NZflygirl
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2016 The Hancock Year of Hell
- Thread starter TonyHancock
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“Do we have an issue with this whole Panama situation?” Griselda asked.
“errr…..errr….what?” was the only response possible for me.
“You know, Mossack Fonseca and investments to help maximise one’s tax position.” Griselda had been doing her homework.
I wondered whether she was trying to get more information out of me on the rather clever scheme I had uncovered to secure my retirement. I wasn’t about to tell her that. The $50 million due to me soon from my new friend in Nigeria, with the uncle who passed away in a plane crash, was all mine, I wasn’t sharing.
“The only Fonseca I know is a rather tantalising 1963 Vintage Port” I responded vaguely.
Griselda shrugged her shoulders and briefed me on my latest jaunt to the UK, via Oslo both ways.
It was all getting a bit too routine for me. Melbourne to Singapore with Qantas, a long(ish) layover in the Concorde Room Bar, and thirteen-hour flight in seat 16A, on a Boeing 777 or 53A on the big plane, to Heathrow, breakfast in the Concorde Room and then Club Europe to Oslo returning on the same aircraft. I could almost do this trip in my sleep. Even before I boarded I could predict that my wine glass was unlikely to be cleared away before breakfast. :shock:
“Good Morning I am checking in for flight QF35” I casually announced as I strode into the Qantas first class check in “suite” at Melbourne Airport.
“Good morning Mr Hancock we have been expecting you.” :shock:
Well that was odd, I was flying as a British Airways frequent flyer. Perhaps Griselda had called and reminded the team at the check in desk of my importance. Sadly, she had failed to call the Accor staff in the Qantas first class lounge and for the third successive time it was a sub-par experience. It really has gone downhill rapidly and now ranks some way below the Sydney First Class lounge. Time for a letter to that Alan Joyce fellow.
The Concorde Room Bar, was, as always, small, dark, dingy, and woefully understocked with food…….but it needed a code to enter and this was priceless. I have developed a rather flamboyant style when it came to entering the key code, after all it was all about attracting the attention of those less fortunate and unable to enter this exclusive “den”.
The BA Airbus A380 presented one major difficulty to me. As the flagship aircraft it was impossible to tell, at first, glance whether it was a “mixed fleet” or “worldwide” crew. All of the hostesses wore hats. I hadn’t realised just how much I would miss the QF long haul crews.
Seat 53A, in Club World British Airways Airbus A380
The "vista" from 53A
"Mind the Gap" - Griselda picks a seat so that I do not have to step over anyone
I don't mind the early arrival into London Heathrow, particularly at the weekend, it seems to be reltively easy to get back airside and through the "million dollar door" into the Concorde Room.
“Whoops! I think I may be on the wrong aeroplane!” I spluttered to the hostess in blind panic.
“Where are you heading today?” She asked.
“Oslo” How could I forget.
“This is the right aircraft.” She replied.
“…..but…..but…….but….” I gave up at that point and just pointed to the “Club World” seats.
“Oh yes, I see. We are lucky enough to have one of the mid haul Airbus A321’s, originally from BMI” she said with a big smile.
"The Throne"
Two seats in Club World on the medium haul, ex BMI, A321
I had no idea what she was talking about but what I did see was a “throne” and I just assumed Griselda had spoken to Willie Walsh and organised this specifically for me.
As I sat in my spacious “throne” I called Griselda to make sure that she had organised the same aeroplane for my return journey, and also the same seat. I certainly didn’t want to be seated in one of the pairs of seats in case other passengers might think my seatmate was as important as me.
At least this kind of travel was more in tune to my requirements and I called Griselda again to make sure she had organised the same aeroplane for next week and my return journey back to Melbourne.
TTFN
“errr…..errr….what?” was the only response possible for me.
“You know, Mossack Fonseca and investments to help maximise one’s tax position.” Griselda had been doing her homework.
I wondered whether she was trying to get more information out of me on the rather clever scheme I had uncovered to secure my retirement. I wasn’t about to tell her that. The $50 million due to me soon from my new friend in Nigeria, with the uncle who passed away in a plane crash, was all mine, I wasn’t sharing.
“The only Fonseca I know is a rather tantalising 1963 Vintage Port” I responded vaguely.
Griselda shrugged her shoulders and briefed me on my latest jaunt to the UK, via Oslo both ways.
