This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
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Many on this venerable site will know that the availability of reward seats and/or discounted fares in Upper Class can be ranked, on a sliding scale, somewhere between that of hen's teeth and rocking horse shit. Flexibility, I'm reliably informed, is the key to finding those elusive deals. But when you're trying to land five return tickets to Orlando for the week before most schools are on half-term, you very quickly discover that you're urinating the wrong way into a pretty stiff breeze. So to speak.
So, in an attempt to make a compromise with the great-fare-gods-in-the-sky, and after much website delving, miles shuffling, date reviewing and the offering of a couple of human sacrifices (don't worry - they were both from Hull) we came to a deal: three Gs and two Zs going out to Orlando from MAN, then coming back from New York to LHR with a two night stop-over in the Big Apple. As compromises go, it seemed like a pretty easy one to live with...
The reason we needed five seats for this particular jolly was because we were including my parents in our merry throng, with Mum's impending 70th birthday presenting us with the perfect excuse to blow some miles and cash. The only real downside was that it was going to be a tight old trip - 6 days in Orlando and barely 2 and half in NYC - so we were faced with the prospect of a less-than relaxing (although, I'm sure, most enjoyable) break.
Now, don't get me wrong; both my mother and father, despite their advancing years, are as bright as the proverbial penny (hell, they still work with me in the family business!), but having been around the clock a couple of times, their bodies are starting to show some wear and, it must be said, tear. In particular, Mum's ankle, which makes her less than sprightly (she could have it fixed, according to the doc, but refuses to accept the post-operative 3 months of complete immobility, preferring to 'hobble on').
And Dad's knee ain't what it should be, though he gets by god bless 'im. That being said, his considered opinion that any type of air travel - regardless of airline, class of travel, food offerings or in-flight entertainment - is 'like being locked in a pressurised tin can with strangers you don't like for christ-knows how many hours', doesn't necessarily single him out as the ideal travelling companion.
So, all things considered, taking three flights totalling about 8000 miles in the space of 8 days, and giving ourselves a little over a week to charge around Disney World, followed by a flying visit to one of the busiest cities in the western world, wasn't - perhaps - THE very best idea I've ever come up with. But to hell with it; I work on the basis that testing times make for the best travel anecdotes (and also give me something to put in my trip reports). Although at this stage, little did we know just how much we were to be tested on this particular trip...
But more of that later (in fact quite a bit later, in my return TR). It'd been three years since our last visit to Florida, and nearly seven since we'd been to dear old New York City, so we were all really looking forward to our trip. Well, I say 'all'; of course Dad was already dwelling on the prospect of delays, downgrades, in-flight DVT and the chances of being diverted via Islamabad. He put a brave face on it though, and, the day before our flight to Orlando, was about as relaxed as can ever be expected of him under such circumstances (imagine a state somewhere between visiting the dentist and stepping onto the gallows and you're just about there).
Knowing what we know vis-a-vie my parents, we'd booked a couple of rooms at the Radisson at MAN the night before our flight. Even though we weren't due to depart until 2pm the following day (and although we're only an hour and a half's drive away from Manchester), my plan was to take as much potential stress out of this trip as I possibly could. I'd even booked ma and pa a business class room with expansive views of the airport apron and runway. This, on hindsight, was another boo-boo on my part, as I discovered when I went up to their room to find my father glowering at the planes out of the window, muttering dark mutterings of impending doom under his breath. It turns out that for some reason Airbuses make him particularly angry ('Damn things keep falling out of the sky', apparently).
The Radisson is a perfectly pleasant hotel, with a pretty decent restaurant, so after a more than acceptable meal and a few drinks we retired for the night, knowing that we had oodles of time to play with in the morning. The next day, we breakfasted in the hotel wholeheartedly, aware that lunch on the plane wouldn't be until mid-afternoon. Then a gentle saunter down the tunnel from the hotel to the terminal brought us, in timely fashion, to the Upper Class check-in desk.
