This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
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After having had something of a testing time during the outbound flight, Tizer had continued to suffer neath the yoke of her bug for a fair part of the holiday. Her temperature seldom dropped below 103 degrees throughout our stay in Miami Beach, our four hour drive to Orlando and the first three days at Disney World (although she did insist on visiting the Magic Kingdom, fever or no fever). Shed also managed to bleed quite spectacularly over the marble floor of the Loews hotel lobby after tipping herself out of the back of the criminally unstable and now forever shamed compact-and-bijou-push-chair, something which wouldnt have occurred had Mrs V and I not been remonstrating with the gentleman from Hertz whod just delivered us a car not much larger than a Fiat 126 into which we were expected to fit five people and seven cases.
Nonetheless, wed had a lovely holiday; no, really, we had. Our last two nights had been spent at the Ritz-Carlton in Naples, on the gulf coast of Florida, about 2 and a half hours from MIA. With a 19:55 flight time, we were able to make the most of the beautiful Club Lounge at the Ritz managing to squeeze both an extensive breakfast and a champagne lunch out of them before we had to hit the road to Miami.
It was the day before Thanksgiving, which surely has to be one of the strangest of holidays, at least from a Brits perspective. Its a like Christmas, but without the presents. And there seems to be an awful lot of pumpkin related activity, which is all the more confusing, cause pumpkins are supposed to be out at Halloween, arent they? Still, its not for me to deprive a nation of a good knees-up and a day of work.
We were given various ominous warnings from a number of staff at the hotel as we checked out and loaded up our behemoth of an SUV (a Lincoln Navigator; very plush, truly huge and the result of our negotiations with the gentleman from Hertz who tried to give us the Fiat 126 back in Miami Beach).This being the day before the second biggest holiday of the year, we were told to expect the traffic to be pretty much bumper-to-bumper all the way to Miami. So, a bit like the A64 to Scarborough on an August Bank Holiday in the days when the sun used to shine. Oh joy.
As it was, most of the journey to MIA wasnt too bad, with the lions share of our route being on a die straight and relatively empty road which coursed its way right across the middle of the Everglades. Very pretty, if you like mile, after mile, after mile of green, flat wet expanse, with no service stations and a wife who needs a wee.
It wasnt until we got within 15 miles or so of the airport that the gridlock really started to set in, and Mrs Vs full-bladder dilemma started to become something of an issue. Nora (the name we give to Hertzs notoriously unreliable Sat Nav system, Neverlost, which really should be rebranded as Oftenlost) had sent us down yet another inexplicable route only to demand that we did a U-turn and went back to where wed started from. We were in very heavy, slow moving traffic by this time, and Mrs V was starting to make desperate whimpering noises, rather like a Chihuahua with a brick on its tail.
To compound our problem, Hertzs drop-off depot is a mile or so away from MIA itself, so we were going to have to deposit the Senior Vs, Tizer, the now shamed compact-but-bijou-push-chair and all of our luggage outside Departures before we could take the Behemoth back and with luck find suitable restroom facilities for my beloved. Thankfully, my finely tuned intellect came up with a plan: we pull up outside departures, Mrs V makes a break for it into the terminal in a bid to find some relief, and my dad and I make sure we take our time about unloading the Behemoth until she comes back. Genius!
The place was swarming: people were spilling out of cars and taxis and embracing the loved ones theyd be leaving behind for Thanksgiving so that they could fly off somewhere else to embrace other loved ones who, I guess, they must like more than the first set of loved ones. Police, security guards and Red Caps all played their part in a chaotic scene that looked like it had been taken out of every movie youve ever watched about some well-meaning American pitting himself against adversity to get home to his loving family in time for the holidays.
Mrs V returned whilst we were still piling cases up at the kerbside, and the look of relief on her face made realise one important factor I may have otherwise overlooked; I was now dying for the loo. So, giving strict instructions to continue employing our carefully honed delaying tactics, I too made a break for the toilets.
But we're nearly unloaded, Mrs V called out at my retreating form, What if the police try and move us on?
Just act British, I shouted back over my shoulder, as I manfully hurdled over a luggage trolley and swerved around a frail-looking old lady. Affecting a stronger than usual British accent and acting flustered a la Hugh Grant has worked well for us in the US over the years, eliciting hotel room upgrades and otherwise unattainable tables at top restaurants quicker than you can say 'How do you do?' or 'Awfully sorry'; I saw no reason why it should fail us now.
I was pleasantly surprised to find both family and Behemoth waiting for me when I got back from my comfort break, and Mrs V and I having left the Senior Vs and Tizer at Departures were soon fighting our way back through the traffic to the Hertz drop-off depot. Nora behaved herself for this last part of our journey (I suppose at the very least she knows her own way home). We dumped the SUV and quickly hopped onto the Hertz shuttle bus which would take us back to the airport.
