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I would swap the baked beans for black pudding where available
2016 The Hancock Year of Hell
- Thread starter TonyHancock
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TomVexille
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I always look forward to my trips over The Siegfried Line, for a start I do rather like the German obsession with eating entire pigs for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and now that, according to Griselda, black pudding was a superfood there would be no excuse for consuming Griselda’s not inconsiderable body weight in that sublime delicacy.
More than anything I like to try my own language skills, although so far there has been little opportunity to cry out Achtung Spitfire, Gott in Himmell or Hande Hoch. I often wonder if I would have been better off paying attention in German classes at school rather than reading the Commando War Stories in Pictures series of books. Mein Gott.
My day, so lovingly arranged by Griselda, started with a three-hour drive to Heathrow airport. I would have taken the train but thanks to the recent, I say recent I suspect it was probably 50 or so years ago, Beeching cuts I would be lucky to complete the journey by the end of the week, and not necessarily the week we were currently in.
Today I would be traveling with colleagues. I know there are many that enjoy the company of others and want to share the whole travel experience. Not me. I am a misanthrope and the prospect of adding half an hour at each end of the flight to cater for checking luggage, messing about at security, duty free shopping, and all round dithering was making me a touch on the tetchy side.
Apparently I could only guest one of my colleagues into the Concorde Room, or both into the First Class lounge. Fortunately, the decision was taken out of my hands thanks to one of the colleagues being unable to find the long term car park and failing to get to Heathrow anywhere near the departure time. Fortunately is perhaps not the correct word because I had decided to abandon both and hide away in the Concorde Room.
The failure of one colleague turned to benefit for the other and misery for me. The phone call I received whilst tucking into the ox cheek and mash drew me to the “million dollar door”. He would finally get the opportunity to turn right upon clearing south security. I would, to my displeasure, get to suffer his company whilst attempting to enjoy a martini….or two.
Who would have thought that waiting around at Dusseldorf airport for the next BA flight could be so much fun……well perhaps not fun, but the time flew by as I staged the battle of all battles to make my Mussorgsky playing telephone have a German phone number. At times German efficiency seems light years away and processes can appear quite dotty. Griselda, as usual, was quite unhelpful in my hour of need.
“I thought you liked Hilton's” Griselda responded to the question I had just posed to her over the crackling telephone line.
“Normally yes…but this one does not have an executive lounge, the rooms are poorly cleaned and serviced, I had to wait fifteen minutes to get a drink at the bar and worst of all there is little or no recognition of diamond status. In fact, the only redeeming feature I can think of is that Coates Plymouth Gin is on offer at the occasionally manned bar.”
....and Coates Sloe Gin too.
“It looked good on the internet” Griselda responded wearily and continued. “It’s 5 o’clock in the morning Mr Hancock.”
“No it’s not” I corrected her “It is 7 o’clock at night” Griselda really seemed to be struggling with the whole time zone concept.
“I’ll register your dissatisfaction with the Hilton people immediately Mr Hancock” Griselda promised.
Germany gave the world Beethoven, Wagner, Bach, and Mozart, although the latter may be a bit on the Austrian side…….but let’s face it, it’s all the same. Anyway the point is what went wrong? This was the question in my mind as I fumbled around in my bag for my headphones and portable record player. If I had to listen to one more German cover version of American popular music songs during the morning commute, I would have to remove my ear drums with a teaspoon. It is a mystery though, how could it all have gone so wrong in what was really quite a short period of time? Beethoven to James Last in roughly 150 years. (With a special mention for Klaus Wunderlich. )
Half way through day two of my meeting came the rather unexpected news that I would be required to make yet another trip to Europe in 2016. This would bring the total number to nine. I wondered if there was any way I could use this to reduce my tax liability given that I could now give my home address as a BA aircraft somewhere between the east coast of Australia and London. Something for Griselda to investigate.
“Yes I know that there is next to nothing in the budget but you can’t expect me to actually fly in anything less than business class” I said assertively to Griselda.
“It is not going to be easy Mr Hancock, you have used most of the benefits you earned with British Airways last year” she responded.
I sighed audibly and wondered if it was still possible to replace Grisleda with one of these new-fangled artificial intelligence things I had been reading about recently. One does marvel at the progress made in science and technology, although I did wonder why there were no portable record players that didn’t jump when used in a car.
Sausage anybody?
More than anything I like to try my own language skills, although so far there has been little opportunity to cry out Achtung Spitfire, Gott in Himmell or Hande Hoch. I often wonder if I would have been better off paying attention in German classes at school rather than reading the Commando War Stories in Pictures series of books. Mein Gott.
My day, so lovingly arranged by Griselda, started with a three-hour drive to Heathrow airport. I would have taken the train but thanks to the recent, I say recent I suspect it was probably 50 or so years ago, Beeching cuts I would be lucky to complete the journey by the end of the week, and not necessarily the week we were currently in.
Today I would be traveling with colleagues. I know there are many that enjoy the company of others and want to share the whole travel experience. Not me. I am a misanthrope and the prospect of adding half an hour at each end of the flight to cater for checking luggage, messing about at security, duty free shopping, and all round dithering was making me a touch on the tetchy side.
