This is a Trip Report from the Premium Economy cabin
Ground Staff
Food & Drink
Entertainment
Seat
Cabin Crew
To begin at the beginning……
........it was snowing and, just back from a walkies, I was trying to get ice off the girlie gundogs’ fur, it was cold, they were filthy and my back was aching. And it was only November.
And then I had what some more erudite might call an epiphany; in my case, I refer to it as an “oh, sod it” moment. If we were going to have yet another long cold winter, your humble correspondent and his increasingly arthritic bones were going to have to have something to which to look forward, so a spring trip to the Caribbean to get some sunshine was going to be absolutely compulsory.
So, that same November day, dog defrosting and washing duties temporarily over and ibuprofen scoffed, I got online to check out the prices, factored in Easter, school holidays, Badminton Horse Trials and the royal wedding (yes, the royal wedding...I like weddings, it is why I have had one or two!), then rang VH, had an acceptable negotiation and booked. I booked Grenada again because a) we like the place and b) following last year’s “entertainment” (the crew were staying with us) I had paid for a debenture seat by the hotel swimming pool.
The departure date then stood out on the calendar throughout what did indeed turn out to be, by southern standards, another long winter. Berkshire seemed, at times, almost to be attempting to return to the ice age, once or twice I even had to bow to pressure and put the central heating on.
At least this time, as departure got nearer, we didn’t have a repeat of the pre-holiday are we going/aren’t we going ulcer creating angst caused by last year’s ash cloud of Icelandic origin. Nor, in early May, were we going to need to monitor the weather forecasts for the airport runway equivalent of Network Rail’s leaf on the line ie snow. Unlike BA, VS cabin crew weren’t threatening strikes so that was OK too. In fact there really was nothing to worry about at all. That, to this dyed-in-the-wool neurotic, was, of course, a tad worrying.
Despite being all booked and paid for I still kept an eye on the website prices out of curiosity and once again the VH price model confused me. Six weeks before departure the cost of upgrades on the outbound was a tad bizarre – from economy to premium economy was a whopping £1018 per passenger whereas the cost of an upgrade from economy to upper class was a lowly £ 903!!!!!! I am not sure how that happens but it surely must be a glitch in the system. On the other hand, perhaps the food, booze and pole dancing in premium were going to be of a higher standard than those in upper?
The tedious pre-holiday diet had begun on December 30th. To be fair, the diet wasn’t just about the holiday as, following my taking my Christmas calorie consumption to a new record level, I was down to a couple of pairs of trousers which were nearly comfortable – and even those, on occasion, I couldn’t do up. So to avoid having to purchase a complete new wardrobe (or getting arrested!!) and for the sake of my vanity (speedos combined with the results of serious over indulgence not being the best of looks!!), a rigorous hardly eating anything (and then only if it is good for you) and negligible alcohol drinking regime took place for four months. Yes, FOUR months of garlic, green tea and broccoli, what a happy chap I was...NOT.
So it was a slim(mer) me who busied myself in the holiday packing/repacking. Repacking seems to take place with ever increasing frequency as I reach further into my dotage. Did I pack this? Did I pack that? As a specific example; did I pack the spare camera? Unpack to check. In this instance I found that I hadn’t packed the camera. However, interestingly, while looking for the camera, I found that I had packed a stick food blender. I had and have absolutely no idea why. And before the well organised travellers amongst you suggest the magic words “check list” – well, I have tried to use a check list but that is something of a Catch-22, it only being of any use if you actually remember to tick things off.
Other than the above mentioned joys of repacking, the only other “not so good” moment in the preamble to our holiday was when I went to collect some cash from my bank. Our local NatWest has a camera monitoring the queue with a tv screen over the tills showing the pictures. I looked up and saw the light near blindingly reflecting off some poor chap’s bald head. My first thought “Ha Ha, look at that fellow, what is he doing, auditioning for a monastery?” – was quickly followed by my second thought, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”
The day before departure I was up early for OLCI. At the time of booking I had been unable to select seats on either the outbound or return, despite booking the holiday nearly six months in advance. I posted in the forum here about the daftness of the “never the twain shall meet” VH/VS seat reservation system but fortunately, a couple of months before departure, I found a very helpful VH CS representative who offered to sort things for me. When I got online pre-OLCI I found that rather than seats the VH rep had indicated, 74A and C in the bubble, we had actually been allocated 75H and K, the exit row seats. I had no idea such seats were available for allocation other than at the airport.
