One Hancock, One Harridan and too much Habromania

[TonyHancock]

I couldn’t quite get my head around the boarding process. Two lines had formed, one with important people like me in it, and another of the less important types. One lady was scanning the boarding passes, but instead of only looking after the important people she alternated between the lines. :?:

“Miss Pugh, I need you to register a complaint with the that Joyce chap.” I explained the problem.

“I am not sure there is much point Mr Hancock I have no sent over 100 letters about this to him and he hasn’t responded to one.” She replied.

It was as if Qantas did not care about important people like me.

Surprisingly the food, described as “brunch”, on my flight to Brisbane, was not at all bad. Chicken and bacon in some sort of roll, very tasty and quite a decent portion size. This was more like it.



I was on my way to the late 20[SUP]th[/SUP] Century for a conference, I try to avoid most Australian cities, apart from the occasionally continently sophisticated Melbourne, but Griselda had arranged this without my knowledge and then stressed how important it was.

Upon arrival I was due to meet a colleague who was scheduled to arrive on a later flight so Griselda had arranged for me to wait in the Qantas Business Lounge in the absence of their usual [-]RSL[/-] First Class Lounge.

The lounge was not actually as unpleasant as I expected it to be. I found a quiet corner and settled myself down. I called the waitress over and ordered a Gin & Tonic…. only to be told that alcoholic beverages were not served before midday. What on earth was the world coming to; I assumed this was some sort of cost saving exercise.



After an hour or so of dozing I was awoken by quite a brouhaha as a group of people carrying bags and clothes, hotly pursued by a chap with a large camera, passed me. I wondered if I was still asleep and in some sort of dreamland. I found myself in what can only be described as a wedding party, but unlike any wedding I had attended.

I had not seen so many tattoos since visiting the dockyard in Portsmouth back in the 1990’s and it made me wonder if the bride had naval connections. Back in my day this would have been a fairground attraction alongside the bearded lady and the Lilliputian Village – although Griselda informs me that this seems to have morphed into something called “Reality TV” these days.

The photographer snapped away as the bride organised herself and the groom into various spots around the lounge, presumably for the best lighting to maximise her orange colour. (It couldn’t have been natural, but I am not up to speed with tanning salons and their ilk.) It was all rather surreal and, fortunately, the whole scene was over in about 15 minutes. I’m still not sure if it wasn’t all a dream.



The Hilton in Brisbane hadn’t quite worked out how important I was and provided me with an “Executive” room on the 22[SUP]nd[/SUP] floor affording views of the concrete dystopia that is Brisbane. The chap serving in the lounge had certainly got the idea of table service.



I was soon on my way back to Melbourne, Griselda had arranged for me to fly with Virgin Australia.

“Mr Hancock, when you get to the airport look for the “Premium Entrance.” She was on the phone to me again.

I liked the sound of “Premium Entrance” it sounded the just the place for me.

“Yes Miss Pugh” I dutifully responded.

When I reached the Premium Entrance I was the only one using it. I thought this quite appropriate. I handed my telephone without wires to the nice lady behind the desk so that Griselda could sort everything out with her.

“Mr Hancock, I have managed to get you on an earlier flight but you will need to go to the service desk in the lounge to organise your upgrade to Business Class.” Griselda continued.

I honestly wondered what was the point of Griselda if I had to do all of the work myself.

The nice people at Virgin Australia moved me to an earlier flight but could not assure catering, so I dashed into the lounge for a spot of dinner.

“Oh” I said to the lady in the Virgin Australia uniform, “I thought it was table service.”


I wondered why someone had built their rather modern home so close to the airport?

How was I to know that I had to make my own sandwich and fetch my own drinks? Griselda would be writing to Sir Beardy Bloke again, copying Mr Bugatti too.

I arrived back in Melbourne and began the arduous task of navigating the road system designed by consultants from Sydney.

“Mr Hancock, you are back?” Griselda sounded like she had something on her mind.

“Yes Miss Pugh?” Well how else could I have responded?

“You need to be in the United Kingdom for a meeting at the end of August. I have organised your flight with British Airways utilising one of your Gold Upgrade Vouchers so that you will be flying Business Class…..but……I can’t get your preferred seats.”

“……but I always sit in the same seats…well obviously apart from the times I am, quite rightly, upgraded to First Class” I said …firmly

“I’ll keep working on it Mr Hancock.” Griselda said.

So the UK again? Would this incessant travel ever end?

These questions and more will probably not be answered in the next meaningless and dire episode of “One Hancock, One Harridan and too much Habromania.”

 

[TonyHancock]

“Surely the Ombudsman, or trading standards can do something about this?” I was both angry and confused.

“I am afraid there isn’t an ombudsman responsible for celebrity chef’s breakfast recipes Mr Hancock.” Griselda replied coldly.