Apparently I could only guest one of my colleagues into the Concorde Room, or both into the First Class lounge. Fortunately, the decision was taken out of my hands thanks to one of the colleagues being unable to find the long term car park and failing to get to Heathrow anywhere near the departure time. Fortunately is perhaps not the correct word because I had decided to abandon both and hide away in the Concorde Room.
The failure of one colleague turned to benefit for the other and misery for me. The phone call I received whilst tucking into the ox cheek and mash drew me to the “million dollar door”. He would finally get the opportunity to turn right upon clearing south security. I would, to my displeasure, get to suffer his company whilst attempting to enjoy a martini….or two.
Who would have thought that waiting around at Dusseldorf airport for the next BA flight could be so much fun……well perhaps not fun, but the time flew by as I staged the battle of all battles to make my Mussorgsky playing telephone have a German phone number. At times German efficiency seems light years away and processes can appear quite dotty. Griselda, as usual, was quite unhelpful in my hour of need.
“I thought you liked Hilton's” Griselda responded to the question I had just posed to her over the crackling telephone line.
“Normally yes…but this one does not have an executive lounge, the rooms are poorly cleaned and serviced, I had to wait fifteen minutes to get a drink at the bar and worst of all there is little or no recognition of diamond status. In fact, the only redeeming feature I can think of is that Coates Plymouth Gin is on offer at the occasionally manned bar.”
....and Coates Sloe Gin too.
“It looked good on the internet” Griselda responded wearily and continued. “It’s 5 o’clock in the morning Mr Hancock.”
“No it’s not” I corrected her “It is 7 o’clock at night” Griselda really seemed to be struggling with the whole time zone concept.
“I’ll register your dissatisfaction with the Hilton people immediately Mr Hancock” Griselda promised.
Germany gave the world Beethoven, Wagner, Bach, and Mozart, although the latter may be a bit on the Austrian side…….but let’s face it, it’s all the same. Anyway the point is what went wrong? This was the question in my mind as I fumbled around in my bag for my headphones and portable record player. If I had to listen to one more German cover version of American popular music songs during the morning commute, I would have to remove my ear drums with a teaspoon. It is a mystery though, how could it all have gone so wrong in what was really quite a short period of time? Beethoven to James Last in roughly 150 years. (With a special mention for Klaus Wunderlich.
)Half way through day two of my meeting came the rather unexpected news that I would be required to make yet another trip to Europe in 2016. This would bring the total number to nine. I wondered if there was any way I could use this to reduce my tax liability given that I could now give my home address as a BA aircraft somewhere between the east coast of Australia and London. Something for Griselda to investigate.
“Yes I know that there is next to nothing in the budget but you can’t expect me to actually fly in anything less than business class” I said assertively to Griselda.
“It is not going to be easy Mr Hancock, you have used most of the benefits you earned with British Airways last year” she responded.
I sighed audibly and wondered if it was still possible to replace Grisleda with one of these new-fangled artificial intelligence things I had been reading about recently. One does marvel at the progress made in science and technology, although I did wonder why there were no portable record players that didn’t jump when used in a car.
Sausage anybody?
alieninperth
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I wondered where the sausage from you breakfast went. turns out you were saving it for dinner.
I've got the meat sweats just looking at that plate. Just possible though it's all part of TH's cunning plan to wreak havoc on the plane as a payback for no upgrade to First. . The effects on one's digestive processes doesn't bear thinking about.....
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Meat is consistently better than baked beans on that front.
Medical fact....well, probably
drron
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“Griselda” I said with the sort of weak middle management authority I knew I would come to regret. “We really do need to review my last trip and look at the odd thing that worked and everything else that was an absolute disaster.”
“Mr Hancock” she started with the sort of tone that would have frightened the life out of Attila the Hun, “I am far too busy washing and ironing your pyjamas at the moment”
After what seemed like an eternity I had finally reached home….well when I say home I mean my occasional residence in Melbourne. The journey back to Australia has started at Dusseldorf airport on a flight that was absolutely packed solid.
The failure of the boarding pass scanner to beep at the gate was yet another humiliation in a growing list of economy travel that was nothing short of torture. The only saving grace was my rather gazelle like speed in getting ahead of a business class cabin when disembarking and managing to catch the business class bus from the tarmac to the Heathrow Terminal 5 arrivals hall……….which seemed to capture the essence of Manila, Sydney and Mombasa airports all rolled into one. :shock:
The Hilton at Terminal 4 was allegedly full and there was no fourth Floor Executive Room waiting for me. It was a most unDYKWIA day and I sobbed as I lay in my Deluxe King bed on the second floor. “Doth fortune play the hussy with me now?” I thought to myself.
Friday was to be a big day, and would help to re-establish my DYKWIA credentials. Two visits to the Concorde Room, one for breakfast and then a lazy eight hours after lunch. I did wonder how BA would get me onto the aircraft and into my seat after that length of time at the premium(ish) booze on offer.