And, oh yes, by the way...OLCI....TRUMPETS PLEASE ...SEQ 1 and 2 were secured. I have absolutely no idea why I was/am so pleased about this but I was/am. The first person I told about this magnificent achievement was a shop assistant in Sainsbury’s. She didn’t seem overly impressed. Anyway, having achieved the aviation geek’s Holy Grail I am now going to see whether I can get every number from 1 to 20. To celebrate I have the Kings of Leon playing at the moment, Seqs On Fire.
The usual heart wrenching moment of dropping off my three girlie gundogs to their “hotel” also occurred the day before departure. And it really is heart wrenching for me. Those of you who “know” me and the importance of my girlies from FB and elsewhere, those who really know me and those who are similarly disposed towards canines will understand what I mean. Those who aren’t so disposed will think me a soppy old fool. So be it.
This goodbye was worse than those before: during a last cuddle, Sarika, the older of my two beautiful HWVs (she of my current avatar), wrapped her paws around my neck and gripped my back. She knew. It was as if she was saying “please don’t leave me.” I suddenly got a lump in my throat of such significance that a good doctor might have mistakenly diagnosed an emergency laryngectomy essential. I so nearly cracked up, particularly when I noticed that the “hotel” receptionist had started gazing out of a window while reaching for a box of tissues. Bugger. Anyway, with a telepathic “we will be back soon and you will be safe” I managed to extricate myself from the gorgeous girlies with most of my dignity intact. However, we were well on our way home before I trusted my voice enough to say anything.
As usual we had booked to stay at the LGW Hilton the night before departure. With a following wind and no delays on the Ms (3, 25 and 23) the airport is only about an hour from home but the option of driving down very early morning, for all the hassle of long queues, bruised hamstrings and achilles tendons as a result of collisions with other peeps carelessly wielded suitcases, nevermind the stress and temper tantrums (and that is just me!), for an early-ish and long flight has never appealed.
Following the sale of Gatwick, BAA are, of course, no longer organising the various on-airport car parks. The new management have imposed some swingeing price increases to the parking charges, at one stage quoting nearly twice what I paid last year, on the same advance booking terms. However, for others reference, booking a combined car park and hotel deal via the Hilton a couple of weeks before the holiday meant that the total price I paid for the hotel/car park was actually similar to previous years.
So we had a leisurely early afternoon drive down to Gatwick, parked the car in the long stay and then took the short bus ride to the South terminal. The car park was brilliant (and that is the first time I have ever said that about a car park) as the planes were flying directly over us after taking off – we could have stayed there, plane spotting, for hours and decided that we would return another day with a picnic!
Adrenalin levels were, as usual at this stage, increasing. Although I have flown quite a bit over the years, both on business and pleasure, I have never grown out of the excitement of “going away.” And I love airports. When I was a mere spotty adolescent then girlfriends were often taken on dates to Gatwick or Heathrow to walk the terminals and to watch the planes take off. Such a buzz.
I spent a lot of my youth unattached.
Anyway, I digress. Virgin’s twilight check-in is great providing, as it does, the opportunity to do a bit of seat selection fine tuning in a not too harassed environment. And talking of “not too harassed” - we were in a queue of two, one being me, the other being Mrs HWV. Our check-in lady was excellent, pleasant, efficient and friendly. She explained that exit rows seats are pre-allocated on full flights subject to people such as her “making a judgement on fitness” at the time of physical check-in.
So after three laps of the terminal and 500 press ups (single arm) each we were deemed “suitable” – actually and perhaps fortuitously, three or four questions sufficed! And “Seq 1 and 2, don’t you know” also found a more appreciative audience here although not the complimentary upgrade to Upper Class I had hoped that such an achievement warranted.
As an aside, seats in the bubble were not available at physical check-in, all had been pre-allocated.
Then into the Hilton. It might not be the bees knees of hotels but it is perfectly functional and, above all, extremely convenient. We just had a bog standard double, it was clean and tidy. It was obviously a multi function room, also acting as a sauna, but fortunately, with the help of a dexterously managed shoe, I worked out the vagaries of the air con system. We opted not to eat at the Hilton (too expensive) and headed for the South Terminal and Giraffe for my El Bulli moment, sort of.