This was a right mess in my opinion. Spinach is absolutely not a part of any sort of hot breakfast, particularly a mushroom and cheese omelette. It had left me opting for the muesli on my early flight to Sydney. Mrs Mangle one side and Fred Perry the other, at least with BA you get slop served without a celebrity’s name in sight.


The Virgin Lounge at Melbourne Airport - a bit on the bright side even at 6:00 AM

Griselda had supplied with me with something called a Kinder or was it Kindle? It contained lots of books without actually having any paper in it at all. Quite remarkable, one wonders what they will think of next. At least they will never replace my abacus. I settled into my seat and continued reading “The Moon is a Balloon” allegedly a rip-roaring rollercoaster of a biography. (If Niven could make money out of this biography malarkey I was damned sure I could too. )

These short domestic trips were a pain, one is barely in one’s business class seat before one has to disembark. At least the Virgin Stewardess was able to hold back the economy hordes long enough for me to avoid being trampled to death.

“Europcar?” The other potential victims looked at me as I questioned Griselda.

“I’m so sorry Mr Hancock, Avis was sold out?” Griselda was quite clinical in her response.

I remember the days when I was able to complain about the type of car the chauffeur collected me in, now I had to drive myself. It was so much simpler, and fairer, of course, in those halcyon days.

Sydney traffic was exactly as expected and something I was getting used to now that Melbourne was being taken down a similar path or road if you would prefer. Oh the joys of tootling along at 5 miles an hour…if I was lucky.

After a joyless day I returned the automobile to Europcar following Griselda’s specific instructions to photograph every inch of it. The chap at Europcar was rather helpful keeping the tripod steady as I used all of the film up in my Box Brownie.

What can I say about the Holiday Inn at Sydney Airport? Well it is marginally better than the Holiday Inn at Melbourne Airport apart from being too far away from the terminals. Having experienced traffic in Sydney I opted to walk there, much quicker.

I didn’t have the heart to argue with the chap behind the front desk who insisted that I had been upgraded.


Nothing "superior" about this room in my opinion....


...apart from this which proved handy with my electrical stuff.

The Qantas Business Class Lounge at Sydney Airport was full of men in ties believe that shouting loudly into a telephone without wires was acceptable behaviour. It almost made me miss my fellow Platinum types in their flip flops and vests from the international first class lounge. It seemed odd that Qantas would not let us wear our hard earned uniforms in the domestic lounges.


The Qantas Business Lounge at Sydney Domestic Airport - full of "business types".

The meal on the flight back to Melbourne was a mushroom. Spinach and cheese toasted sandwich. I asked the steward if I looked like Popeye but it went over is head. Clearly Fred Perry was not going to be outdone by Mrs Mangle in the spinach stakes.

Arrival into Melbourne was painless and I was soon crawling to the Hilton at South Wharf. I thought I had paid my final respects to this old friend but Griselda had organised another emotional farewell on its final night.

“Miss Pugh, there are other people staying on my floor!” I was quite upset.

“I’m very sorry Mr Hancock but the hotel management would not give you the whole floor, they have given you a suite though.” She said.


I will miss the dreadful furniture.

Not only did I not get a floor to myself they also allowed other guests into the Executive Lounge, which now went under the name of The Pacific Lounge. It was as if there was a celebration of kind occurring with several staff members floating around extolling the virtues of something called GHA.

For the second time in the month I left the hotel with a saddened heart, although after a couple of dry martinis at home I had forgotten all about it.

 

[Matt_01]

they also allowed other guests into the Executive Lounge, which now went under the name of The Pacific Lounge. It was as if there was a celebration of kind occurring with several staff members floating around extolling the virtues of something called GHA.

Mr Hancock,

I am in awe of your travel status and importance.

I think I may have been at said HSW lounge/club on the same evening you write about. After a quick visit to different QP and flying domestic premium economy (R4), on arrival at said lounge/club I noticed extra security had been put in place and riff-raff screening was underway.

At the screening point I was politely informed that there were some very important guests and to gain entry I had to remove my flip-flops and singlet. I must of misunderstood the ask, after removing offending items I was promptly escorted to the lifts and was told not to return. I assume I passed as riff-raff.

Attempt 2 proved more successful, now in shirt and shoes, I passed the riff-raff screening and was allowed to enter.

I must have looked important, I was escorted by a European sounding chap (German??) claiming to the new manager of the Asia/Oceanic region for a hotel chain (I am not familiar with) to meet with other important people being served food and champagne not available to others visiting said lounge/club. It was a bit overwhelming for a traveller like myself, a German chap, handing out Moet (whatever that is), to Australians, go figure.

Your influence must be far reaching, the following morning some Qantas group called SST had magically changed my premium economy seat (R4) to R1.

I look forward to reading about your future travel adventures.

Regards,

M

 

[TonyHancock]

“Newcastle?” Surely not I queried.

“Yes Mr Hancock, Newcastle.” Griselda sounded impatient.

“Newcastle?” I queried again wondering if Griselda had heard me correctly.