There was only one group in front of us - albeit a large family of 7 or so - but they seemed to be taking an age to check-in. I quickly realised that all but one of them was deaf, with only the youngest member of the family able to communicate with the check-in agent (a gentleman of advancing years with thinning hair and a look of mounting panic on his face). The young girl was acting as go-between, translating what the agent told her, signing it to her family, then relaying their signed replies back to him. An admirable display of sign language in action, and kudos to the girl for handling things so well, but it wasn't exactly a speedy process. Suffice to say, I'm pretty sure I now know how to sign 'do you have any liquids in your hand luggage?' and 'did you pack your own cases?'.
Our turn to check-in came around soon enough, and the agent couldn't be more apologetic about our wait, adding, almost conspiratorially, "They were deaf, you know". Yeah, kind of got that. And really, no need to apologise. He was a nervous little chap and became even more so when he looked at our booking references.
"Ah, yes," he said uneasily, "you're in 6A aren't you...?" Oh crap - what now? "I'll just 'phone one of my colleagues and they can have a word with you." With a trembling hand he picked up the telephone and dialed a number.
He turned his back to us and spoke as quietly as he could. You'd almost think he didn't want us to overhear him... "Maureen? Yes, I have the party who have 6A here. Yes. Yes, I know... Would you like to come over and... No? Not right now? I see. Oh, right, right. Well, when you have a moment perhaps?"
He turned back to us, smiling, looking edgy and quite clammy. Just how bad was this news going to be? I started to think through worst case scenarios, and swiftly came up with:
Completely inoperative seat in 6A. On a full flight. Therefore, one of us won't be flying out until tomorrow.
As worst scenarios go, it was a pretty good one, even if I say so myself.
"Well, I'll just start to check your bags, shall I, and we'll try my colleague again in a couple of minutes." Okay, so if he was checking our cases at least that meant we were all on the same flight. But was one of us facing a - cue dramatic music: dun, dun, daaaaah - downgrade?!? I started to feel a little clammy myself...
As he checked our bags he chit-chatted to us inanely, for some reason, about the pros and cons of expensive cases versus cheaper cases (conclusion: cheaper cases are probably just as durable as expensive cases, but are less costly to replace when the baggage handlers finally get around to smashing them up) whilst all the while casting nervous glances over our heads, presumably searching out the elusive Maureen, harbinger of our fate.
With all our cases checked, he was now looking increasingly uncomfortable. His bald pate shone sweatily through the few wisps of grey hair he still retained. And now he was on his feet, straining to look out over our heads across the crowded terminal, desperately searching for someone who could deliver to us what I now had no doubt was the most terrible of news.
"Well, there's no sign of her," he laughed nervously, "let's try her on the phone again. Hello? Maureen? What? She's not there? Well where is she? Oh dear. You see I have the passenger," his hand cupped around the receiver now, a furtive glance over his shoulder, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper "I have the passenger in 6A here!" Then he went quite pale. "What?!? You want me to...? You can't...? No. No, I understand. Fine. Okay then". In all fairness, he seemed to be taking things pretty well. All he really needed now was a blindfold and a last cigarette.
Swallowing hard he told us: "It looks like my colleague isn't available, so I'll just update you on the - er - on the situation... Well, it's like this. You see, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid..." Come on man! Spit it out! "I'm afraid that the table in 6A isn't working. They've tried to fix it, really they have, but it's completely broken."
A broken table? Really? That's all this was about?!? Well, it would be a little inconvenient, sure, but compared to sitting in seat 58E for the 9 hour duration of the flight it wasn't really the worse thing that could've happened! He went on to explain that his colleague had some Retail Therapy vouchers for us to make up for the inconvenience, but that as she wasn't available we'd have to ask for them at the gate.
Okay. No real biggie, my friend. Relax. Now - for the love of god - can we please have our bleeding boarding passes and lounge invites because, quite frankly, I'm gagging, and there's a very large G&T with my name on it waiting for me upstairs?!
Heading on up to security, fast-track was cordoned off (as is so often the case at Manchester), but the standard queue was nothing to get too upset about. Once we were airside I made a dash for the windows overlooking the gates. I already knew we were due to be on a refurbished 747 from doing online check-in the previous day, but I needed to see it with my own eyes, just to be sure. And there she was! Hot Lips, all, sexy and shiny and - most importantly - free of that pathetic excuse for an in-flight entertainment system, otherwise known as Nova. I took a quick pic (as we nerds are wont to do) and we made our way up to the Escape Lounge.
