My heart sank as Griselda pushed the plate of freshly buttered toast towards me. Another culinary disaster. Whilst she had adequately applied the butter, the toast needed another 15 seconds in the toaster and she had clearly misunderstood the warning on the
Gentleman’s Relish label. My definition of sparingly and Griselda’s differed markedly.
The breakfast crisis was further exacerbated by her failure to provide a decent cup of tea. I have suspected for a while that she has been procuring inferior tea and trying to pass it off as Ridgways English Breakfast, which itself is a poor replacement for Ridgways Imperial. (Another fatality in modern society’s attack on all things traditional.)
This was a disastrous start to what was already destined to be a stressful day. The day before a trip is always stressful. It is the day Griselda packs my suitcase so I have to suffer question after question about what I will be doing and what I need to wear. It is also the day Griselda feels the need to go through the trip in detail. I never listen there is no need I can just pick the phone up and call Griselda when I need to. I am sure this is exactly what Alexander Graham Bell had in mind as he raced to the patent office all those years ago.
As a result part of me was actually looking forward to negotiating, what The State of Victoria laughingly calls, a road system and arriving at The Holiday Inn at Melbourne Airport.
Surprisingly check in at the Holiday Inn passed without incident. Indeed it was actually quite satisfying. Some sort of junior manager type was called over to explain that I was to experience one of the newly refurbished rooms and that my valuable opinion was sought. It was a rather lovely little moment when my importance was recognised.
A welcome refurbishment at the Melbourne airport holiday Inn
The lady that checked me out of the hotel made copious notes as I explained how the newly refurbished rooms could be better and I was impressed with her diligence in the matter. Upon being quizzed at her surprise when she saw my name she told me that she thought I had cancelled the contract with the Holiday Inn at Melbourne airport. I didn’t even try to bother and explain that I did not have a contract and just assumed that the “other” Tony Hancock would not be staying there again.
The doors to the Qantas First Class Lounge swished open and one could cut through the Platinum Sense of Entitlement with a butter knife. The Lounge was full to the brim of it. I had forgotten, or more to the point my brain had tried to mask the existence of the Qantas flight to LA. At least the school holidays were over so
Platinumus Familius would not dominate the lounge.
An artist's impression of the Qantas First class Lounge
I refused to be daunted, for I myself was a Qantas Platinum type. As I looked around I realised that it had not been necessary for Griselda to iron my Bingtang Singlet, but I was pleased that she had purchased the special “Australia Day” flip flops or “thongs” as the locals called them. I tried to blend in as I headed through the, unusually, sparsely populated lounge to the cafeteria for breakfast.
“A pot of English Breakfast tea and a champagne please” I winked at the waiter as I asked for the champagne. I assumed this was the special code required to ensure the champagne flute was filled with Bintang Lager. I didn’t want to look like a BA Gold Guest List type on my first visit to the Qantas [-]RSL Club[/-] First Lounge in 2017.
I looked around the restaurant but rather wish I hadn’t. It was a scene of devastation and depredation I wanted to blend in with my fellow platinum types so much but just couldn’t bring myself to hold the champagne glass by the bowl, nor did I find it easy chewing with my mouth open, or shovelling food into my mouth with the fork whilst ensuring I ordered every last food offering available on the menu.
I spotted what appeared to be a Qantas Platinum One type, I think he was explaining to staff that he was still waiting for the expensive bottle of champagne Qantas had allegedly sent to him prior to Christmas. How I yearned for this sort of interaction with the lounge staff. (Even if they didn’t actually work for Qantas.)
Griselda had selected a single seat near the front door of the big, but not biggest, Qantas aeroplane. Surprisingly she had done a rather good job and I had my own personal steward sitting opposite me during take off. It proved an opportune moment to list my requirements for the flight.
Tomato soup, lamb, and cheesecake? What on earth was going on here then? Had Qantas parted ways with Fred Perry? This was a half decent menu and the food was perfectly acceptable. What was even better was the Penfold’s Bin 28, well the two bottles I consumed were rather nice.
Griselda had also provided two rubber bands to hold my little TV onto the slightly bigger Qantas TV so that I did not have to watch dreadful Hollywood movies or even worse American TV shows. I watched a documentary about the great Dick Fuld. To this day I don’t understand why the American Government didn’t help him out of his spot of bother. Personally I think there should have been a fine for those dreadful people who defaulted on their mortgages and that could have been used to help Mr Fuld….but I digress……again.
I was getting the hang of Hong Kong Airport, it had only taken me 15 years. Griselda had instructed me to look out for the arrival gate number and try and avoid the E transfer area. As everyone else headed right I fought a tidal wave of passengers and headed left to the W transfer area. With absolutely no passengers in the security area I breezed through and headed straight for the Cathay Pacific Pier First Class Lounge and a rather pleasant Dry Martini.
The Pier First class lounge was at its serene best as I settled into a comfortable lounge chair. I did wonder if Cathay Pacific had planned to build the lounge as far away as it could from the gates used by Qantas to deter the Qantas Platinum types from visiting.
There was no beep at the gate, and this was annoying. Griselda had checked and assured me that there were still First Class seats available. Poor form from British Airways. Griselda will be writing a letter to…err……errr….well someone.
I declined the main meal and settled for the two small pieces of cheese a couple of grapes, apparently the "cheese platter", and a bottle or so of something red and tolerable. Soon I was fast asleep, and because I was on the British airways big aeroplane, I was able to leave my glass on top of the side storage compartments. It could be collected as we landed when the British Airways stewards and stewardesses could be bothered to clear up.
Having also skipped breakfast I raced to the Concorde Room at Heathrow Airport and tucked into the fabulous traditional English affair, before setting off to some far-flung place in Norway.
The Concorde Room - quite civilised and not requiring an artists impression.
“…but …but…but I don’t want to enter Norway!” I found myself remonstrating with ground staff at Bergen Airport.
“You need to go through immigration.” The stern young lady repeated and pointed at the desks to her left.
“I am getting back on that plane.” I said, realising how odd that actually was to someone with no familiarity of Griselda’s travel planning.
Finally the issue was settled when the chap behind the immigration desk instructed the ground staff member it was OK and I relaxed enough to phone Griselda, reverse charge of course, and ask what on earth was going on. Apparently there had been some changes to the layout at Bergen but I was not to worry. :?: (What on earth do I almost pay Griselda for?)
After the initial confusion, and my, by now, well practised explanation the Purser began to understand that there was a benefit to starting journeys in Norway. I have to say the service was rather good on the return to Heathrow.
My second arrival into London was in daylight, not that there is much of that in Winter in Blighty, and at one stage I thought I caught a glimpse of the England coach arriving at “Twickers” for the rugger. I’m not a rugger man myself but I do like to see The French get a jolly good beating and England obliged by in emphatic style with a 19 points to 16 thrashing.
At least this trip was relatively short, just nine days in Blighty, but I did have to face a stay at the Holiday Inn at Walsall again.
TTFN