I was truly enjoying my right turns after security and entrance to the Concorde Room through the million dollar door. Not for me the long walks around T5 to get to the lounge. As usual the Concorde Room breakfast was absolutely spiffing and 100% healthy now that black pudding is a superfood. (According to Griselda, who, I believe, read it in the Daily Mail.)
I was struggling with the whole concept of flying somewhere I did not want to go to, but Griselda had repeatedly assured me it was necessary to protect my bank balance. Bergen in Winter was not at the top of my list of must see destinations and the tail end of the storm that recently battered the eastern USA had decided to stop by and have a bit of a dart at Norway. :shock:
The first effort to land the aeroplane ended in dismal failure as the pilot chappie was completely unable to hold things steady and was forced to pop his foot on the accelerator and zoom off just when the wheels should have been hitting terra firma. Whilst we seemed to be bouncing around just as much as the first time I think the pilot just gave up and plonked her down second time around. (I do so hate passenger applause at such events.)
I lifted my collar up and popped my Aldi designer sunglasses on as I sheepishly slipped into the waiting area rather than head towards immigration control. It just felt really wrong. Griselda had informed me that I was about to “do a back to back”. :?:
The return flight was uneventful, apart from the somewhat surprised crew who did not appear particularly cognisant of the “back to back” strategy Griselda had employed for me. Fortunately, the Purser and his crew recognised my importance and fawned all over me for the entire flight. Just the way it should be.
“Well hello” I said, in my best Leslie Phillips voice, to the rather pleasant young lady behind the bar. “A dry martini please”
“Gin or Vodka?” came the rather terse reply
“Gin please”
“Bombay Sapphire or Tanqueray?
“errr……errrrr Tanqueray” I responded wondering what had happened to the Coates
“A twist?”
“A what?”
“A twist?”
“Oh I see, no thank you an olive please….and have one for yourself!” I offered generously. It always amazes me how a free bar brings out my generous nature.
BA15 was on time and departing from the C Concourse which seemed to be at another airport judging by the time it took to get there. BA like Qantas was a long way behind in the looking after DYKWIA stakes and I had to make my own way to the gate.
There was no beep at the gate, and I was consigned to business class. Griselda had to be behind this. What was I doing wrong….apart from the obvious of not buying a First Class ticket? I wasn’t even on the cheapest business class fare.
Fortunately the Concorde Room Bar at Singapore provided my last DYKWIA moment as I once again entered the numbers into the keypad, ensuring as many people as possible could see me, and enjoyed the swish of the magic door as it opened onto a world of tranquillity and exclusivity…albeit without any windows, very claustrophobic and a bit on the cramped side.
The less said about that dreaded livestock truck at Sydney Airport the better. I do wonder what visitors to Australia make of this utterly dreadful experience. I understand that one of the trials on “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here” will involve celebrities being locked in one of these trucks and transported from the International to Domestic terminal. #shudder#
The Qantas Business Lounge was actually very peaceful and virtually empty…but I suppose at 7:30 AM on a Sunday it ought to be. Nevertheless it provided welcome relief after the livestock truck and a haven before my flight to Melbourne.
At last a beep at the gate. My excitement could hold no bounds…until I realised that I was already in Business Class. Quelle Horreur! I had been moved from seat 2C Griselda had carefully selected for me to 2D. Granted there is virtually no difference, from a comfort/ease of access point of view, but that is not the point. This was the final humiliation. I would not be able to chair the monthly DYKWIA meeting because of the shame.
"Now Don't Forget!" Griselda woke me from my slumber "You are heading back to Heathrow in five days"
I had tried to forget...desperately, but it was no use. Please God let the scanner beep this time around.
“Mr Hancock” she started with the sort of tone that would have frightened the life out of Attila the Hun, “I am far too busy washing and ironing your pyjamas at the moment”
After what seemed like an eternity I had finally reached home….well when I say home I mean my occasional residence in Melbourne. The journey back to Australia has started at Dusseldorf airport on a flight that was absolutely packed solid.
The failure of the boarding pass scanner to beep at the gate was yet another humiliation in a growing list of economy travel that was nothing short of torture. The only saving grace was my rather gazelle like speed in getting ahead of a business class cabin when disembarking and managing to catch the business class bus from the tarmac to the Heathrow Terminal 5 arrivals hall……….which seemed to capture the essence of Manila, Sydney and Mombasa airports all rolled into one. :shock:
The Hilton at Terminal 4 was allegedly full and there was no fourth Floor Executive Room waiting for me. It was a most unDYKWIA day and I sobbed as I lay in my Deluxe King bed on the second floor. “Doth fortune play the hussy with me now?” I thought to myself.
Friday was to be a big day, and would help to re-establish my DYKWIA credentials. Two visits to the Concorde Room, one for breakfast and then a lazy eight hours after lunch. I did wonder how BA would get me onto the aircraft and into my seat after that length of time at the premium(ish) booze on offer.