Hot Lips! Missing her nose. Sorry about that...
It wasn't particularly busy in the lounge, and we were presented with the usual set up of tea, coffee, soft drinks, nibbles and booze. I made myself a cuppa, found a quiet corner and settled down with a custard cream. Just kidding! I actually made myself a 'quite-strong' G&T and collected an array of the saltiest snacks I could find. Tizer - now, believe it or not, seven years old - accepted a lemonade and some crisps, and sat down to read her book. I swear, the days of nappy bags, jars of food that look like sick, mounds of cuddly toys and - lest we forgot it - the unruly hang-glider (a.k.a. her Bugaboo pushchair) seem so very long ago. Nowadays she's no more hassle to travel with than your average piece of carry-on baggage. Obviously, much prettier and considerably better company, but you get my point.
Tizer. Easier to travel with than hand luggage
Our flight was called just about bang on time and, with mother being somewhat less than fleet of foot, we decided to head straight down there. Not only was priority boarding clearly in place, but Tizer was also offered a K-id bag (an item of such rarity that it ranks well up there with the afore mentioned Upper Class reward tickets, hen's teeth and rocking horse shit). She peered into it with little interest, checked out the contents - a cap, some crayons, a chocolate - announced: "There isn't very much in it", then reluctantly put the cap on in the spirit of someone who really rather wouldn't, but who knows they're supposed to be on holiday and feels it's best to show willing, if only for everyone else's sake.
No one at the gate knew about our Retail Therapy vouchers in lieu of the knackered table though, but they did offer to try and find something out before we took off. Or maybe Clammy Check-in Agent was having us on all along...
Tizer, in 'that hat'
Welcomed cheerily on board, we swung a tight left and found ourselves up t' front. The table at 6A had 'DON'T GO NEAR HERE!' bio-hazard style warning tape across it, just in case any one was foolish enough to actually try using it, god forbid. I mean, maybe it was connected to the wings, or something, and even the merest touch would cause them to fall off; there's one for 'Air Crash Investigators'... But other than that the 'refreshed' suites looked - well - refreshed. Still chipped here and there, but clean and bright enough. The new TV screen doesn't fit into the recess terribly well anymore, but I suppose that's a small price to pay to be rid of Nova.
Jackets were dispensed of, champagne was gratefully accepted and all - it must be said - was well in the world. Disney World may bill itself as 'The Happiest Place On Earth', but put me in the front row of a Virgin Atlantic 747 with a glass of champagne in my hand and I think you'll find one pretty happy chappy.
We were also presented with £40 of Retail Therapy vouchers from a ruddy-cheeked, breathless girl who rushed onto the plane just before take-off (Maureen, perhaps?) and apologised once again for the lack of a functioning table in 6A.
From here on, everything went just as it should. The FSM, a chirpy, bespectacled Liverpudlian girl, came round to introduce herself, the in-flight entertainment was booted up, a Bombay Sapphire and tonic (with wedge of lime) was delivered and lunch orders were taken. Tizer popped her headphones on a didn't make another muff, Dad - the very image of stoicism - studied his book intently without actually reading it, and my dear mother read the print of a copy of the Daily Mail (not just a newspaper to her, more a way of life).
My mother, trying to convince Tizer that the Daily Mail isn't full of shite
I have to say, I'm particularly impressed with the new entertainment system - JAM, or VERA Touch or whatever it is they're calling it this week. The touch control side of things works rather well and it's really very intuitive, to the extent that Tizer had hers up and running and was five minutes into a movie before I'd even had a good 'look round'. I headed for the games; one of my travelling traditions over the years has been to pitch myself against my fellow travellers in the trivia game (and to crush them mercilessly!). Well, there's still a trivia game on there, and it does offer a 'multiplayer' mode, but I think you need to pre-arrange who you want to play with and it all seems a bit complicated to be honest.
Still, I had a game or two on my own before tiring of it and scanning through the oodles of films on offer (you do this by flicking through the titles, very much like on an iPod/iPad). Lunch was on it's way, so I opted for 'Madagascar 3' - I know, I'm just a big kid.