We were, in fact, the only people to get on. The driver a black gentleman of advancing years got to his feet, smiled congenially, and asked which airline wed be flying with today. We told him VS, he thanked us, slowly got back into the driving seat, unhooked a microphone from the dashboard, cleared his throat and announced:
Ladies and gentlemen. This is the Hertz shuttle service to Miami International Airport. We will be making one stop today at Concourse E for passengers travelling with Virgin Atlantic only.
I had to ask myself at this juncture, was this announcement absolutely necessary? We were the only people on the bloody bus for crying out loud! But wait, there was more
Once again, this service will be stopping at Concourse E - that's Councourse E - for Virgin Atlantic passengers only.
Why was he doing this? Did it look as if Mrs V and I werent paying him due and proper attention? I smiled, nodded and tried to look keen, catching his eye in the rear-view mirror to let him know his message - which essentially comprised entirely of information we had given in the first place - had been received and fully understood.
This service, he told us with an air of finality, will not be making any other stops, before, blessedly, setting the mic back in its little clip on the dash.
True to his word, he dropped us, some 10 minutes later, at Concourse E, where the rest of the family were waiting patiently to check-in for the flight. We'd managed after a fashion to do online check-in the previous evening, but only by checking each of us in individually and, even then, it wouldnt allow us to process Tizers booking. Still, on approaching the UC desk, and after having our passports checked by a be-suited security guard who appeared to have come to the airport direct from the set of The Sopranos, the moustachioed but otherwise follicley challenged UC agent looked up and greeted us with the words:
Ah, you must be the mdvipond family.
Why yes, I told him, we are. Clearly our fame spread before us (either that, or the now familiar wand our VS Fairy Godmother had been at play again). We were given exactly the seats we wanted, passes and directions to the shared Club America lounge, and a cheery farewell. Top marks to the man with ttash then.
Whilst the VS website claims that the lounge is landside it is, in fact, airside, which was a welcome surprise. Security (which Im guessing was fastrack or priority, as it was upstairs, a hundred yards or so before the lounge) was exceptionally quick and painless and we were soon enjoying hospitality of Club America. It was quite good actually, with a decent selection of snacks and sarnies, as well as the usual help yourself bar facilities. I indulged in a gin and tonic (not Tanqueray No 10, you understand, but pleasant all the same) and a few nibbles, then depressed myself no end by being foolish enough to pick up an English newspaper. Ah, of course the recession. Mr Brown was giving us a lecture on his only particular brand of macro-economics - weve got into this awful financial mess through borrowing too much, he was telling us, and theres only one way out: Borrow more! Yes, Gordon, that should do it...
The flight was called more-or-less on schedule and it was little more than a nip round the corner to our awaiting A346, Surfer Girl, which was a new one on me. With no real queue to board, we were straight into our suites and without too much of a delay sipping on a much welcomed glass of champagne.
Wed been told that we could expect a relatively short flight time, which I always think is a bit of a shame in UC, but there you go. Mind you, we were the best part of an hour late in taking off, so it was probably for the best, especially as we had a connecting flight to catch back up to MAN. Tizer was good as gold throughout take-off, wedged as she was into her seat belt with the assistance of two pillows. And, of course, it was such a relief to be flying with a relatively healthy and happy little girl, as opposed to the fevered mite that wed flown out with two weeks previously.
V:Port started promptly and I indulged myself straight away in a round of Trivia Challenge. Quite a bit of competition this time, with what appeared to be a bunch of chaps, all in row 60, vying for my crown as Triv King. They were good; not great, but good. Strong on sport, fair on entertainment, but they started to fall well short when it came to history, geography and the sciences. Victory was ultimately mine in Round 1, after which I let them battle it out among themselves whilst I settled Tizer down to watch a film: Space Chimps. It looked awful, but it featured two of Tizers favourite things at present space and (you got it) monkeys. We visited Kennedy Space Centre during our time in Florida, and it had really kindled an interest in her in of all things astronomical. As for the love of monkeys, well, your guess is really as good as mine, but love em she does, especially the cheeky variety
Dinner and drinks orders were taken (very slowly). The crew were pleasant enough, but seemed to be in no particular rush, which was odd considering the delay in our departure. It was now 9 at night and I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one who was starting to feel peckish. Tizer, for one, was most definitely in need of some solids, and with nothing really suiting her on the UC menu, the cheery Scottish FA working her side of the cabin said she'd be able to rustle up a PE meal of chicken and veg, which was ideal.
With Tizer comfy in front of the film tucking hungrily into her chicken, dad plugged resolutely into V:Port and my mother reading the print off the Daily Mail (and, in doing so, recharging her capacity for fury after missing out on her favourite, opinionated tabloid for the past two weeks), Mrs V and I both ordered a Tanqueray No 10 with tonic and yes, here it comes a wedge of lime. It seemed like we were in for a rather pleasant flight. Then, the TV screens blipped, wobbled, and went blank; V:Port was down. Again. The FSM announced that the system would need a reboot, which would take up to half an hour.