I was truly enjoying my right turns after security and entrance to the Concorde Room through the million dollar door. Not for me the long walks around T5 to get to the lounge. As usual the Concorde Room breakfast was absolutely spiffing and 100% healthy now that black pudding is a superfood. (According to Griselda, who, I believe, read it in the Daily Mail.)
I was struggling with the whole concept of flying somewhere I did not want to go to, but Griselda had repeatedly assured me it was necessary to protect my bank balance. Bergen in Winter was not at the top of my list of must see destinations and the tail end of the storm that recently battered the eastern USA had decided to stop by and have a bit of a dart at Norway. :shock:
The first effort to land the aeroplane ended in dismal failure as the pilot chappie was completely unable to hold things steady and was forced to pop his foot on the accelerator and zoom off just when the wheels should have been hitting terra firma. Whilst we seemed to be bouncing around just as much as the first time I think the pilot just gave up and plonked her down second time around. (I do so hate passenger applause at such events.)
I lifted my collar up and popped my Aldi designer sunglasses on as I sheepishly slipped into the waiting area rather than head towards immigration control. It just felt really wrong. Griselda had informed me that I was about to “do a back to back”. :?:
The return flight was uneventful, apart from the somewhat surprised crew who did not appear particularly cognisant of the “back to back” strategy Griselda had employed for me. Fortunately, the Purser and his crew recognised my importance and fawned all over me for the entire flight. Just the way it should be.
“Well hello” I said, in my best Leslie Phillips voice, to the rather pleasant young lady behind the bar. “A dry martini please”
“Gin or Vodka?” came the rather terse reply
“Gin please”
“Bombay Sapphire or Tanqueray?
“errr……errrrr Tanqueray” I responded wondering what had happened to the Coates
“A twist?”
“A what?”
“A twist?”
“Oh I see, no thank you an olive please….and have one for yourself!” I offered generously. It always amazes me how a free bar brings out my generous nature.
BA15 was on time and departing from the C Concourse which seemed to be at another airport judging by the time it took to get there. BA like Qantas was a long way behind in the looking after DYKWIA stakes and I had to make my own way to the gate.
There was no beep at the gate, and I was consigned to business class. Griselda had to be behind this. What was I doing wrong….apart from the obvious of not buying a First Class ticket? I wasn’t even on the cheapest business class fare.
Fortunately the Concorde Room Bar at Singapore provided my last DYKWIA moment as I once again entered the numbers into the keypad, ensuring as many people as possible could see me, and enjoyed the swish of the magic door as it opened onto a world of tranquillity and exclusivity…albeit without any windows, very claustrophobic and a bit on the cramped side.
The less said about that dreaded livestock truck at Sydney Airport the better. I do wonder what visitors to Australia make of this utterly dreadful experience. I understand that one of the trials on “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here” will involve celebrities being locked in one of these trucks and transported from the International to Domestic terminal. #shudder#
The Qantas Business Lounge was actually very peaceful and virtually empty…but I suppose at 7:30 AM on a Sunday it ought to be. Nevertheless it provided welcome relief after the livestock truck and a haven before my flight to Melbourne.
At last a beep at the gate. My excitement could hold no bounds…until I realised that I was already in Business Class. Quelle Horreur! I had been moved from seat 2C Griselda had carefully selected for me to 2D. Granted there is virtually no difference, from a comfort/ease of access point of view, but that is not the point. This was the final humiliation. I would not be able to chair the monthly DYKWIA meeting because of the shame.
"Now Don't Forget!" Griselda woke me from my slumber "You are heading back to Heathrow in five days"
I had tried to forget...desperately, but it was no use. Please God let the scanner beep this time around.
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You really need to keep up!
Its another of Tony's legendary TR's and Griselda is his long suffering assistant. Think of it as a Griswold family adventure and go along for the ride. Most of it is in his mind but you didn't hear that from me.
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January was finally over and Griselda tells me that I flew 35,318 miles on 15 sectors, earned 810 BA Tier Points and 60 Qantas status credits. I had no idea what she was talking about. Apparently I’d be flying more in February though and this was not a good thing.
“Mr Hancock please do listen this is important” Griselda implored. “I have had to use your last GUF and joker to ensure that you will be flying in J to the UK at the end of June”
“J, GUF, joker? I have no idea what you are talking about Griselda, are you speaking is some sort of foreign tongue? Is it French” I asked, and worried that she might force me to eat snails or frogs legs for dinner. (Although to be fair I was more concerned about the sort of gravy that she would make to go with them.)
“How silly of me.” She responded in a tone that suggested she thought she was talking to a buffoon. “The GUF is a Gold Upgrade Voucher and the joker is a Gold Redemption Voucher, you use the former to get an upgrade and the latter to force availability to be able to upgrade, they help to keep you flying in the premium cabins without actually paying the full fare.”
I yawned and pretended to read The Financial Times. I was far too important to be troubled by these minor travel details.
With two days to go until my next trip Grisleda had packed my bag and charged up various electrical devices I might need. (edit: You at the back, yes you, get your mind out of the gutter!!!) For a start there was my portable record player and phone thingy, and something Griselda called a “Tablet” and a computer sort of thing. Quite why I needed all of these new fangled gadgets I had no idea.