The starter was onion and Somerset cider soup which was tangy, tasty and - yes, you've guessed it - warm and gloopy to boot. For my main I had the steak and fondant potato, which was very nice indeed. Mrs V had the chicken (dry) and gnocchi (heavy) so wasn't massively impressed. Wines throughout were pretty good - as ever I forget their names - but the French white was especially nice. I finished with the chocolate and salted caramel pudding, which was the proverbial dog's dangly bits, and covered the entire daily requirement for my favourite food group, that being 'stodge'.
Tizer ordered the mini burgers from the Graze menu, polished the lot off and all but licked the plate clean.
Throughout lunch, I'd thoroughly enjoyed 'Madagascar 3' which, unlike most other 'third' outings for animated films, was just as good as the original. This reviewer gives it... 4 stars! Oh, and word of warning: try watching it without getting 'De-de diddle-iddle afro circus, de-de diddle-iddle afro circus' stuck in your head like the ear-worm from hell...
And for the record, Dad watched the highly acclaimed 'The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel'. He declared it: "Needlessly sentimental".
Tizer and I took our traditional stroll to the back of the bus. The refurb looks mighty smart in both Premium and Economy, though it was jam-packed in the latter (if fact, the whole plane was full, but Economy did feel particularly 'tight'). I had a nosey upstairs too which, with the PE/Y split, just looks plain wrong. Still, nice for those on a Y ticket if they can get up there I suppose.
Your courageous correspondent. At the bar. Of course
I decided to devote some time to the bar - not often the centre of attention on the LGW 747, unlike on its brasher LHR cousins - but a very kindly FA came to serve my pa and me more of that nice French white, and was good enough to hang around to talk with us about planes and sunnier climes and such. Turned out that one of her favourite spots is Barbados, an island long beloved of the Family mdvipond. Depressingly though, it seems that the relentless march of condominiums and all-inclusive developments are starting to take their toll on some of the local bars and restaurants. We'd feared that this might be the case for a while, and the FA confirmed that quite a few of the bars she used to like have shut down recently and the standard of food on the island isn't what it used to be. Oh well; I suppose that's progress for you...
And then, as if by magic, it was time for tea! Tizer joined me at my suite to share scones and sarnies and some very pretty macaroons, all served on a rather spiffing cake stand. Most jolly. The scones, in particular, were very nice, but then I guess almost any sort of food tastes good with strawberry jam and clotted cream smeared thickly over it. Except, perhaps, roast beef. Or maybe soup.
Anyway, it was all very nice and once I sensed our impending decent I grabbed one last half glass of that lovely white and settled down to a bit of 'Family Guy'. Then the cabin was being made 'ready for landing' and we were on our way into Orlando International. Really, I've seldom known 9 hours pass so quickly! Bar the hiccough with the table in 6A, everything went just as it should for once (though trust me, dear reader, it wasn't to last). The suites were nice, the IFE excellent, the crew polite and proficient, the food and wine very good. A most pleasurable flight. Christ, even Dad liked it! They were foolish enough to give him an in-flight questionnaire (I mean, what on earth were they thinking?!), but I took a peek at it and I noticed that he'd rated a number of things as highly as 3 out of 5, which is praise indeed from my father.
We were off the plane at the head of the pack and, even having to travel through the airport at 'Mum's Pace' (think a very slow stroll), we had no problems or queues to wait in for the monorail or immigration. Our cases showed up more-or-less as we did and - other than briefly getting the wrong floor for our car pick-up (we did exactly the same last trip!) - all continued to go swimmingly. Those nice folk from Quicksilver finally found us and whisked us over to Wilderness Lodge, where we checked straight in and were given two very pleasant rooms, both with lovely views of the lake.
All in all, a nigh-on perfect trip. But then, of course, that's before a certain Sandy came along to piss all over our bonfire. However, dear reader, let us leave that for the return TR and - for now at least - allow ourselves to bask in the glow of a delightful flight to a wonderful hotel for a fun-filled family holiday. And relax. For now...
Last edited by mdvipond on 09 Nov 2012, 18:06, edited 4 times in total.
Epic. Truly Epic. 
. I can't believe Tizer is 7 now 