It was all getting a bit too routine for me. Melbourne to Singapore with Qantas, a long(ish) layover in the Concorde Room Bar, and thirteen-hour flight in seat 16A, on a Boeing 777 or 53A on the big plane, to Heathrow, breakfast in the Concorde Room and then Club Europe to Oslo returning on the same aircraft. I could almost do this trip in my sleep. Even before I boarded I could predict that my wine glass was unlikely to be cleared away before breakfast. :shock:
“Good Morning I am checking in for flight QF35” I casually announced as I strode into the Qantas first class check in “suite” at Melbourne Airport.
“Good morning Mr Hancock we have been expecting you.” :shock:
Well that was odd, I was flying as a British Airways frequent flyer. Perhaps Griselda had called and reminded the team at the check in desk of my importance. Sadly, she had failed to call the Accor staff in the Qantas first class lounge and for the third successive time it was a sub-par experience. It really has gone downhill rapidly and now ranks some way below the Sydney First Class lounge. Time for a letter to that Alan Joyce fellow.
The Concorde Room Bar, was, as always, small, dark, dingy, and woefully understocked with food…….but it needed a code to enter and this was priceless. I have developed a rather flamboyant style when it came to entering the key code, after all it was all about attracting the attention of those less fortunate and unable to enter this exclusive “den”.
The BA Airbus A380 presented one major difficulty to me. As the flagship aircraft it was impossible to tell, at first, glance whether it was a “mixed fleet” or “worldwide” crew. All of the hostesses wore hats. I hadn’t realised just how much I would miss the QF long haul crews.
Seat 53A, in Club World British Airways Airbus A380
The "vista" from 53A
"Mind the Gap" - Griselda picks a seat so that I do not have to step over anyone
I don't mind the early arrival into London Heathrow, particularly at the weekend, it seems to be reltively easy to get back airside and through the "million dollar door" into the Concorde Room.
“Whoops! I think I may be on the wrong aeroplane!” I spluttered to the hostess in blind panic.
“Where are you heading today?” She asked.
“Oslo” How could I forget.
“This is the right aircraft.” She replied.
“…..but…..but…….but….” I gave up at that point and just pointed to the “Club World” seats.
“Oh yes, I see. We are lucky enough to have one of the mid haul Airbus A321’s, originally from BMI” she said with a big smile.
"The Throne"
Two seats in Club World on the medium haul, ex BMI, A321
I had no idea what she was talking about but what I did see was a “throne” and I just assumed Griselda had spoken to Willie Walsh and organised this specifically for me.
As I sat in my spacious “throne” I called Griselda to make sure that she had organised the same aeroplane for my return journey, and also the same seat. I certainly didn’t want to be seated in one of the pairs of seats in case other passengers might think my seatmate was as important as me.
At least this kind of travel was more in tune to my requirements and I called Griselda again to make sure she had organised the same aeroplane for next week and my return journey back to Melbourne.
TTFN
Last edited:
T
tania73
Guest
These reports are priceless thank you. A lovely Sunday evening treat
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- Aug 26, 2010
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So here I was again, The Sofitel at London Heathrow Terminal 5. It’s not bad at all, not that I would tell Griselda, I don’t want to make her any more unbearable than she already is. It is a bit pricey at GBP144 but the executive lounge is reasonable and there is no need to catch a train or, shudder, a bus to the terminal.
“Hello, I’m the customer from Hell” I greeted the check in agent in the British Airways first class check in area.
“I’m sure you aren’t” The gentleman responded
Little did he know!
After 18 minutes and the involvement of three other staff members face to face, and two by telephone, I wandered off to security with four boarding passes. The problem, apparently, was a recent change of system which seemed to involve lots of logging in and logging out…..although it didn’t take the nice lady very long to sort it out when she had the “problem” handed to her. :shock:
It was going to be one of those days, or more precisely two of those days. I let out an audible cry as I watched my final tray shift sideways on the security belt and head down the “second inspection conveyor”.
Forty two minutes from arrival at the First Class check in desk I finally sat down at a table in the Concorde Room Restaurant and ordered a traditional breakfast with two poached eggs, two rounds of “brown” toast, an orange juice , and a pot of English Breakfast tea.
“Oh Dear” I uttered audibly.
My flight to Oslo was departing from Gate 15……at the same time as the flight to nice is departing from Gate 17. For those of you that know Terminal 5 this is not a good thing. There is some construction work there that means passengers from both flights will be attempting to queue in the same place and even with some decent policing of priority boarding it is still abject chaos.
There was some good news – Griselda had managed to get an ex BMI Airbus A321 for the flight. (I assume this was her work.) Once on board I settled into my “throne” and enjoyed another English Breakfast tea. Sadly this was not a back to back so the full horror of Club Europe awaited me on the return to Heathrow.
