2016 The Hancock Year of Hell

[TonyHancock]

I was rather looking forward to my return to Australia, a week is plenty long enough in Blighty for me these days, and with the constant coverage of the referendum to stay or leave the EU it was all a bit tiresome.

Despite my dislike of Johnny Foreigner I’m a big supporter of the remain campaign. I fancy one of those unelected commissioner positions in Brussels for a couple of years. I think something in the alcoholic beverage sector, with a six-figure salary, lots of backhanders from industry and a big fat pension. I’d be good at that, and there would certainly be no wine lakes to worry about, I’d see to that. That is what the EU was all about as far as I could see and I definitely want in on it.

Right, now where was I? Oh yes, at The Sofitel at Heathrow Airport Terminal 5. I’m actually getting quite fond of this hotel. I’m not telling Grisleda though. I love being able to drop the rental car off, walk to the front desk and then, in the morning, hike over to the First Class check in. Sadly this will all be over soon according to Griselda when some sort of Express American removes my Platinum Status, whatever that all means.


Sofitel Executive Lounge.

I feasted on cheese and biscuits whilst polishing off a bottle of claret and half a bottle of unpleasant whisky as I whiled away my time watching some sort of European Football in the executive lounge.

“The flight has two First Class seats available and there is hardly anybody in business class” Griselda had been tracking the flight status so she could ensure I had the necessary beep at the gate on my flight back to Australia.

“……and you have made sure that I have one of those nice aeroplanes with big seats for my trip to Bergan and back?” I enquired

“Well…err…no” Griselda replied sounding a little unsure of herself.

I suggested that she better get on to that but let it go because the news that there were two seats unsold in First meant only one thing in my mind. How could British airways not upgrade someone as important as me?

The flights up and back to Bergen were uneventful, although the concept of me returning with the crew did seem to be quite difficult to grasp for the stewardess looking after me. It was the first time I had landed at Bergen when it was not covered in snow and I couldn’t help noticing how badly the coastline had been designed – lots of ins and outs and fiddly bits. (I await the references to Slartibartfast. One for the teenagers there.)



As I arrived at the Concorde Room for my seven-hour visit a gentleman was blocking my way to the reception desk. The nice lady was chatting away to him about some sort of TV comedy show he was making. She called him Mr Gervais, so I assumed he was French. It turned out to be his lucky day as I gave him a few tips and pointers to help him on his way. Strange sort of fellow and not overly funny, not sure he’ll make it in the world of entertainment.

A light lunch of BA Burger with chips, all five of them, was followed by chicken with vegetables for dinner, both washed down with a not unpleasant claret.



I work to a strict regime in the Concorde Room so an hour before I needed to head to the gate I took my traditional seat at the bar and ordered a dry martini.

The poor young fellow behind the bar was new and had yet to be trained in the art of martini making so the supervisor and I took him under our collective wings and guided him accordingly. I allowed him to practice his skills to the extent of half a bottle of gin, which I thought was rather generous on my part.



“Cabin crew prepare the cabin for landing” was the next thing I remember hearing as I woke up in the business class cabin. I wasn’t sure if I had been upgraded or not. Obviously I was not in First Class, but this could be down to the steward directing me to the wrong seat yet again. The fuzzy feeling in my head soon went away after a couple of gin and tonics in the Singapore Concorde Bar.

I was quite hungry now and the food offerings in the dimly lit, tiny, exclusive, windowless, dingy Concorde Bar were sparse. I thought about heading to the main lounge, or even the Qantas Lounge, full of Platinum and Gold frequent flyers in singlets and thongs, but then decided against it. I wasn’t flying Qantas back to Australia so I would not have to face the dreaded Fred Perry supper menu.

Whilst BA never gets the fillet steak cooked as it should be, blue, it is nevertheless tasty and substantial and the Eden Valley Cabernet Sauvignon was a fine match….I think. I settled in to the BBC’s rather splendid attempt at Richard III, part of The Hollow Crown series – a sort of Game of Thrones for those able to read and write.



Of course the trade off for avoiding the Fred Perry supper menu was flying into that most foul of airports – Sydney, but you knew that - and the dreaded livestock truck. At least on this trip the truck left early and was not filled to capacity with the thongs and singlet brigade.

Griselda had at least arranged for a refurbished Airbus with posh new suites for the final leg to Melbourne to provide a little dignity.
Brisbane this week, so time to dig out the RM Williams gear so I can blend in.

TTFN

 

[Geegeela]

I understand the convenience of the Sofitel at Heathrow but I have never understood why Grisleda never books you into The Hand and Racquet in East Cheam.

If for nothing more than old-time-sake.

