A time to fly

Landed at Heathrow after nine hours of flying. It’s difficult to get your head around the trip – less than 75 years ago it would have taken weeks of perilous rail and sea travel to make the same trip. And now the person sitting next to me is bitching because she’s ten minutes late on the landing…

Anyway, that said, the flight was well worth bitching about. I don’t know what’s gone wrong with Virgin Atlantic, but this’ll be the last ticket I book with them. This has to be the worst crossing I’ve had in the last decade, at least from a European airline – you expect lousy service and poor food from an American airline after all.

The staff themselves used to be the best in the industry, when it comes to engaging with customers and getting life’s little niggles sorted out. BA crew may be more professional, and I’d definitely prefer them in the event of an in-flight emergency, but Virgin crew manage to keep smiles on their faces and make the whole experience a little less wearing. Not so any more, and I can sort of understand why.

Virgin used to be known for their excellent aircraft and in-flight entertainment system, as well as a fun attitude. This time around the aircraft was, for the want of a better word, shabby. The seat cushions were worn and slightly dirty, the cabin walls chipped and stained and the handset controller was reaching the end of its lifespan – all cracked plastic and a headphone socket that provided stereo only if jiggled and held at an angle.

The company is clearly trying to skimp and save where possible. The meal was undoubtedly the worst I’ve had on a cross-Atlantic flight, worse even than Continental and that’s saying something. A small, limp salad with no dressing, a stale bread roll with no butter and the ‘beef, veg and mashed potato’ that tasted predigested and had been microwaved to death, with a thick, crusty scab of skin on top that was appealing as it sounds.

There was one drinks service, the only one during the entire flight, with staff administering homeopathic amounts of booze from larger bottles rather than the little ones you used to get. After a few hours I wandered down to the galley to see if I could get a scotch and was told they had run out, and the only dark spirits left for the economy section was a pint of brandy – a taste of which I declined. The staff did what they could, but were clearly turned off by the whole experience and having to apologise for their employer.

Got off the plane thankfully, got a SIM card and topped up my Oyster before heading into town. I’m staying with an old friend in South London, but stopped off for my first pint of Winter Warmer in two years. It was very good indeed, but went straight to my head and so I decamped to the house while I still could. Stayed up catching up until about 9pm when 30+ hours of sleep got the better of me and I passed out.