Griselda sent me something called a “text message” cheerfully announcing that the seat next to me would be blocked for the return to Heathrow……and then followed up with another, less cheerful, “text message” informing me that she could not get an upgrade to First for the Heathrow to Singapore leg.
The flight back from Oslo to London Heathrow was every bit the full horror of Club Europe, but I managed to get through it with the help of four small bottles of some sort of Chilean Red.
As always the Concorde Room afforded some succour and the ribeye was washed down with a couple of glasses of half decent claret.
The three hours following the ribeye are a little sketchy but according to my camera several martinis and a BA burger were involved, although only a single portion of chips, which seemed to total five in a small basket.
I settled into 16A, skipped the main course, and settled for a glass of Claret. As per usual, with the Mixed Fleet crew, I knew the glass would stay with me until breakfast somewhere near to Singapore. I don’t dislike “Club World” on the Boeing 777 but can understand why it gives the impression of a dormitory on the one hand, and on the other can be quite claustrophobic if you have a window seat.
My eighth visit to the Concord Bar at Singapore Airport was typically uneventful, and I was quite pleased to see that Griselda had managed to ensure I was the only person in the small, dark, dingy, and relatively cold room. It, obviously, still delights me to enter this room with the “secret” code.
BA7402 was not a British Airways flight at all. It was a nom de plume, so to speak! Its real name was QF36, a Qantas flight. This meant three things to me.
1. Excellent, comfortable, and private Business Suite
2. Very good on board service
3. The utterly dire Fred Perry supper menu
I’m not without understanding when it comes to Qantas’ reasoning behind the “supper menu” but I just think it is awful. It is coupled with the equally dire breakfast offering that is neither “café style” or full on. In effect the overall menu is neither one thing nor another. Griselda would be writing a very stiff letter to Alan Joyce.
Melbourne airport was, as ever, a joy to arrive at and I was quickly on my way home for ten days without stepping on board an aeroplane.
TTFN
“Hello, I’m the customer from Hell” I greeted the check in agent in the British Airways first class check in area.
“I’m sure you aren’t” The gentleman responded
Little did he know!
After 18 minutes and the involvement of three other staff members face to face, and two by telephone, I wandered off to security with four boarding passes. The problem, apparently, was a recent change of system which seemed to involve lots of logging in and logging out…..although it didn’t take the nice lady very long to sort it out when she had the “problem” handed to her. :shock:
It was going to be one of those days, or more precisely two of those days. I let out an audible cry as I watched my final tray shift sideways on the security belt and head down the “second inspection conveyor”.
Forty two minutes from arrival at the First Class check in desk I finally sat down at a table in the Concorde Room Restaurant and ordered a traditional breakfast with two poached eggs, two rounds of “brown” toast, an orange juice , and a pot of English Breakfast tea.
“Oh Dear” I uttered audibly.
My flight to Oslo was departing from Gate 15……at the same time as the flight to nice is departing from Gate 17. For those of you that know Terminal 5 this is not a good thing. There is some construction work there that means passengers from both flights will be attempting to queue in the same place and even with some decent policing of priority boarding it is still abject chaos.
There was some good news – Griselda had managed to get an ex BMI Airbus A321 for the flight. (I assume this was her work.) Once on board I settled into my “throne” and enjoyed another English Breakfast tea. Sadly this was not a back to back so the full horror of Club Europe awaited me on the return to Heathrow.
Griselda sent me something called a “text message” cheerfully announcing that the seat next to me would be blocked for the return to Heathrow……and then followed up with another, less cheerful, “text message” informing me that she could not get an upgrade to First for the Heathrow to Singapore leg.
The flight back from Oslo to London Heathrow was every bit the full horror of Club Europe, but I managed to get through it with the help of four small bottles of some sort of Chilean Red.
As always the Concorde Room afforded some succour and the ribeye was washed down with a couple of glasses of half decent claret.
The three hours following the ribeye are a little sketchy but according to my camera several martinis and a BA burger were involved, although only a single portion of chips, which seemed to total five in a small basket.
I settled into 16A, skipped the main course, and settled for a glass of Claret. As per usual, with the Mixed Fleet crew, I knew the glass would stay with me until breakfast somewhere near to Singapore. I don’t dislike “Club World” on the Boeing 777 but can understand why it gives the impression of a dormitory on the one hand, and on the other can be quite claustrophobic if you have a window seat.