“Yes, Newcastle.” She replied tersely.

I decided not to opt for a third attempt and just looked broodingly quizzical.

“but…but…but….” I was, unusually, lost for words.

“Don’t forget you also have to be in Cardiff for a meeting the day before too.” Griselda added with a certain air of nonchalance.

“but……..but……..but……” I continued my loss for words, well words of any significance.

“…and you need to be back in Melbourne for a meeting the day after.” Griselda added as if not understanding the situation.

How on earth was this going to work, it was over 300 miles from Cardiff to Newcastle, and almost six hours by car. That was just about manageable but how on earth would I get from Newcastle to Melbourne in 12 hours?

“Miss Pugh that is just not possible.” I ventured gamely.

“Of course it is Mr Hancock, you’ll fly to Newcastle on Monday, drive up to Cardiff then back to Newcastle for dinner. You can attend the meeting in Newcastle on Tuesday and fly back to Melbourne on Wednesday for your evening meeting.” Griselda sounded convincing.

“but…….but…..but…” I was lost for words again.

“Oh Mr Hancock” She grinned. “You didn’t think I meant Newcastle and Cardiff in the United Kingdom did you?”

“Of course not Miss Pugh.” I lied.

Well that was just fabulous. I had to fly to Newcastle in New South Wales. The airport did not even have a lounge. Griselda informed me that I was to fly Virgin Australia and made a point of stating that she had managed to avoid something called “Jetstar” whatever that was.

Griselda had organised a car, but not anyone to drive it so I found myself in the driver seat of a rather unpleasant smallish Japanese vehicle. She had warned me in advance to take photographs before and after because some care rental companies could be a touch unscrupulous. This was very annoying because it meant I needed the tripod for my box brownie to get the best results.

School holidays were obviously at an end and I wondered how the giant amusement park on the river made money in the off peak season. It was deserted as I drove past it on my way to the Crowne Plaza hotel in the centre of Newcastle. That said there were a lot of cruise ships entering and departing the harbour so one would think there would be plenty of customers for the amusement park.


The amusement park at Newcastle was deserted.

Griselda has passed on a lot of information about cruises of late, I fear it is more to do with her trying to scam a vacation by insisting her secretarial skills are essential than my own travel needs. I have never really understood the attraction of cruises and certainly some of the cruise liners at Newcastle looked particularly unattractive for a man of my status.


A cruise liner departs Newcastle Harbour.

The staff at the Crowne Plaza new exactly who I was and the rather efficient lady at the check in desk upgraded me to ta suite with a spa overlooking the harbour. It was all rather lovely.

I marvelled at the imagination of those early settlers who named towns and districts with such originality. - Newcastle, Wallsend, Hexham, Cardiff…..at one stage I passed by Toronto!

It was not long before I found myself sitting at the departure gate, at Newcastle Airport, for flight VA1594. Griselda had advised me in advance that there was still no airline lounge at Newcastle, but I honestly thought the airline staff would be more accommodating when it came to erecting a small fence around the area I was seated in and organising food and drink for me. Apparently this is not possible. Griselda will be writing a very stern letter to Sir Beardy Bloke.

Virgin at least made up for the lounge disaster by ensuring that, quite rightly, I was on my own in Business Class.


This was more like it!!

As we departed Newcastle our route took us over the city and the various amusement parks, which looked awfully black even in the bright sunshine, and over the ocean littered with cruise liners. I sat back and tucked into the chicken sandwich that had been provided following the sight of something that looked like rabbit food and the suggestion that the second business class option was a samosa…whatever that was.


Goodbye Newcastle!

Arrival into Melbourne at 4:00 PM presented the usual problems and reminded me that politicians and city planners are the most inept bunch of half wits on the planet. It took a good four dry martinis to settle me down after the excruciating two-hour journey home.


Not Sydney.


TTFN

 

[Melburnian1]

Prof, given that many of us in Oz are mere colonials, why do you deign to grace us with your presence on the rare occasions you are not in the air?

 

[TonyHancock]

Prof, given that many of us in Oz are mere colonials, why do you deign to grace us with your presence on the rare occasions you are not in the air?

To be fair it s just a sense of superiority

 

[andye]

I'm delighted to report that Plymouth Gin is back at Mr Murphy's Off-license

 

[Melburnian1]

I'm delighted to report that Plymouth Gin is back at Mr Murphy's Off-license

Do you mean 'Off-licence?'

I thought the Prof. was a stickler for using correct English - 'UK' not the horrid, lazy 'USA' inferior version.

Next thing you'll be spelling 'defence' as 'defense.'

 

[mrs.dr.ron]

Do you mean 'Off-licence?'......................

We will put that down to the poor professor having the dreaded jet-lag.

 

[andye]

I will turn in my membership card for the Grammar Thread (hangs head in shame)

 

[JessicaTam]

I will turn in my membership card for the Grammar Thread (hangs head in shame)

Nah, your write.