“As things stand you will not earn any more jokers until the start of June when you requalify as a GGL, although you will earn a GUF2 in April when you reach 2500 TP’s” Griselda pointed out.
She had slipped into that foreign tongue again. GGL? What on earth could that mean, Gigolo? Giggle? Good Government Lackey?
“Griselda” I exhorted “I only need to know that you have sorted out the appropriate travel classes and access to the posh lounges.” Whilst status was not the be all and end all to me it was obviously important that everyone saw me as being much more important than them.
“I do understand” she said as if she didn’t “but you must make sure that you have your frequent flyer number on your boarding passes so that you earn the necessary TP’s and points, otherwise I won’t be able to get you into the lounges and into business class.”
I gave Griselda a steely glare which left her, probably, in no doubt I would be forced to find a new secretary should she fail in her duties. She was already in my bad books because once again I would have to drive to Melbourne Airport due to her wrestling commitments.
Yes folks it is MEL-SIN-LHR-OSL-LHR this week and I plan to bore you with the sort of dull minutiae that will make you wish you were illiterate in the literal sense.
“Mr Hancock please do listen this is important” Griselda implored. “I have had to use your last GUF and joker to ensure that you will be flying in J to the UK at the end of June”
“J, GUF, joker? I have no idea what you are talking about Griselda, are you speaking is some sort of foreign tongue? Is it French” I asked, and worried that she might force me to eat snails or frogs legs for dinner. (Although to be fair I was more concerned about the sort of gravy that she would make to go with them.)
“How silly of me.” She responded in a tone that suggested she thought she was talking to a buffoon. “The GUF is a Gold Upgrade Voucher and the joker is a Gold Redemption Voucher, you use the former to get an upgrade and the latter to force availability to be able to upgrade, they help to keep you flying in the premium cabins without actually paying the full fare.”
I yawned and pretended to read The Financial Times. I was far too important to be troubled by these minor travel details.
With two days to go until my next trip Grisleda had packed my bag and charged up various electrical devices I might need. (edit: You at the back, yes you, get your mind out of the gutter!!!) For a start there was my portable record player and phone thingy, and something Griselda called a “Tablet” and a computer sort of thing. Quite why I needed all of these new fangled gadgets I had no idea.
“As things stand you will not earn any more jokers until the start of June when you requalify as a GGL, although you will earn a GUF2 in April when you reach 2500 TP’s” Griselda pointed out.
She had slipped into that foreign tongue again. GGL? What on earth could that mean, Gigolo? Giggle? Good Government Lackey?
“Griselda” I exhorted “I only need to know that you have sorted out the appropriate travel classes and access to the posh lounges.” Whilst status was not the be all and end all to me it was obviously important that everyone saw me as being much more important than them.
“I do understand” she said as if she didn’t “but you must make sure that you have your frequent flyer number on your boarding passes so that you earn the necessary TP’s and points, otherwise I won’t be able to get you into the lounges and into business class.”
I gave Griselda a steely glare which left her, probably, in no doubt I would be forced to find a new secretary should she fail in her duties. She was already in my bad books because once again I would have to drive to Melbourne Airport due to her wrestling commitments.
Yes folks it is MEL-SIN-LHR-OSL-LHR this week and I plan to bore you with the sort of dull minutiae that will make you wish you were illiterate in the literal sense.
Last edited:
alieninperth
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Was Griselda's mention of the GUF2 a sly way of saying that she wanted to come along on one of your trips?
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Sainsbury's Gravy granules (along with Yorkshire Tea for Hard Water) are one of the things we find we have to bring back to Australia on our travels. I shudder to think what concoction Griselda makes
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She is coming on one of my trips later in the year....but we won't be in the same cabin.
alieninperth
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You mean you're give up your F seat for her. What a gent.
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This is real life at its finest. In fact, if TonyHancock isn't able to fly first class, it could be a matter of life and death.
Happy Trails
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“I don’t want to confuse you” Griselda said, immediately leading me to believe that she was about to do exactly that “but you now have three open trips”
“Eh” was the best I could do.
“You are actually in the middle of three trips” She repeated. “Your flight on Friday is the return leg of your December flight to Melbourne, your flight London on the 20[SUP]th[/SUP] February is the return leg from the flight you just came to Melbourne on, and your return flight in March is the return from the flight you took to Heathrow on the 19[SUP]th[/SUP] January”
I wasn’t going to do any better than “eh” so decided to keep quiet, nod sagely, as if I knew what Griselda was talking about, and let her continue.
“Yes it is a bit complicated because whilst your return trip this Friday will close one of the three open trips you will start another when you leave the UK on the 14[SUP]th[/SUP] February” She continued as if that was actually going to help clarify things.
Life used to be much simpler and fairer before Qantas introduced, well, errrr, errrr Simpler and Fairer. Griselda could just book return trips without any of this messing about and I certainly didn’t have to go to remote parts of Norway just about every time I wanted to go to London. Is Stavanger even a place?