My eighth visit to the Concord Bar at Singapore Airport was typically uneventful, and I was quite pleased to see that Griselda had managed to ensure I was the only person in the small, dark, dingy, and relatively cold room. It, obviously, still delights me to enter this room with the “secret” code.
BA7402 was not a British Airways flight at all. It was a nom de plume, so to speak! Its real name was QF36, a Qantas flight. This meant three things to me.
1. Excellent, comfortable, and private Business Suite
2. Very good on board service
3. The utterly dire Fred Perry supper menu
I’m not without understanding when it comes to Qantas’ reasoning behind the “supper menu” but I just think it is awful. It is coupled with the equally dire breakfast offering that is neither “café style” or full on. In effect the overall menu is neither one thing nor another. Griselda would be writing a very stiff letter to Alan Joyce.
Melbourne airport was, as ever, a joy to arrive at and I was quickly on my way home for ten days without stepping on board an aeroplane.
TTFN
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Agree totally with the 'supper menu' - hate it.
- Joined
- Dec 21, 2012
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Love to see that martini, TH. I remember my first year at Uni; we thought we would be 'oh so sophisticated' and had coughtails at some swish place on St Kilda Rd before the annual Halls of Residence ball. The only coughtail I had heard of was a dry martini - just about blew an 18yr old's head off! Not only that but we left the coughtail Black Sobranie cigarettes (that cost us a fortune) behind at the bar.
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If you have watched Downton Abbey you will be familiar with my current issue. Traveling with staff is never easy, one wishes to do the right thing but one has to be careful that staff members know their place. My next trip to Blighty required the presence of my secretary and the points balance and budget allowed for two business class flights.
The solution was obvious…………I would fly in the First Class cabin and Griselda would fly in the Economy Class cabin. As a treat I would guest Griselda into the Business Class lounge before I headed to the First Class lounge. It seemed only fair and would at least demonstrate my humility.
Firstly we had to get to Sydney because British Airways refuses to fly from civilisation, and this of course meant another journey on the livestock struck at that most third world of airports. (Apologies to the third world.) I made the mistake of accompanying Griselda to the Qantas domestic business class check in desk because she was unable to travel with hand luggage only. Well that was a drama. I switched off when the chap started talking about fare classes and PNR’s. All I wanted to do was head to the business class lounge and check in.
I knew this was going to be a difficult trip.
In theory an afternoon long haul first class flight presents the best of dining options but I always struggle because of the many alternatives before the flight. For a start there was breakfast in the Qantas domestic business lounge, then there was the food offering on board the Sydney bound flight, and finally there was the Fred Perry Autumn menu to work through in the First Class Lounge. (The only ray of light at hells own airport.)
After I left Griselda in the Qantas Club I found my way to my favourite seat in the business lounge and settled down to the cup of tea Griselda had made and delivered to the business lounge reception desk. I resisted temptation and did not partake of the eggs and bacon on offer. It did not require similar fortitude to turn down the Fred Perry soup on QF428. (Incidentally Griselda had managed to persuade Qantas to provide a newly refurbished Airbus A330 with business suites. I wondered, for the absolute briefest of moments, how Griselda was getting on in the economy cabin. )
After fifteen minutes the livestock truck, scheduled to run every ten minutes, arrived at Gate 15, to transport Griselda and I, and some Jetstar types, to the international hellhole. Griselda stoically typed a letter of complaint to Alan Joyce whilst suffering the indignity of sitting next to a large sweaty fellow in a singlet, shorts and “flip flops”. This was what international First class travel was all about at Sydney. Oh mans inhumanity to man.
After dropping Griselda off at the Business Class Lounge I headed back to the tranquillity of the First Class Lounge, which was remarkably peaceful. (I presumed that the recent offer of double status credits to all and sundry was Qantas’ way of increasing the number of platinum frequent flyer types and thus returning the lounge back to a zoo,)
A Qantas big planey thing at [-]Manila[/-] Sydney Airport
I couldn’t resist the Fred Perry club sandwich and chips, washed down with whatever the Shiraz was in the decanter at the bar. Despite the never ending list of failures at Sydney airport the Qantas first Class lounge was not one of them and it proved an excellent way to pass an hour before boarding BA16, not least because it got me away from Griselda.
“Mr Hancock” I recognised Griselda’s growl immediately, “you are being paged.”
We were in the general gate area and I assumed it would be autograph hunters, given I was already in First Class and there was no need for an upgrade, but apparently having a British and Australian passport was causing a few issues and the airline staff now had to sight both passports. :shock:
I gave Griselda a list of work items needing her attention and wished her a pleasant flight as I turned left down the First class aerobridge.
