- Joined
- Aug 26, 2010
- Posts
- 5,645
I couldn’t quite get my head around the boarding process. Two lines had formed, one with important people like me in it, and another of the less important types. One lady was scanning the boarding passes, but instead of only looking after the important people she alternated between the lines. :?:
“Miss Pugh, I need you to register a complaint with the that Joyce chap.” I explained the problem.
“I am not sure there is much point Mr Hancock I have no sent over 100 letters about this to him and he hasn’t responded to one.” She replied.
It was as if Qantas did not care about important people like me.
Surprisingly the food, described as “brunch”, on my flight to Brisbane, was not at all bad. Chicken and bacon in some sort of roll, very tasty and quite a decent portion size. This was more like it.
I was on my way to the late 20[SUP]th[/SUP] Century for a conference, I try to avoid most Australian cities, apart from the occasionally continently sophisticated Melbourne, but Griselda had arranged this without my knowledge and then stressed how important it was.
Upon arrival I was due to meet a colleague who was scheduled to arrive on a later flight so Griselda had arranged for me to wait in the Qantas Business Lounge in the absence of their usual [-]RSL[/-] First Class Lounge.
The lounge was not actually as unpleasant as I expected it to be. I found a quiet corner and settled myself down. I called the waitress over and ordered a Gin & Tonic…. only to be told that alcoholic beverages were not served before midday. What on earth was the world coming to; I assumed this was some sort of cost saving exercise.
After an hour or so of dozing I was awoken by quite a brouhaha as a group of people carrying bags and clothes, hotly pursued by a chap with a large camera, passed me. I wondered if I was still asleep and in some sort of dreamland. I found myself in what can only be described as a wedding party, but unlike any wedding I had attended.
I had not seen so many tattoos since visiting the dockyard in Portsmouth back in the 1990’s and it made me wonder if the bride had naval connections. Back in my day this would have been a fairground attraction alongside the bearded lady and the Lilliputian Village – although Griselda informs me that this seems to have morphed into something called “Reality TV” these days.
The photographer snapped away as the bride organised herself and the groom into various spots around the lounge, presumably for the best lighting to maximise her orange colour. (It couldn’t have been natural, but I am not up to speed with tanning salons and their ilk.) It was all rather surreal and, fortunately, the whole scene was over in about 15 minutes. I’m still not sure if it wasn’t all a dream.
The Hilton in Brisbane hadn’t quite worked out how important I was and provided me with an “Executive” room on the 22[SUP]nd[/SUP] floor affording views of the concrete dystopia that is Brisbane. The chap serving in the lounge had certainly got the idea of table service.
I was soon on my way back to Melbourne, Griselda had arranged for me to fly with Virgin Australia.
“Mr Hancock, when you get to the airport look for the “Premium Entrance.” She was on the phone to me again.
I liked the sound of “Premium Entrance” it sounded the just the place for me.
“Yes Miss Pugh” I dutifully responded.
When I reached the Premium Entrance I was the only one using it. I thought this quite appropriate. I handed my telephone without wires to the nice lady behind the desk so that Griselda could sort everything out with her.
“Mr Hancock, I have managed to get you on an earlier flight but you will need to go to the service desk in the lounge to organise your upgrade to Business Class.” Griselda continued.
I honestly wondered what was the point of Griselda if I had to do all of the work myself.
The nice people at Virgin Australia moved me to an earlier flight but could not assure catering, so I dashed into the lounge for a spot of dinner.
“Oh” I said to the lady in the Virgin Australia uniform, “I thought it was table service.”
I wondered why someone had built their rather modern home so close to the airport?
How was I to know that I had to make my own sandwich and fetch my own drinks? Griselda would be writing to Sir Beardy Bloke again, copying Mr Bugatti too.
I arrived back in Melbourne and began the arduous task of navigating the road system designed by consultants from Sydney.
“Mr Hancock, you are back?” Griselda sounded like she had something on her mind.
“Yes Miss Pugh?” Well how else could I have responded?
“You need to be in the United Kingdom for a meeting at the end of August. I have organised your flight with British Airways utilising one of your Gold Upgrade Vouchers so that you will be flying Business Class…..but……I can’t get your preferred seats.”
“……but I always sit in the same seats…well obviously apart from the times I am, quite rightly, upgraded to First Class” I said …firmly
“I’ll keep working on it Mr Hancock.” Griselda said.
So the UK again? Would this incessant travel ever end?