It is only 32minutes (without traffic!) via the A3 and M25 to Heathrow (LHR).

Perhaps she will consider this when that Express American strikes.

 

[drron]

I once watched that Mr.Gervais fellow on QFF when they refused me a second dish from the supper menu.I agree with your opininion.Quite frankly I thought an idiot and a dwarf on holiday could do better.

 

[TomVexille]

We must have only missed you by a day :shock:

 

[Pushka]

We must have only missed you by a day :shock:

Now that meeting report would have been gold.

 

[TonyHancock]

We must have only missed you by a day :shock:

I fear it was a little more. I arrived in SIN on the 14th.

 

[JessicaTam]

We must have only missed you by a day :shock:

I fear it was a little more. I arrived in SIN on the 14th.

Whilst Griselda does have her numerous faults, she does at least seek to keep Mr Hancock away from the riff-raff.

 

[alieninperth]

It was the first time I had landed at Bergen when it was not covered in snow and I couldn’t help noticing how badly the coastline had been designed – lots of ins and outs and fiddly bits. (I await the references to Slartibartfast. One for the teenagers there.)

A brilliantly designed coastline, he has awards to prove it.

 

[andye]

I pine for those fjords

 

[TonyHancock]

The concept of clearing security after my lounge visit has never been one I am fond of. It is bad enough trying to board an aeroplane after four Dry Martinis but having to get myself through a security scan as well is fraught with danger. There is a “but” though! The Virgin lounge at Melbourne really works for me. Apart from the obvious failing, they don’t serve a dry martini; the concept of security as one leaves the lounge is not a bad one. My points of comparison have been Singapore and Colombo where clearing security at the gate is never less than painful.

Melbourne is always a starting point for me so the ability to enter the lounge, check in, and then ready myself for the security process is quite appealing. With two lanes for peak periods I have never had to queue and I find the staff significantly more pleasant than at the main check point. Griselda would be sending a rare “well-done” note to Sir Beardy Bloke in Blighty.

There was a time when the novelty of the Virgin Lounges was something to behold but these days I seem them as brightly lit barns. As opposed to the less brightly lit barns that Qantas offers. The experience serves as a reminder that the Qantas Business class lounges are a lot better than the Virgin Lounges.


A Virgin Planey type thing.

Griselda had organised an aisle seat in business class for my jaunt north to Brisbane. With only one other passenger in the cabin it made for a pleasant flight. Virgin also provided entertainment in the form of an aged limbo dancer who easily managed to get under the rope barrier separating the economy cabin from civilisation. Her act also involved wandering up and down the business class cabin in search of the toilet. (Which, even to the absolute novice, was hardly likely to be next to me in row 2.)


An area in need of concreting over.

The Mrs Mangel meal was a hot chicken dish with vegetables and was a cut above the Qantas Fred Perry efforts, sadly I needed to be slightly more compos mentis than I am normally required to be so forgo polishing off the on board wine reserves for once.


Mrs Mangel's Finest

Griselda’s recent obsession with public transport had continued, she provided a printout for me to take to the ticket office at the airport railway station where I was furnished with a return ticket to somewhere called “Roma Street”. Sounded very dodgy to me.

As expected the train journey was awful, there was no first class cabin for a start, and no restaurant car either. I sat quietly as hordes of young people boarded and disembarked at various stations along the way. The journey did give me the idea to invest in manufacturers of sewing needles and cotton though. I had not realised how tough times must be and have never seen so many torn jeans and trousers.


My travels has come to this

Griselda had little say in my accommodation; if she had I would not have found myself at the Mercure Hotel in King George Square. Fortunately the staff at check in recognised my importance and moved me to a room on the top floor of the Pullman – the adjacent tower. Executive lounge access was a given and I also received something called “Free Wireless” but I didn’t really know what that was.


Pullman Executive Lounge, with its oversized seats and tables looks like a set from The Prisoner........no not that one, the one from the 1960's with Patrick McGoohan

With my business duties completed I headed back to Brisbane Airport on the train with strict instructions from Griselda to go straight to the lounge service desk and ask to “fly ahead”. She had already changed my flight to an earlier time but had been unable to get me on to my preferred flight. (This failure would be taken into consideration when it came to her pay review)

“We have a seat free Mr Hancock, let me just process that.” The rather lovely lady at the service desk advised me.

“Excellent” I replied with a sort of James Bond suaveness.

“All done” she said “but full catering is not assured because it is within the two hours time window”

“Pfft” I thought.

The ease of switching to earlier flight is one of the reasons Griselda keeps my domestic travel with Virgin. I know my own natural charm is a big factor ( ) but I am always impressed by the pleasantness and helpfulness of the virgin staff.