“Mr Hancock” it was the customer service manager greeting me, “I believe you are traveling with a colleague, would you like to invite them up to First to have a drink with…..?”
“No” I responded before he could finish.
I opted for the rack of lamb, which to be fair, was rather good, and plumped for a glass or five of claret.
Yummy!No seriously very nice.
Before I knew it we were landing in Singapore at Gate C1 – all rather handy for a short walk to the lounge.
I had thought about dropping Griselda off at the Qantas lounge, but time was short, and besides, by furnishing her with the code for the Concord Bar she could rush to the door and enter the code every time I needed to get back in. Now that would ensure everyone who could see would realise just how important I am.
The longer second sector from Singapore to London is always a struggle for me. Having consumed several gin and tonics in the Concord Bar I managed to sleep for seven hours, but found myself wide-awake for the remainder of the flight. Two hours prior to landing it was time for the BA breakfast, which on this occasion was most disappointing because there was no fried bread. I jotted this down on the back of the menu and dispatched it back to Griselda, via the crewmember serving me, so that she could write an appropriate letter of complaint to Willie Walsh.
I don’t miss arriving at Terminal 3 at Heathrow at all, particularly now that I had access to the Concord Breakfast room. I guested Griselda into the British Airways arrivals lounge, not through any sense of sympathy, it was more because the thought of being trapped in a car with her for three hours after a long haul flight and no shower was not something to look forward to.
After my second breakfast of the morning I left the Concord Breakfast Room and headed to Avis where Griselda had sorted out the car. I say car, it was more some sort of dreadful box shaped compact bus. Dreadful.
…………to be continued.
TTFN
The solution was obvious…………I would fly in the First Class cabin and Griselda would fly in the Economy Class cabin. As a treat I would guest Griselda into the Business Class lounge before I headed to the First Class lounge. It seemed only fair and would at least demonstrate my humility.
Firstly we had to get to Sydney because British Airways refuses to fly from civilisation, and this of course meant another journey on the livestock struck at that most third world of airports.
(Apologies to the third world.) I made the mistake of accompanying Griselda to the Qantas domestic business class check in desk because she was unable to travel with hand luggage only. Well that was a drama. I switched off when the chap started talking about fare classes and PNR’s. All I wanted to do was head to the business class lounge and check in.I knew this was going to be a difficult trip.
In theory an afternoon long haul first class flight presents the best of dining options but I always struggle because of the many alternatives before the flight. For a start there was breakfast in the Qantas domestic business lounge, then there was the food offering on board the Sydney bound flight, and finally there was the Fred Perry Autumn menu to work through in the First Class Lounge. (The only ray of light at hells own airport.)
After I left Griselda in the Qantas Club I found my way to my favourite seat in the business lounge and settled down to the cup of tea Griselda had made and delivered to the business lounge reception desk. I resisted temptation and did not partake of the eggs and bacon on offer. It did not require similar fortitude to turn down the Fred Perry soup on QF428. (Incidentally Griselda had managed to persuade Qantas to provide a newly refurbished Airbus A330 with business suites. I wondered, for the absolute briefest of moments, how Griselda was getting on in the economy cabin.
)After fifteen minutes the livestock truck, scheduled to run every ten minutes, arrived at Gate 15, to transport Griselda and I, and some Jetstar types, to the international hellhole. Griselda stoically typed a letter of complaint to Alan Joyce whilst suffering the indignity of sitting next to a large sweaty fellow in a singlet, shorts and “flip flops”. This was what international First class travel was all about at Sydney. Oh mans inhumanity to man.
After dropping Griselda off at the Business Class Lounge I headed back to the tranquillity of the First Class Lounge, which was remarkably peaceful. (I presumed that the recent offer of double status credits to all and sundry was Qantas’ way of increasing the number of platinum frequent flyer types and thus returning the lounge back to a zoo,)
A Qantas big planey thing at [-]Manila[/-] Sydney Airport
I couldn’t resist the Fred Perry club sandwich and chips, washed down with whatever the Shiraz was in the decanter at the bar. Despite the never ending list of failures at Sydney airport the Qantas first Class lounge was not one of them and it proved an excellent way to pass an hour before boarding BA16, not least because it got me away from Griselda.
“Mr Hancock” I recognised Griselda’s growl immediately, “you are being paged.”
We were in the general gate area and I assumed it would be autograph hunters, given I was already in First Class and there was no need for an upgrade, but apparently having a British and Australian passport was causing a few issues and the airline staff now had to sight both passports. :shock:
I gave Griselda a list of work items needing her attention and wished her a pleasant flight as I turned left down the First class aerobridge.