“Oslo might be a little tricky Mr Hancock.”
“Tricky” I queried with my inscrutable face on.
“There are three possible ways things can go when you get off the aircraft there” Griselda hissed.
“Firstly you could join the non-Schengen passport control queue and then hope security is opened up for you, once you have cleared it you head to the gate.
“Secondly you could join the Schengen passport control queue, then hurry down the long corridor turning left into security, once cleared you head to passport control downstairs and then the gate.
“Thirdly, and you really don’t want to do this, is clear Schengen passport control, head landside and then come back through security and passport control….but it would be a very long walk and you might miss the flight.”
“What’s a Schengen?” I asked.
Griselda rolled her eyes. “I think option two would be best for you Mr Hancock, but you will need to be nimble”
“But…….but….but I have been through Oslo a couple of times before and it was easy, there was never any need to be nimble.” I asserted.
“Yes indeed. but this time it is a Back to Back” said Griselda.
I gave up at that point, I was days away from having to worry and if things went pear shaped I would just call Grisleda, reversing the charges, and get her to fix things up.
I could take some solace in the fact that I would not have to fly to Sydney this time, and I would get some time in the Qantas First Class Lounge in Melbourne where the chips are a step above those served in the Sydney Lounge, although it might be a little early for chips. I am a big fan of the Qantas First Class Lounge at Melbourne but I have to say the service has deteriorated significantly over the last six months or so, to the point where the chances of getting served in the main section are virtually nil.
The Qantas First Class check in “suite” at Melbourne’s International Terminal is not half bad. For a start it is a proper room with sliding doors keeping the riff raff at bay. (Are you watching Sydney?) It has been the scene of many complimentary upgrades for me and provides a decent DYKWIA moment when one leaves to join the crowds in the terminal. I can imagine a young child turning to their parents a asking “Is that man really important?”.
It is hard to get excited about most aeroplanes for me but the Airbus A330 is about as inspiring as a Fred Perry café style breakfast…………..or so it used to be. The Qantas Business Class Suites are really jolly good and a massive step up from the Droopbed on the Airbus A380, and well ahead of the BA Club World seat too. Sadly the food is Fred Perry [-]insipid[/-] inspired which lets the offering down a bit, but nevertheless it is a mighty fine product overall.
I opted for the Crumbed blue eye with tarragon tartare sauce, roasted chat potatoes and crushed peas, which was a rather posh Fred Perry description, sort of, for fish, chips and mushy peas.
Griselda had been listening to me and she managed to arrange a six-hour stopover in Singapore so that I could swan in and out of the Concorde Bar with just the sort of regularity that would ensure occupants of the main lounge could see just how important I was. Those poor wretches stuck in that spacious airy lounge with a well-stocked bar, extensive food offerings, showers and toilets. They did not know what they were missing in the windowless slightly dingy Concorde Bar.
My only previous attempts to fly in Business Class on a BA Airbus A380 had resulted in points upgrades to First Class so I did not really know what to expect when the scanner at the gate once again failed to beep and flash red. Griselda had selected seat 53A for me. It was a rear facing, upper deck, seat which enable me to stumble in and out of it without tripping over an aisle seat occupant.
“53A is a much sought after seat” Griselda pointed out.
“1A is a much sought after seat.” I corrected her.
The window seats on BA long haul are not for the claustrophobic, nor are they for people who don’t like traveling backwards. I like them though, and they are like a mini suite once the obvious awkwardness of the divider being down for take-off is over. It is always tricky working out how best to ignore the total stranger facing you two feet away.
BA gets a fair bit of stick over its customer service and some of it is well deserved. Part of the lack of consistency is, in my less than humble opinion, caused by having two types of crew – Worldwide and Mixed Fleet. The former seems to be made up of older crew on legacy contracts whilst the latter appear to be newer employees on more, “ahem” flexible contracts. Mixed Fleet crews operate both long and short haul routes.
The two do not mix so one gets a mixed fleet or a Worldwide crew never a combination of both. The easiest way to spot the difference is the hats worn by female FA’s – mixed fleet always wear hats, whilst Worldwide only wear hats on certain aircraft. I believe that if you see a female FA with a hat on a 777 the crew will be mixed fleet. The general feeling is that Mixed Fleet crews are full of energy and eager to please, whilst the Worldwide crews are a little more polished but provide the more traditional and “much loved” grumpy service.
I’m not sure why I am telling you all of this because the A380 is one of the aircraft where all female FA’s have hats, so it was difficult to tell which was crewing my flight, although I suspect it was Worldwide given the lack of enthusiasm and general grumpiness.
British Airways, like Qantas and Malaysian missed a trick when it comes to First on the A380, it really should be on the top deck at the front like Emirates who has definitely maximised the space available. Bizarrely BA has enormous toilets in Business and tiny ones in First. I had hoped that BA would have provided an FA to man the doors and provide appropriate reading material etc as one entered, but this was sadly lacking.