The South Terminal is undergoing significant redevelopment and hopefully will be a pretty impressive place when things are completed later this year. There are coffee and sandwich bars but only one restaurant before security at the moment, Giraffe with its eclectic mix of menu choices.
Now my El Bulli moment; I am sure that several members of this esteemed forum are keen fine diners, regularly enjoying meals at various Michelin star laden restaurants in the UK and abroad. Well, let me tell you, fellow gourmands and gourmets, for one night only, unbelievably, Giraffe was up there with them. And all because of chips (french fries).
Diets are funny things. During mine I found myself thinking of one food – chips. Odd really, considering how many wonderful things there are to eat – you’d have thought it would have been particular calorie laden goodies I actually make such as treacle tart (yum) or sticky toffee pudding with toffee sauce (yum) or banoffee pavlova (particularly yum yum yum), however, it was chips. Why chips? I have no idea because I don’t exactly pig out on chips normally. However chips, covered in tartare sauce, became the meal I fantasised about. I guess it was a food fixation similar to those experienced by the good ladies during pregnancy and, with the size of my stomach pre-diet, there was a moment when I did actually wonder! So fantasy realised, chips and tartare sauce (and a rodeo chicken burger) – I ate it so slowly – it was probably pretty average really but right then, at that moment, I thought it absolutely delish - gastronomic heaven. A bottle or two of a very drinkable sauvignon ensured a good night’s sleep.
With a departure time of 9.35am we didn’t have to get up too early. So a leisurely start, an amble through the significant check-in queues and off to security. SHOCK HORROR SENSATION. Fast track was actually opened on time.
There were no queues perhaps because it wasn’t obvious which door one should go through. There were five business types in front of us, four of whom didn’t seem to grasp the concept or “remove the laptop from the bag please” despite the first of their colleagues being asked to do so...and then the second....and then the third!
Hey ho, it was still speedy.
The departure lounge wasn’t terribly busy so we had a mooch around and then a coffee and raisin danish in Pret. Our gate (17) was posted at 8.20am.
When we arrived at the entrance to the gate our flight looked like it was going to feature in the next series of Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. As we manoeuvred our way through the queues for the boarding card check (priority, don’t you know) we noticed that a significant number of those queuing were possessed of some or all of vests, muscles, bling, tattoos, big hair, loud colours and tracksuit bottoms, the tracksuit bottoms being omnipresent. Actually we didn’t feel too out of place, I don’t have a vest, tattoo or tracksuit bottoms (but I do have a diamond in my ear) and Mrs HWV does not have big hair, loud colours, bling or tracksuit bottoms (but does have a tattoo but I don’t know you well enough to tell you about that
- TEE HEE).
At first I thought that we had gone to the wrong gate (Grenada is a very quiet little island) but actually it turned out that they had. We thought we recognised one couple and some had indeed appeared in the Channel 4 programme. Apparently, there had been another “big wedding” and group of friends and relatives had decided to accompany the newlyweds on their honeymoon. They were definitely up for some fun and, judging by what they were saying, I have a feeling that the booze and food at their Bajan all inclusive is currently getting some serious punishment.
The V-Flyer luggage tags were noticed at the gate and one’s membership of this site commented upon with interest and positively – more power to the excellent Pete.
As usual the newspaper racks were full of Daily Mails (happy Mrs HWV) but the magazines choices were broader than I remember – no Trout and Salmon but T3 for the techy minded and, most importantly, the Royal Wedding edition of Hello. That was me sorted then!
Loading started at 8.35 with special assistance and those with babies first, then the Au, UC and PE group. Once again we were greeted by name at the door. Excellent.
Many other reports have commented about the state of the cabins on the LGW 747 fleet. All I will say it that if the prospective refurbishment is actually going to occur it will hopefully be done sooner rather than later. However and whatever, I still like being in the bubble and, to be fair, Pretty Woman was clean and tidy and all looked as it
should do.
We took off about ten minutes late with 419 on board (398+3 passengers, 15 cc and 3 fc). PE and UC were both full.
We were well looked after on the flight. We had the pre-take off sparkling wine (one round). As soon as the seatbelt light went out hot towels were distributed. This was followed with a drinks round (with pretzels – yeah!). The meal service began after an hour and a half, with wine and then a top up of wine. Two rounds of coffee/tea followed and then the baileys/brandy round.
