the Mrs. tucked in and enjoyed it very much.
The cabin lights were dimmed and the majority of folk bedded down. I didnt feel up for a kip at that point so grabbed another glass of wine, stuck the QC2s and the Ipod on, and chilled to some Charlie Parker. After half and hour or so I felt myself drifting so flipped the suite to a bed, eschewing the sleep suit and choosing to lay on rather than under the duvet. Ive found this a decent way to combat the (alleged) habit of VS crew on night flights to turn the cabin temperature up to level previously only experienced by the inmates of the prison camp in Bridge Over The River Kwai in an attempt to lull us into a fitful sleep. Actually, it wasnt too bad on this flight and I was soon away with the fairies or, to be more precise, jamming live on stage with Charlie Parker in an LA nightclub circa 1953. And I was smoking...
Mrs. mdvipond woke me some four hours later, with little more than an hour left to landing. Four solid hours is pretty good by anyones standards, and I was pleased to discover that mdvipond jr. had kept her end up and was still dozing in 7A. Wed decided, as ever, to skip breakfast; theres something particularly unappealing about trying to eat cereal and bacon sarnies when youre still burping wine, and carrot and ginger soup. As far as my body was concerned it was also only 4 in the morning, which is in this reviewers humble opinion an entirely uncivilised hour to do solids. So, we washed up, packed up and descended through broken cloud toward MAN. We landed about an hour behind schedule, but then had another half hour to wait to get onto a stand, which was tiresome.
Once we were on stand we disembarked pretty sharpish, with only PE allowed off ahead of UC for obvious logistical reasons, and went effortlessly through immigration. At baggage re-claim, the unruly hang-glider was first off, probably having elbowed and bullied its way to the front of the queue, closely followed by the rest of the luggage.
Passing through the Nothing to Declare channel, and trying our best to avoid the incidence of another luggaglanche, we were inexplicably joined by a bouncy Caribbean lady, clearly travelling alone and not dissimilar to the great Rusty Lee. Hi, she hollered, that was a great flight wasnt it?. Before I could deliver a quick pr_cis of my forthcoming trip report, a customs officer suddenly appeared a bit like the fancy-dress-shop-owner in Mr. Ben and politely enquired of the lady where she was travelling from. We kept moving without looking back for fear of being implicated in whatever fiendish smuggling scam she was involved in and soon spied Senior Pond waiting in arrivals for us.
Of course, this being MAN, we were only an hour or so from home, which was a particularly refreshing change from the interminable two to three hours wed normally be experiencing waiting for our connecting flight at LGW.
So, a mixed old bag. Not good at all how things were handled either on the mdvipond/food front, or in terms of the lounge turfing everyone out an hour before the flight boarded just because the staff were missing American Idol (or whatever). A strongly worded e-mail is on its way to Branson Towers. The FAs were a bit wet, but a lot better than some weve had on the return leg from B&S destinations. It wasnt the FSMs fault that there no amenity packs on the flight, and he handled things marvellously by apologising quite as contritely as he did and doling out a few compensatory miles. The food was great and the four hours kip a real bonus.
Next up for the Family mdvipond? Well, VS wise, its HKG and SYD in December (so long to wait!), with jr., who will have turned two by then, getting her own suite for the first time. Spoilt little tyke. Maybe we should buy her a Y seat instead and hope that someone down the back adopts her for 12 hours or so. Any offers, please feel free to contact me.
Again another excellent TR - thank you.