53A is the last window seat in the front section of the BA A380 (The Sapphire Shed on the QF A380) and benefits enormously from the three storage bins along the side. As Griselda had correctly pointed out I did not have to climb over anyone to gain access to the aisle. Although I would have like to stamp repeatedly on the oaf in 53B who thought it appropriate to chat loudly with the crew in the galley whilst the rest of the cabin tried to sleep.
Fasttrack Security, at Heathrow remains one of the most inefficient processes on the planet, second only to Griselda’s shorthand and typing efforts. (She blames the typewriter but I always say a bad workman blames his/her tools.) I am not sure the person who designed the system for loading bags, using large trays, into the X-Ray machine has ever actually been to an airport, let alone understands what is required at security. It would be a quite brilliant system….if passengers only needed to use one tray.
Fortunately, The Concorde Room was at its tranquil best, it really is an oasis, and of course is entered through the million-dollar door, much to the chagrin of the British Airways Gold Card Holders. It was almost worth departing the lounge through the main exit and walking back around to enter through that door again.
The Oslo escapade all went rather smoothly, seventeen minutes from gate back to the boarding area. It involved clearing inbound passport control, security, and finally outbound passport control. Rather than take the nimble approach, suggested by Griselda, I opted for the head down charge option and whilst I left a trail of destruction in my wake it worked a treat. I have always felt that people in wheelchairs have a distinct advantage at airports so the blades attached to the wheels of my hard shelled spinner helped me claim some of that advantage back.
I favour the bold approach when dealing with flight attendants on back to backs. I make it clear early on that they will also be looking after me on the way back. It still amazes me how confusing they find this, however once they understand it does rather make for good sport and usually excellent service. The CSM was a mixed fleet crew member who is a long haul regular and this combination, for me, makes the best BA short haul CSM. She was quite superb throughout both flights.
Griselda had arranged one further little torment for me upon my final arrival at Heathrow.....a French car.
…..and now for a whole week without so much as seeing an airport.
“Eh” was the best I could do.
“You are actually in the middle of three trips” She repeated. “Your flight on Friday is the return leg of your December flight to Melbourne, your flight London on the 20[SUP]th[/SUP] February is the return leg from the flight you just came to Melbourne on, and your return flight in March is the return from the flight you took to Heathrow on the 19[SUP]th[/SUP] January”
I wasn’t going to do any better than “eh” so decided to keep quiet, nod sagely, as if I knew what Griselda was talking about, and let her continue.
“Yes it is a bit complicated because whilst your return trip this Friday will close one of the three open trips you will start another when you leave the UK on the 14[SUP]th[/SUP] February” She continued as if that was actually going to help clarify things.
Life used to be much simpler and fairer before Qantas introduced, well, errrr, errrr Simpler and Fairer. Griselda could just book return trips without any of this messing about and I certainly didn’t have to go to remote parts of Norway just about every time I wanted to go to London. Is Stavanger even a place?
“Oslo might be a little tricky Mr Hancock.”
“Tricky” I queried with my inscrutable face on.
“There are three possible ways things can go when you get off the aircraft there” Griselda hissed.
“Firstly you could join the non-Schengen passport control queue and then hope security is opened up for you, once you have cleared it you head to the gate.
“Secondly you could join the Schengen passport control queue, then hurry down the long corridor turning left into security, once cleared you head to passport control downstairs and then the gate.
“Thirdly, and you really don’t want to do this, is clear Schengen passport control, head landside and then come back through security and passport control….but it would be a very long walk and you might miss the flight.”
“What’s a Schengen?” I asked.
Griselda rolled her eyes. “I think option two would be best for you Mr Hancock, but you will need to be nimble”
“But…….but….but I have been through Oslo a couple of times before and it was easy, there was never any need to be nimble.” I asserted.
“Yes indeed. but this time it is a Back to Back” said Griselda.
I gave up at that point, I was days away from having to worry and if things went pear shaped I would just call Grisleda, reversing the charges, and get her to fix things up.
I could take some solace in the fact that I would not have to fly to Sydney this time, and I would get some time in the Qantas First Class Lounge in Melbourne where the chips are a step above those served in the Sydney Lounge, although it might be a little early for chips. I am a big fan of the Qantas First Class Lounge at Melbourne but I have to say the service has deteriorated significantly over the last six months or so, to the point where the chances of getting served in the main section are virtually nil.
The Qantas First Class check in “suite” at Melbourne’s International Terminal is not half bad. For a start it is a proper room with sliding doors keeping the riff raff at bay. (Are you watching Sydney?) It has been the scene of many complimentary upgrades for me and provides a decent DYKWIA moment when one leaves to join the crowds in the terminal. I can imagine a young child turning to their parents a asking “Is that man really important?”.
It is hard to get excited about most aeroplanes for me but the Airbus A330 is about as inspiring as a Fred Perry café style breakfast…………..or so it used to be. The Qantas Business Class Suites are really jolly good and a massive step up from the Droopbed on the Airbus A380, and well ahead of the BA Club World seat too. Sadly the food is Fred Perry [-]insipid[/-] inspired which lets the offering down a bit, but nevertheless it is a mighty fine product overall.