This route is now following the US route PE menu which the excellent Tinkerbelle has posted here so I won’t repost it. We both opted for the veggie jalfrezi and very nice it was too. Neither of us expect or require Michelin quality food on a flight, as long as it is neatly presented and tastes good that will be fine. And it was and did.
For the rest of the flight wine top ups were available at the galley. I read a recent trip report where the OP seemed to be saying he had paid his money so he wasn’t going to get his drinks, he’d have them brought to him. Good for him, he will probably get a DVT. I, with my regular jaunts to the galley, will be a DVT free zone – cirrhosis might be a different matter, however.
The food continued. About four and a half hours in we had a juice/water round closely followed by the ice cream round – the strawberry was particularly yummy. An hour later it was sandwiches (coronation chicken or cheese and pickle) with tea/coffee.
I cannot comment on the entertainment system as I/we didn’t use it. It was the version which has the controller fixed in the side of the seat and I couldn’t be bothered with the fuss and fiddle of making sure I pressed the right button (if I could actually see them). My days as a contortionist are over, nevermind what I might think or hope – anyway I had my Times crossword, laptop and dvds, numerous gigs of music on my android phone, her gorgeousness and, of course, that Hello magazine to keep me occupied. I have given the entertainment category a neutral mark therefore.
So things went going swimmingly on the flight except for the moment when we were joined in the bubble by an
uninvited guest.
An aroma.
It is difficult to describe the aroma but think along the lines of today’s result of yesterday’s numerous pints of ale and a couple of curries and multiply by a very large number.
I do not know from whence it came or, for that matter, where it was going. I thought that it might be coming from one of the lavatories and that it might simply be too powerful for the ventilation system to cope with but who knows? We (those of us who were aware of the pong) waited to see who would leave the lavatories, thereby taking ownership of what had joined us. No-one appeared. I wondered whether the person had actually passed out on the throne, an event now known throughout aviation circles as doing a Sunshine!!.
Around me people seemed to go completely silent, as if any reaction would imply guilt. You really could have heard a pin drop. I made sure that I avoided eye contact with anyone whilst almost wetting myself, trying not to laugh (when WILL I grow up?). This continued for what seemed like hours but was probably only a minute. And then the silence was broken, someone further back said “Gawd”. At that moment a number of passengers started laughing. I actually had tears streaming down my face and it was all I could do not to contribute to things further. Talk about an ice-breaker. Wonderful.
The aroma eventually off headed downstairs, thank goodness, and the flight to Tobago was otherwise uneventful.
Eight hours forty minutes after leaving Gatwick we touched down at Crown Point International Airport, around 200 passengers got off and the rest of us spent just over an hour on the plane while luggage and fuel were dealt with. We got a juice/water round while waiting.
Then the twenty minute hop to Grenada. I love flying in around the island, spotting the beaches (and bars) I am soon going to grace.
The cabin crew were brilliant making sure that we got priority disembarkation; they stood in the aisles to the economy section downstairs and told people that those upstairs would be getting off before them.
Maurice Bishop Airport was quiet, the security and baggage staff were efficient (our three bags were off in the first twenty) and from landing to slurping my first fruit punch in our hotel was about forty five minutes. And I thought that my plain old fruit punch tasted a little different, “Oh yes, Mr HWV, we remembered how you like it” – how cool is that, one year on, they remembered and put the bloody vodka in it? It may not surprise you to know that the HWVs are in a very happy place right now.
All in all it was a good flight with great cabin crew (the girls who were looking after PE upstairs were hard working, efficient and friendly – an asset to VS and that is what I have said in my e-mail), the food was fine, there was plenty of booze (the Sanderling multi-blend white wine was very moreish) and quite a bit of fun.
So TR filed with apologies for my verbosity and apologies also if I have missed any typos. And now, tiffin over (the tomato sandwiches were particularly delish), my newly acquired lobster pinkness and I have places to be for not only do I hear the sound of frolics in the swimming pool
but I have also just spied a man with a vodka and lime which has quite clearly got my name on it. Regards,
David
Last edited by HWVlover on 31 Jul 2014, 12:06, edited 1 time in total.
Not surprisingly, we approach "later" with an interesting mix of enthusiasm and trepidation. 