The journey back was uneventful, apart from some genuinely excellent DYKWIA work by two fellows in the first row of economy. Both leaned around the divider during boarding and helped themselves to a coat hanger, duly hanging their jackets before anyone in business class could get a look in. The chap in 3D was also quite quick to get his carry on bags up into the business class overhead lockers too. :shock:

Whilst I remember the Full Catering Not Assured meal turned out to be a very pleasing Peri Peri Chicken sandwich. I wondered if the chap in 3D might like it since he had already had “my” overhead locker space and "my" coat hanger.

As I sat in my car on the journey home, a journey that should take 50 minutes, I had a full 95 minutes to contemplate more enlightened times when, I am certain, the halfwits responsible for the total mess Melbourne’s traffic system is would have been publicly hanged drawn and quartered. It warmed my heart to think of such happy times.

Next week it is back to Blighty, an excursion to Copenhagen and a quick visit to New York where I set out to find at least one decent pub within walking distance of the centre.

TTFN

 

[love_the_life]

Lucky you weren't at the Mercure King George Square TH​. You would have found it a tad beneath your lofty expectations. When I asked to see a coughtail menu the bartender pointed to a laminated sheet with beer and wine listed only :shock:. No happy perusing of the menu before choosing something delightful.
Not only that the chairs in the bar wobbled terribly - thought I would end up on the floor (and not from the drink!).

 

[Pushka]

Not only that the chairs in the bar wobbled terribly - thought I would end up on the floor (and not from the drink!).

You mean like those wobbly chairs in the Chart room on QM2? They got me every night

 

[love_the_life]

You mean like those wobbly chairs in the Chart room on QM2? They got me every night

That was the swivelling bar stools woman

 

[TonyHancock]

You find me in a state of disillusionment created by a democratic system that conspires to let the general public decide its future. The vote, in the UK, to leave the European Union has shattered my dreams of an unelected position as some sort of EU commissioner, preferably in the food and alcoholic beverage area.

It is getting harder and harder to find decent positions these days. FIFA has been ruined by all of those nasty police investigations and I fear UEFA will be next. The EU was the last bastion of oversized, corrupt, well-paying organisations and I have been thwarted by the voting public who seems to think they know what is best for them. My mood is dark.

“Look on the bright side” Griselda was trying to cheer me up, “you don’t have to travel via Norway on this trip to England.”

“mmmmm” I responded.

“I managed to book premium economy and use a GUF and a joker to secure a business seat” Griselda was just way to cheery for me.

“Will I get upgraded to First?” I asked, having no idea what she was talking about.

“It is probably unlikely but I have got you your favourite business class seats – 16A to Singapore and 53A on the Airbus A380 from Singapore to London” she beamed.

“Pffffft” I shrugged my shoulders as my mood worsened.

Griselda could see I was in need of a pick me up, but for some bizarre reason decided to go into the logistical details of my side trip to New York rather than make me a dry martini.

I tried to cheer myself up with the thought of landing at Heathrow and tucking into a traditional English in the Concorde Breakfast room but that thought was tempered by the nightmare that is the Sydney livestock truck.

Melbourne was windy, really windy, and the nice lady in the Qantas business lounge popped me on to an earlier flight because cancellations and delays were expected. This proved rather fortuitous because my original flight was delayed and I would have had less than one hour to catch the livestock truck, check in, and clear immigration and security. Whilst it would have been an opportunity to demonstrate my importance at the various queues I do find rushing about to be terribly undignified.


Where are the platinum hordes at Melbourne?


More live exports to the International terminal.


People doing "stuff" to planey things.

I exchanged pleasantries with Nestor at the Qantas First Class Lounge and he assured me that it had not been overrun by dreadful “platinum” types, and surprisingly it was rather calm. I was even able to secure a table in one of the restaurant sections where I found myself sat between a rather attractive middle aged lady, who was successfully challenging the encroachment of middle aged through plastic surgery, and an Orthodox Priest. I did wonder if I had found myself in a Brian Rix farce. (Another one for the teenagers. )

One club sandwich, side of chips, fruit platter, and a carafe of Claret later I watched, in despair, the light flash green and stony silence as my boarding pass was scanned at the gate. Once again it appeared that the computer had made a mistake.

I soldiered on manfully through the fillet steak, not as bad as usual, the cheese plate, a delight, a bottle of an Eden Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, which was, for BA, jolly decent indeed and the odd whisky or two. I was getting used to toughing it out in “Club World” these days, and have become accustomed to loitering near the WC’s so that I can dispatch any interlopers from Premium Economy back to their hovel.