I opted for the Crumbed blue eye with tarragon tartare sauce, roasted chat potatoes and crushed peas, which was a rather posh Fred Perry description, sort of, for fish, chips and mushy peas.
Griselda had been listening to me and she managed to arrange a six-hour stopover in Singapore so that I could swan in and out of the Concorde Bar with just the sort of regularity that would ensure occupants of the main lounge could see just how important I was. Those poor wretches stuck in that spacious airy lounge with a well-stocked bar, extensive food offerings, showers and toilets. They did not know what they were missing in the windowless slightly dingy Concorde Bar.
My only previous attempts to fly in Business Class on a BA Airbus A380 had resulted in points upgrades to First Class so I did not really know what to expect when the scanner at the gate once again failed to beep and flash red. Griselda had selected seat 53A for me. It was a rear facing, upper deck, seat which enable me to stumble in and out of it without tripping over an aisle seat occupant.
“53A is a much sought after seat” Griselda pointed out.
“1A is a much sought after seat.” I corrected her.
The window seats on BA long haul are not for the claustrophobic, nor are they for people who don’t like traveling backwards. I like them though, and they are like a mini suite once the obvious awkwardness of the divider being down for take-off is over. It is always tricky working out how best to ignore the total stranger facing you two feet away.
BA gets a fair bit of stick over its customer service and some of it is well deserved. Part of the lack of consistency is, in my less than humble opinion, caused by having two types of crew – Worldwide and Mixed Fleet. The former seems to be made up of older crew on legacy contracts whilst the latter appear to be newer employees on more, “ahem” flexible contracts. Mixed Fleet crews operate both long and short haul routes.
The two do not mix so one gets a mixed fleet or a Worldwide crew never a combination of both. The easiest way to spot the difference is the hats worn by female FA’s – mixed fleet always wear hats, whilst Worldwide only wear hats on certain aircraft. I believe that if you see a female FA with a hat on a 777 the crew will be mixed fleet. The general feeling is that Mixed Fleet crews are full of energy and eager to please, whilst the Worldwide crews are a little more polished but provide the more traditional and “much loved” grumpy service.
I’m not sure why I am telling you all of this because the A380 is one of the aircraft where all female FA’s have hats, so it was difficult to tell which was crewing my flight, although I suspect it was Worldwide given the lack of enthusiasm and general grumpiness.
British Airways, like Qantas and Malaysian missed a trick when it comes to First on the A380, it really should be on the top deck at the front like Emirates who has definitely maximised the space available. Bizarrely BA has enormous toilets in Business and tiny ones in First. I had hoped that BA would have provided an FA to man the doors and provide appropriate reading material etc as one entered, but this was sadly lacking.
53A is the last window seat in the front section of the BA A380 (The Sapphire Shed on the QF A380) and benefits enormously from the three storage bins along the side. As Griselda had correctly pointed out I did not have to climb over anyone to gain access to the aisle. Although I would have like to stamp repeatedly on the oaf in 53B who thought it appropriate to chat loudly with the crew in the galley whilst the rest of the cabin tried to sleep.
Fasttrack Security, at Heathrow remains one of the most inefficient processes on the planet, second only to Griselda’s shorthand and typing efforts. (She blames the typewriter but I always say a bad workman blames his/her tools.) I am not sure the person who designed the system for loading bags, using large trays, into the X-Ray machine has ever actually been to an airport, let alone understands what is required at security. It would be a quite brilliant system….if passengers only needed to use one tray.
Fortunately, The Concorde Room was at its tranquil best, it really is an oasis, and of course is entered through the million-dollar door, much to the chagrin of the British Airways Gold Card Holders. It was almost worth departing the lounge through the main exit and walking back around to enter through that door again.
The Oslo escapade all went rather smoothly, seventeen minutes from gate back to the boarding area. It involved clearing inbound passport control, security, and finally outbound passport control. Rather than take the nimble approach, suggested by Griselda, I opted for the head down charge option and whilst I left a trail of destruction in my wake it worked a treat. I have always felt that people in wheelchairs have a distinct advantage at airports so the blades attached to the wheels of my hard shelled spinner helped me claim some of that advantage back.
I favour the bold approach when dealing with flight attendants on back to backs. I make it clear early on that they will also be looking after me on the way back. It still amazes me how confusing they find this, however once they understand it does rather make for good sport and usually excellent service. The CSM was a mixed fleet crew member who is a long haul regular and this combination, for me, makes the best BA short haul CSM. She was quite superb throughout both flights.
Griselda had arranged one further little torment for me upon my final arrival at Heathrow.....a French car.
…..and now for a whole week without so much as seeing an airport.
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Stoopidsteve
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“ Is Stavanger even a place?
Oh yes, it is a lovely place. Even has a particularly skilled Brass Band, as do many of those cheeky Norwegian cities and towns: after all, what else would they get up to on those long winter nights, but blow their horns together? (no, really, it's true . See? 2nd of these pieces one of my fave brass band arrangements).
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