“Mr Hancock” it was the customer service manager greeting me, “I believe you are traveling with a colleague, would you like to invite them up to First to have a drink with…..?”
“No” I responded before he could finish.
I opted for the rack of lamb, which to be fair, was rather good, and plumped for a glass or five of claret.
Yummy!No seriously very nice.
Before I knew it we were landing in Singapore at Gate C1 – all rather handy for a short walk to the lounge.
I had thought about dropping Griselda off at the Qantas lounge, but time was short, and besides, by furnishing her with the code for the Concord Bar she could rush to the door and enter the code every time I needed to get back in. Now that would ensure everyone who could see would realise just how important I am.
The longer second sector from Singapore to London is always a struggle for me. Having consumed several gin and tonics in the Concord Bar I managed to sleep for seven hours, but found myself wide-awake for the remainder of the flight. Two hours prior to landing it was time for the BA breakfast, which on this occasion was most disappointing because there was no fried bread. I jotted this down on the back of the menu and dispatched it back to Griselda, via the crewmember serving me, so that she could write an appropriate letter of complaint to Willie Walsh.
I don’t miss arriving at Terminal 3 at Heathrow at all, particularly now that I had access to the Concord Breakfast room. I guested Griselda into the British Airways arrivals lounge, not through any sense of sympathy, it was more because the thought of being trapped in a car with her for three hours after a long haul flight and no shower was not something to look forward to.
After my second breakfast of the morning I left the Concord Breakfast Room and headed to Avis where Griselda had sorted out the car. I say car, it was more some sort of dreadful box shaped compact bus. Dreadful.
…………to be continued.
TTFN
Simo
Established Member
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- May 22, 2011
- Posts
- 3,820
Or even worse Bali
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- Aug 26, 2010
- Posts
- 5,645
“I don’t understand why you can’t just drive me to the hotel” I was feeling brave, Griselda was not ironing and there were no sharp implements within her reach.
“It will take longer and this way you will save money on the car hire, congestion charges and parking” Griselda snarled.
I closed my eyes as we headed down the motorway at the sort of speeds last seen in the 1920’s in rural China. I could now list “very careful driver” as one of Griselda’s “skills”.
Public transport and I are not two things that have ever really got on. The livestock truck at [-]Manila[/-] Sydney Airport is my most frequent exposure. I can be persuaded to rethink things if there is a definite benefit but it has to be a very clear one!
“This way” Griselda pointed to some lifts.
To be fair she was doing well to manage her own to suitcases and my carry on case so I kept silent as we first headed down in one lift then after Griselda fiddled around with some sort of ATM looking device for an eternity we headed to the bowels of the airport in another.
We caught something called The Heathrow Express, which promised to deliver us to Paddington Station in 15 minutes. It failed in this respect, not least since we sat stationary for 5 minutes outside of Paddington station. I was struggling with the concept of this being more efficient than Griselda driving me to my hotel.
Once we had disembarked the Heathrow Express Griselda broke the news to me that in peak hour it would be significantly quicker to take a form of public transport she referred to as “The Tube”.
“The what?” I heard myself say.
“The Tube” she sighed, “it is the London Underground”
I wondered if this was some sort of popular music group. I had lost track of all the new fangled music since the death of skiffle. Whatever happened to that nice chap Lonnie Donegal?
There was a moment when I genuinely felt for Griselda as she dragged her two suitcases up the stairs, I even carried my case, as we endeavoured to get to the platform of the Circle Line at Paddington.
The journey was nothing short of horrific, at one stage I found my face firmly wedged into Griselda’s armpit as rush hour underground travel took its full toll. I thought I would never recover. The crowding and stench of stale sweat was nothing short of awful. It was like being back on the [-]Manila[/-] Sydney airport livestock truck again. To make matters worse there were no escalators at St James Underground Station and my better nature meant I had to carry my own small case up the stairs and then wait for Griselda as she lugged the two large cases along.
Fortunately The Conrad was a very short walk away and I wished Griselda a good night as she hiked off to the B&B she was staying at.
I immediately headed to the HHonors desk and was greeted by a foreign sort of chap.
“Mr Hancock, vee have been vaiting for you.”
“Excellent” was the best I could do.
“vee have a Suite for you on the zird floor, vill zat be alright?”
“Yes indeed.” I said, although I actually thought that the Presidential Suite on the top floor would have been more suitable.