Tizer stared numbly at her screen, unable to comprehend why 'Astro Monkeys' - or whatever it was - had been so cruelly and suddenly taken from her. It seemed a real shame; after suffering a non-functioning IFE on the outbound flight, I felt she deserved to watch her film, however inane it might be. The promised rebooting time of half an hour would probably turn into at least an hour, and Tizer was due her pyjamas and bed before too long.
In the meantime, dinner slowly started to appear. I say slowly, as it was one of those hit-and-miss affairs whereby some passengers seem to be done with their starters and tucking into their mains, whilst others - me included - are left toying with a piece of garlic bread staring at and otherwise blank table cloth. At least I had a table cloth; mum's table turned out to be buggered, despite the desperate wrenchings of the FA. They moved her to 3D in the end, which was fortunately empty.
My soup finally arrived, blisteringly hot and pretty darned tasty to boot. White bean, if I recall correctly. This was followed by what can only fairly be described as The Worst UC Meal I've Ever Had. A piece of salmon, so dry and devoid of taste that I'm still not entirely sure that I wasn't the victim of some cruel practical joke and had actually been served a piece of pink polystyrene. The accompanying veg were cold, or uncooked, I can't remember which. I managed two mouthfuls before admitting defeat and plumping for cheese and port. Unbelievably, even this was pretty bad with each of the three indistinct bits of wax plonked on my plate tasting equally and identically unappealing. The port was alright though.
V:Port was finally resurrected towards the end of a rather protracted and very disappointing meal service, so I was right about the hour to reboot. If fact, I think it might have been longer than that; matters hadn't exactly been expedited by the American lady sitting a couple of suites down from me who seemed to understand the instruction of 'don't press any buttons whilst the system reboots' as 'hammer at your controls like a mad woman the second anything flashes up on the screen'. Tizer was away in the land of nod by this time, so she'll have to catch up with 'Star Primates' another time.
As we were now a good three hours into what, we were told, would be a sub nine hour flight, I thought it prudent to change into PJs (those who suffer my TRs on a regular basis will know of my strict avoidance of the static and sweat-inducing, irregularly laundered Sleep Suit) and bed down for the night. One more glass of port for the road, and I converted my suite into bed-mode, set out the under-sheet and looked for my duvet. It was nowhere to be found. Then I realised that Mrs V had used at as a second pillow for Tizer, who needs wedging into her suite to stop her rolling about too much and waking herself up. Never mind, I thought, there'll be a spare kicking around somewhere. But after I'd checked a couple of overhead lockers and both wardrobes, it quickly dawned on my that I was going to be out of luck. I thought I'd stand a chance of pilffering the one from 3D - the empty suite that mum had had her dinner in - but it now appeared, inexplicably, to be occupied by a random crew member who was snuggled safe and warm beneath the duvet I so coveted.
To be fair, it's usually so hot on most night flights that I end up lying on, rather than under, my duvet, but - somewhat ironically - the cabin was quite cool this evening. There was no sign of any crew (save for sleeping beauty in 3D) so I traipsed down to the galley to ask for a spare duvet, explaining that Tizer had taken mine from me. Some of the crew were having a spot of supper, and I can honestly say they made me feel about as welcome as Russell Brand at the Sachs family Christmas dinner. Sorry, I was told, only one duvet per suite. Really? Tizer always needs a second duvet, so how come I'd never had this problem before? They'd try and find me one, apparently, be I definitely got the feeling that that I was being something of a nuisance to them.
I stomped back to my suite, sat down on the bed and heard a sickening crack. I knew what I'd done even before I got up to look: Oh good god. I'd sat on my beloved Bose QC2s! Maybe they weren't too badly damaged. I picked them up and popped them on - one earphone stuck out from the side of my head at a 90 degree angle. Not good and, I surmised bitterly, probably not cheap to fix either. I was gutted and I'd had enough; the fight had gone out of me, so I meekly got beneath my under-sheet, closed my eyes and tried to get a bit of sleep.
But sleep didn't come easily, and I was still awake when Mrs V - who'd been away with the fairies throughout my desperate bedding hunt - stirred, glanced over at me and, unsurprisingly, immediately noticed my distinct lack of duvet. Unlike me, Mrs V never tires at the prospect of a good argument, so she collared the pretty but ineffectual FA I'd spoken to earlier and asked her to sort out a duvet. She got the same reply: one per suite and, she added with a smile, they had looked for a spare for me, but come up with nought. Not until Mrs V announced that, if that were the case, she was going to go back into the PE and Y cabins to try and find - at the very least - a blanket, did Ineffectual FA concede to having another look for me and, miraculously, just two minutes later, she returned with a fresh and fluffy duvet.