For the twelfth time this year I found myself stood at the entrance of the Concorde Room Bar at Singapore Airport, slowly entering the code to this inner sanctum. How envious the crowds of fellow passengers must feel seeing the door closing slowly behind me. The Johnnie Walker Blue Label and my own private booth were a welcome relief from the crowds in the terminal.

As I tucked into my third mini chicken pie my glorious solitude was assaulted by a young fellow, with two glasses of wine, who decided he would join me. This was bad enough as I fought to extend a barrier around my personal space, but he then decided to talk loudly on his mobile phone. If this was not bad enough he was French. I popped my dear old friend Kenneth Branagh’s Henry V on to the small television Griselda had provided for me and cheered loudly as the first wave of arrows rained down on the treacherous French nobility. If only we had King Hal, Bedford and Exetor, Warwick and Talbot, and Salisbury and Gloucester to negotiate with the EU.

The chicken dish was really rather good on British Airways Flight 12 to London, and another bottle of the Eden Valley Cabernet Sauvignon helped me reach a deep state of slumber. I was so tired I did not even wake for breakfast and found myself rushing, unceremoniously, to the BA arrivals lounge while my brain forced my mouth to salivate at the prospect of Concorde Breakfast Room black pudding.



Another journey to Blighty had been completed, my seventh in 2016, and now Griselda had arranged a side trip to New York for me. I have never been the greatest fan, not least because there are no pubs in the centre, but I suppose I will tolerate it.

TTFN

 

[TonyHancock]

It has been several years since I have been to New York and I wondered if much had changed since my last visit. I remember being frustrated by the lack of pubs and poor public transport and of course the complete lack of anything to do during the day or evening.

As I headed north from [-]Vilnius[/-] Boston it appeared that nothing had changed.


New York

More worryingly things seemed to be getting worse, the Methodist Church was no longer a church and was up for sale as a private residence and there was still no sign of any sort of drinking establishment.



I spent a minute or two, well perhaps 30 seconds, in downhamlet New York before heading towards civilisation again.

The nearest decent pub remained The Leagate Inn about three miles north of New York. It was a decent sort of place and had been on the go for over 470 years, reaching its peak in the 1790’s when great, great, great grandfather Hancock served what I can only assume would have been a mighty fine pint of martini, albeit known by a different name in those days, i.e gin. Times were much simpler then and there would certainly not been any vermouth involved.



The Metropolis of Coningsby provided a welcome return to civilisation, not least at The White Bull, Castle Inn, and Black Horse. What I couldn’t understand is why Griselda continued to arrange flights into London Heathrow when Coningsby has a perfectly serviceable, and decent sized airport. Apparently it was used during the Second World War as a station for Bombers, presumably heading over to France to drop their payloads.



It is now the home of The Battle of Britain Memorial Flight and I still think back to my younger days when I was lucky to have been able to crawl all through what was then the only flying Lancaster bomber left. I presume, these days, one doesn’t get the opportunity to clamber aboard.


Griselda will be getting me one of these for Christmas.......I hope.

Coming up next it is “Wonderful. Wonderful Copenhagen!”

TTFN

 

[TonyHancock]

Copenhagen was not a city I had been to before; in fact I had never been to Denmark. To be honest I had never really seen the point, other than a statue of mermaid it all seemed rather bland, about as exciting as Griselda’s Sunday Lunch. So I was a little surprised when Griselda informed me I would have to attend a meeting in Copenhagen.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked Griselda

“Yes Mr Hancock it is definitely Copenhagen” was her curt response.

“You aren’t misreading the Telegram?” I sought further clarification.

“ errr….errrr…..it is not actually a telegram, but it is definitely Copenhagen”

“Not Berlin, or Dusseldorf, or Cologne, or Bonn, or Frankfurt?” I asked hopefully.

“No, it is without a doubt Copenhagen?” Griselda responded with a hint of menace.

So British Airways Club Europe it was to be, although there was at least an opportunity for a pre flight snifter in the Concorde Room. Lucilla, the lovely and tolerant bar supervisor, is becoming a dab hand at the martini and clearly, well perhaps, looks forward to my visits; this would be the 18[SUP]th[/SUP] this year.

British Airways Club Europe was, as ever, fractionally better than economy, but afternoons is never the best time to fly because afternoon tea is inflicted upon one. It is one of those cost cutting exercises, not dissimilar to a Fred Perry supper with Qantas.



When we arrived my colleague pulled out a mini television and used something that I believe may be known as Tinder, or was it Wuber?, and some random stranger in a tiny European Car picked us up and took us to the Crowne Plaza hotel. It was all rather odd.