I had stayed here before, but it was an Intercontinental then, and little had changed,The Executive Lounge was most pleasing but thanks to Griselda’s incompetence I would only get an hour of free drinks. I opted to have a dash at the gin and managed five decent size G&T’s before no amount of begging would prevent the alcoholic beverages from being locked away.
I like Westminster as a location to stay, it is away from the immediate hustle and bustle of Oxford Street, Leicester Square etc but is only a 15-minute walk away. The Conrad is also ideally situated next door to The Feathers public house, which, unlike most pubs in London, serves a half decent pint of real ale.
Rather than attempt another rush hour jaunt on “The Tube” I thought it best to leave early for Heathrow, but even at 3 PM it was still a horror story. I’d be reminding Griselda of this experience when it came to he pay review in 2021.
“You just need to head to the escalator in the centre and go to the ground floor, then double back, and head up the escalator at the end. I’ll meet you at the main lounge reception.” I was quite proud of my explicit instructions.
I turned right through the million-dollar door into the Concorde Room and had time for a dry Martini before meeting Griselda at the main lounge entrance. Rather generously I guested Griselda into the First Class lounge, although to be fair I really couldn’t be bothered to accompany her up the escalator to the business class lounge.
These days my routine is set and after another excellent ribeye steak and two dry martinis, at the bar, I met Griselda at the gate. Once again I gave Griselda some work for the flight and turned left into the first class cabin…………..only to find someone sitting in my seat. I am not sure what the difficulty is with BA First Class but there appears to be a complete and utter inability for crew to find the seat that matches the boarding pass. It has happened to me twice this year and the lady sitting in my seat had been incorrectly shown there by a member of the cabin crew. Very odd. :?:
After a couple of G&T’s I drifted into a state of unconsciousness and slept for a good eight hours, dreaming of the breakfast to come when we approached Singapore. For those of you that have not experienced the heavenly delight that is fried bread you really do not know what you are missing. It is without doubt the very ambrosia delivered by doves to the Gods. Although, when prepared correctly, the saturated fat content should be enough to shorten one’s life by a year or two.
There was no hint of a Fred Perry supper menu from Singapore to Sydney and I thoroughly enjoyed the eye fillet and king prawn washed down with several glasses of claret. I briefly wondered what Griselda was having for dinner, but it was only a passing whimsy.
[-]Manila[/-]Sydney Airport was typically inefficient, what a delight to sit and wait 25 minutes for the livestock truck. The departure to Melbourne, and civilisation, could not come soon enough and fortunately was in the form of another newly refurbished Airbus A330. At least Griselda had got that right.
Sydney - best viewed from an aeroplane destined for Melbourne.
At last I would get some time off from traveling and wouldn’t board an aircraft again for almost a month. Griselda informed me that I had requalified GGL in just under four months, which she seemd quite excited by. I just wanted to sleep.
TTFN.
“It will take longer and this way you will save money on the car hire, congestion charges and parking” Griselda snarled.
I closed my eyes as we headed down the motorway at the sort of speeds last seen in the 1920’s in rural China. I could now list “very careful driver” as one of Griselda’s “skills”.
Public transport and I are not two things that have ever really got on. The livestock truck at [-]Manila[/-] Sydney Airport is my most frequent exposure. I can be persuaded to rethink things if there is a definite benefit but it has to be a very clear one!
“This way” Griselda pointed to some lifts.
To be fair she was doing well to manage her own to suitcases and my carry on case so I kept silent as we first headed down in one lift then after Griselda fiddled around with some sort of ATM looking device for an eternity we headed to the bowels of the airport in another.
We caught something called The Heathrow Express, which promised to deliver us to Paddington Station in 15 minutes. It failed in this respect, not least since we sat stationary for 5 minutes outside of Paddington station. I was struggling with the concept of this being more efficient than Griselda driving me to my hotel.
Once we had disembarked the Heathrow Express Griselda broke the news to me that in peak hour it would be significantly quicker to take a form of public transport she referred to as “The Tube”.
“The what?” I heard myself say.
“The Tube” she sighed, “it is the London Underground”
I wondered if this was some sort of popular music group. I had lost track of all the new fangled music since the death of skiffle. Whatever happened to that nice chap Lonnie Donegal?
There was a moment when I genuinely felt for Griselda as she dragged her two suitcases up the stairs, I even carried my case, as we endeavoured to get to the platform of the Circle Line at Paddington.