Pleased with herself (as well she should have been) Mrs V fell back into the slumber of the righteous, but I still struggled to get off to sleep, despite now being snuggled beneath my hard won duvet. I think I finally drifted off for about an hour, waking around 2 hours out of LHR.
At the very least, this did mean that I could change out of my pyjamas and freshen up at my leisure, as most of the cabin were still asleep. I hate the mad rush to change that sometimes ensues on these flights (and I still reckon that three loos is one too few on the A346). The queuing, the mad rush once you're in there and - horror of horrors - the wet floors. You try and tell yourself it's just water, but deep down in your heart of hearts, you know the awful truth: you have a stranger's urine sample soaked into one of your socks and it's going to stay with you - both literally and figuratively - until you get home...
Feeling knackered, but thankfully with dry socks, I returned to my suite, flipped it back to a seat and managed to catch the eye of Ineffectual FA to ask for a large espresso (once again, those who've had the misfortune to follow any of my previous TRs will know of my inability to face solids at such an ungodly hour). To her credit, it came pretty quickly, though without sugar. People often assume if you order an espresso - or even just a black coffee - that because you don't take milk, you can't possibly want sugar either. I do! I like it black, strong and sweet (insert 'Airplane' joke here if you can remember it).
Forgetting briefly about the QC2 situation, I popped them on to catch what few fleeting minutes of V:Port the crew might allow us before turning it off and making us sit in silence until we landed. One headphone still stuck resolutely at right angles to my head. I cursed, perhaps louder than I should, and put the VS headphone on instead. This was the first time I'd tried them, and they're OK, but a long way off the quality of the Bose set, more's the pity.
Soon Tizer was waking up and - like the cast of 'Bagpuss' - Mrs V, the Senior Vs and Madeline the rag doll all started to wake up too. They followed my lead and had coffee (or orange juice in Tizer's case) rather than the proffered breakfast. We'd be hitting Revivals in due course, which strikes me as a much more civilised way to breakfast - and it's a darned sight tastier as well.
Tizer was very well behaved and stayed in her seat throughout our descent, singing a few songs to the rest of the cabin as we landed (a tradition she seems to have adopted since our Oz flights last year). We'd landed early, but had to wait to get onto a stand as a member of ground crew had had an accident of some sort, although and I'm not wanting to sound too unsympathetic exactly why this meant we had to sit on the tarmac for the next half hour was beyond me.
We were finally on stand and allowed to disembark, at which point we sent the Senior Vs ahead to beat the rush. No such luxuries for Mrs V, Tizer and I we had to wait for the compact-and-bijou-push chair to be brought up to the gate. Its always a heartbreaking situation as first UC, then PE, then Y passengers file past us and the smattering of equally peeved looking parents, holding tired toddlers under their arms and waiting for their own troublesome push-chairs, strollers and hang-gliders to come off the plane. It took about a quarter of an hour before they appeared which is better than usual, to be fair and we bolted towards immigration to find it surprising quiet. And by the time we got to baggage retrieval the conveyors had just started up, and our luggage was just about the first lot off, so things didnt work out too badly in the end.
A pleasant breakfast in a sub-tropically hot Revivals followed. Im not sure whether theyd had problems with the heating, but there were three of four portable heaters dotted around the lounge, all belching out more hot air than Michael Winner after a curry. It was busier than Ive ever seen it, with barely anywhere to sit, and most of the people already in there seemed to be dozing or asleep, no doubt stifled by the heat. As I say, breakfast was good though and it gave the batteries a decent recharge before we had to head for T5.
From T5 we flew back up to MAN, then had to endure the same driver as two weeks previous (although someone was clearly smiling on us, as hed picked up a virus and all but lost his voice since wed last met). We finally entered Gods Own County and were soon back home by about half 4, so factoring the time difference some 23 hours since we left Naples.
A long run, and not that great a flight. The crew (some, not all) left me with the old familiar feeling that theyd had a lovely time down-route, but really just wanted to get home even if that meant delivering sub-par service. The food, other than the soup, was awful. Its the only time I can recall on a VS flight where Ive actually been left feeling hungry. Losing some or all of V:Port on both legs was pretty disappointing.
And the duvet debacle? Well, Im aware that I should have kicked up more of a fuss than I did, but I really couldnt be bothered. It was late, I was tired, almost all of the cabin were asleep and I was grieving deeply for my Bose QC2s. Mrs Vs timely intervention may well have got the desired result in the end, but it leaves a bad taste in the mouth when it takes so much effort just to get a bloody duvet in a J class cabin.
Still, mustnt grumble; despite it all, to have two consecutive flights where they have both Tanqueray 10 and limes on board is a blessing indeed