“Mr Hancock, as a Spire Elite member we have upgraded you to a high floor club room” I was advised by the lady at the check in desk
“OK” I responded nonchalantly…………....after all this was to be expected. Although I had no idea what a Spire Elite member was.



Copenhagen will be a moderately pleasing city when it is finished. It does rather appear to be in the early stages of construction, which is surprising given that it is supposed to be an old European City.



The chap hosting the meeting offered to take us out to dinner in what used to be both the slaughterhouse and red light district. An interesting proposition that we accepted on the basis it would be free. We were taken to a place called Brewpigs, which was a cross between McDonalds and a modern newfangled microbrewery but proved to be utterly awful at both. Queuing to order one’s food has never been my idea of a dining out and was made worse by more than half the items on the menu running out whilst we queued. The beer was cloudy, modern, and dreadful. When the chap made recommendations for our second night I filed them carefully in my manila folder marked “When hell freezes over.”

On the second night I used my renowned alcohol finding intuition to find a public house know as “Chevy’s”. On face value this appeared less than OK, it was a US Road themed establishment, but it was actually a somewhat surreal and rather pleasing. For a start the beer was very, very good, but where else do you get to spend a couple of hours with a septuagenarian former carpenter and taxi driver, on his third wife, who turns out to be a 30 something Thai lady? We took his recommendation for dining over that of our colleague. (The one who had taken us to dinner at “Brew Pigs” the previous evening.)



I have long held the view that The Germans are the masters of pork products, after all who can forget the pork knuckle and “sausage surprise” (No seriously, and to be honest it wasn’t that much of a surprise, it was just three sausages, albeit rather tasty ones, with mash and sauerkraut.) earlier this year? The Danes might have the edge though and we consumed what seemed like an entire pig for dinner.


mmmmm pork and potatoes.

Copenhagen Airport has made significant attempts to rival Sydney in the appalling stakes but Sydney still wins out thanks to the livestock truck. Copenhagen gets a special mention for poor signage, long walks, dreadful lounges, and remarkable inefficiency at security and immigration though. I have never seen so much effort put in to explaining that liquids and gels must be in containers not exceeding 100ml and must be in a clear plastic bag. It was only upon reaching security that I realised why so much effort was needed. At least two in three people could not get to grips with this relatively simple concept. It just defies belief.

Sadly the Airbus A321 I would be returning to Blighty on was not one of the aeroplanes Griselda usually arranges for me and I found myself in something resembling economy. (It did make me wonder if the Qantas Platinum One Special Services Team would have still managed to squeeze another passenger into the middle seat to keep me company though.)

Arrival at London Heathrow was awful; the queues at immigration were reminiscent of those when Jones the Butcher finally got his hands of some decent Foie Gras after rationing ended in the 1950’s. The announcement that the airport was experiencing an increase in flights and consequently increased delays got me thinking. If only the airport and airlines could talk to each other there might be an opportunity to understand the flow of passengers and perhaps organise resources accordingly. I wondered if I could patent this idea and make some extra much needed cash.

My day had not been great and was not improved by Griselda’s hotel choice – The Hilton Garden Inn. It was one of those modern affairs that has more in common with a battery hen shed than a 5 star hotel. Unsurprisingly there was little chance of a decent dry martini here.

Back to Australia next and some disturbing news about yet more travel this year…….
TTFN

 

[mrs.dr.ron]

Excuse me Mr Hancock, please explain !!

 

[TonyHancock]

Excuse me Mr Hancock, please explain !!

I don't even know where to begin!!! This was the room that awaited me at the Copenhagen Towers Crowne Plaza. :shock: It was, allegedly an upgrade but quite why there was a rollaway bed is beyond me. I took it upon myself to fold it up and wheel it agains the wall. The other thing I detest about these European Hotels is the need to push two single beds together to make a Queen but still use two single Duvets. It's no wonder that The United Kingdom voted to leave the EU. Oh the the air conditioning was about as effective as a chocolate teapot. I would get Griselda to fire off a letter of complaint but it is IHG so it is not worth the effort. She is already in fierce debate with IHG over missing points from this stay and apparently 100,000 points that were transferred to British Airways that have yet to appear. It's all beyond me.

 

[andye]

I'd never heard of NY, Lincs. Presumably a few satnav, accommodation or postal anecdotes in the Lincolnshire Echo?

 

[TonyHancock]

I'd never heard of NY, Lincs. Presumably a few satnav, accommodation or postal anecdotes in the Lincolnshire Echo?

Many years ago we were treated to a couple that won a shopping weekend in New York in some sort of competition. They were left a little disappointed with the outcome!!