The journey was nothing short of horrific, at one stage I found my face firmly wedged into Griselda’s armpit as rush hour underground travel took its full toll. I thought I would never recover. The crowding and stench of stale sweat was nothing short of awful. It was like being back on the [-]Manila[/-] Sydney airport livestock truck again. To make matters worse there were no escalators at St James Underground Station and my better nature meant I had to carry my own small case up the stairs and then wait for Griselda as she lugged the two large cases along.
Fortunately The Conrad was a very short walk away and I wished Griselda a good night as she hiked off to the B&B she was staying at.
I immediately headed to the HHonors desk and was greeted by a foreign sort of chap.
“Mr Hancock, vee have been vaiting for you.”
“Excellent” was the best I could do.
“vee have a Suite for you on the zird floor, vill zat be alright?”
“Yes indeed.” I said, although I actually thought that the Presidential Suite on the top floor would have been more suitable.
I had stayed here before, but it was an Intercontinental then, and little had changed,The Executive Lounge was most pleasing but thanks to Griselda’s incompetence I would only get an hour of free drinks. I opted to have a dash at the gin and managed five decent size G&T’s before no amount of begging would prevent the alcoholic beverages from being locked away.
I like Westminster as a location to stay, it is away from the immediate hustle and bustle of Oxford Street, Leicester Square etc but is only a 15-minute walk away. The Conrad is also ideally situated next door to The Feathers public house, which, unlike most pubs in London, serves a half decent pint of real ale.
Rather than attempt another rush hour jaunt on “The Tube” I thought it best to leave early for Heathrow, but even at 3 PM it was still a horror story. I’d be reminding Griselda of this experience when it came to he pay review in 2021.
“You just need to head to the escalator in the centre and go to the ground floor, then double back, and head up the escalator at the end. I’ll meet you at the main lounge reception.” I was quite proud of my explicit instructions.
I turned right through the million-dollar door into the Concorde Room and had time for a dry Martini before meeting Griselda at the main lounge entrance. Rather generously I guested Griselda into the First Class lounge, although to be fair I really couldn’t be bothered to accompany her up the escalator to the business class lounge.
These days my routine is set and after another excellent ribeye steak and two dry martinis, at the bar, I met Griselda at the gate. Once again I gave Griselda some work for the flight and turned left into the first class cabin…………..only to find someone sitting in my seat. I am not sure what the difficulty is with BA First Class but there appears to be a complete and utter inability for crew to find the seat that matches the boarding pass. It has happened to me twice this year and the lady sitting in my seat had been incorrectly shown there by a member of the cabin crew. Very odd. :?:
After a couple of G&T’s I drifted into a state of unconsciousness and slept for a good eight hours, dreaming of the breakfast to come when we approached Singapore. For those of you that have not experienced the heavenly delight that is fried bread you really do not know what you are missing. It is without doubt the very ambrosia delivered by doves to the Gods. Although, when prepared correctly, the saturated fat content should be enough to shorten one’s life by a year or two.
There was no hint of a Fred Perry supper menu from Singapore to Sydney and I thoroughly enjoyed the eye fillet and king prawn washed down with several glasses of claret. I briefly wondered what Griselda was having for dinner, but it was only a passing whimsy.
[-]Manila[/-]Sydney Airport was typically inefficient, what a delight to sit and wait 25 minutes for the livestock truck. The departure to Melbourne, and civilisation, could not come soon enough and fortunately was in the form of another newly refurbished Airbus A330. At least Griselda had got that right.
Sydney - best viewed from an aeroplane destined for Melbourne.
At last I would get some time off from traveling and wouldn’t board an aircraft again for almost a month. Griselda informed me that I had requalified GGL in just under four months, which she seemd quite excited by. I just wanted to sleep.
TTFN.
Last edited:
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I imagine I'm not the only one wondering whether to test that @dykwia.com email address to see if it's real :shock:.
:shock:.
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TheRealTMA
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Quick! Over to CrazyDomains and register it for poor Tony. Obviously Griselda hasn't had the heart to tell him it's not available yet.I imagine I'm not the only one wondering whether to test that @dykwia.com email address to see if it's real
T
tania73
Guest
Mr DYWKIA, Thank you so much for yet another wonderful instalment. I must say thought, as someone who works in one of the helping professions, I do hope the poor Griselda's sense of self esteem is in tact after having to turn right on the plane are you turned left. What do you think of AFF starting a Griselda Appreciation Society?
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Might register for myself
to thwart Hancock . But, then again, I don't think I could carry it off with quite the Hancock panache :mrgreen:.
drron
Veteran Member
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- Jul 4, 2002
- Posts
- 34,701
I like that idea.It's a GAS.
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