These questions and more will probably not be answered in the next meaningless and dire episode of “One Hancock, One Harridan and too much Habromania.”
“Miss Pugh, I need you to register a complaint with the that Joyce chap.” I explained the problem.
“I am not sure there is much point Mr Hancock I have no sent over 100 letters about this to him and he hasn’t responded to one.” She replied.
It was as if Qantas did not care about important people like me.
Surprisingly the food, described as “brunch”, on my flight to Brisbane, was not at all bad. Chicken and bacon in some sort of roll, very tasty and quite a decent portion size. This was more like it.
I was on my way to the late 20[SUP]th[/SUP] Century for a conference, I try to avoid most Australian cities, apart from the occasionally continently sophisticated Melbourne, but Griselda had arranged this without my knowledge and then stressed how important it was.
Upon arrival I was due to meet a colleague who was scheduled to arrive on a later flight so Griselda had arranged for me to wait in the Qantas Business Lounge in the absence of their usual [-]RSL[/-] First Class Lounge.
The lounge was not actually as unpleasant as I expected it to be. I found a quiet corner and settled myself down. I called the waitress over and ordered a Gin & Tonic…. only to be told that alcoholic beverages were not served before midday. What on earth was the world coming to; I assumed this was some sort of cost saving exercise.
After an hour or so of dozing I was awoken by quite a brouhaha as a group of people carrying bags and clothes, hotly pursued by a chap with a large camera, passed me. I wondered if I was still asleep and in some sort of dreamland. I found myself in what can only be described as a wedding party, but unlike any wedding I had attended.
I had not seen so many tattoos since visiting the dockyard in Portsmouth back in the 1990’s and it made me wonder if the bride had naval connections. Back in my day this would have been a fairground attraction alongside the bearded lady and the Lilliputian Village – although Griselda informs me that this seems to have morphed into something called “Reality TV” these days.
The photographer snapped away as the bride organised herself and the groom into various spots around the lounge, presumably for the best lighting to maximise her orange colour. (It couldn’t have been natural, but I am not up to speed with tanning salons and their ilk.) It was all rather surreal and, fortunately, the whole scene was over in about 15 minutes. I’m still not sure if it wasn’t all a dream.
The Hilton in Brisbane hadn’t quite worked out how important I was and provided me with an “Executive” room on the 22[SUP]nd[/SUP] floor affording views of the concrete dystopia that is Brisbane. The chap serving in the lounge had certainly got the idea of table service.
I was soon on my way back to Melbourne, Griselda had arranged for me to fly with Virgin Australia.
“Mr Hancock, when you get to the airport look for the “Premium Entrance.” She was on the phone to me again.
I liked the sound of “Premium Entrance” it sounded the just the place for me.
“Yes Miss Pugh” I dutifully responded.
When I reached the Premium Entrance I was the only one using it. I thought this quite appropriate. I handed my telephone without wires to the nice lady behind the desk so that Griselda could sort everything out with her.
“Mr Hancock, I have managed to get you on an earlier flight but you will need to go to the service desk in the lounge to organise your upgrade to Business Class.” Griselda continued.
I honestly wondered what was the point of Griselda if I had to do all of the work myself.
The nice people at Virgin Australia moved me to an earlier flight but could not assure catering, so I dashed into the lounge for a spot of dinner.
“Oh” I said to the lady in the Virgin Australia uniform, “I thought it was table service.”
I wondered why someone had built their rather modern home so close to the airport?
How was I to know that I had to make my own sandwich and fetch my own drinks? Griselda would be writing to Sir Beardy Bloke again, copying Mr Bugatti too.
I arrived back in Melbourne and began the arduous task of navigating the road system designed by consultants from Sydney.
“Mr Hancock, you are back?” Griselda sounded like she had something on her mind.
“Yes Miss Pugh?” Well how else could I have responded?
“You need to be in the United Kingdom for a meeting at the end of August. I have organised your flight with British Airways utilising one of your Gold Upgrade Vouchers so that you will be flying Business Class…..but……I can’t get your preferred seats.”
“……but I always sit in the same seats…well obviously apart from the times I am, quite rightly, upgraded to First Class” I said …firmly
“I’ll keep working on it Mr Hancock.” Griselda said.
So the UK again? Would this incessant travel ever end?
These questions and more will probably not be answered in the next meaningless and dire episode of “One Hancock, One Harridan and too much Habromania.”
