This is a Trip Report from the Upper Class cabin
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After three nights in Arlington and its environs helping our colonial cousins sell all manner of lethal hardware it was time to fly back to the UK. The flight was scheduled at 17:40 as a result of UK and US daylight saving being a week out of step, so we left the office for the 5 minute walk back to the Hyatt at 13:30 to give myself and a colleague a chance to change into better travelling attire than suits. The limo (as usual a Lincoln towncar from Boston Coach) turned up earlier than the requested 14:15 time and so we made good time to the airport.
My colleague was on a PE ticket as a result of this flight being the last segment of a trip via Vancouver, and fluttering my eyelashes did absolutely no good on the upgrade front: a rather empty Economy section and less than half full Upper Class was matched by a completely full Premium Economy, but not so full as to be handing out any upgrades. Still, there was always the lounge and, of course, the Upper Class check in desk.
Dulles was all of a bustle with a long queue of Air France passengers snaking around the area next to the Virgin desks. A quick shuffle sideways and a loud Excusez-moi! opened up a route to the purple carpet with the usual officious security type standing guard. Then a quick check in and a trot round the corner to the security gates. As per usual, chaos reigned with far too many travellers for the lengthy security procedures. Not a long wait, but 20 minutes is still too much time to waste. Shoes off, laptop out, coins, phone, wallet and watch in the carry on luggage and I was through to the other side with no fuss. A bank of free seats appeared and I half collapsed into it with shoes in one hand and laptop and rucksack in the other to sort my undignified self out.
As Ive noted previously, Dulles as a walkway to take you to the Virgin gates, so no ride on a plane mate or mobile lounge is required. Well, not unless you really want to. The walkway is subterranean and reached via an escalator, and has a couple of travelators to move people faster or, as was the case today, to cause pileups as a result of people standing stock still surrounded by their bags. The first couple at least had the sense to move themselves but the second pair who found it necessary to block the moving walkway didnt look like moving despite the queue forming behind; I sped up and took the non-assisted route.
Up onto the concourse and the Clubhouse was not that empty: someone having callously stolen my favourite table in the bar (the one by the window). So we grabbed a seat in the main area and settled down with some crab cakes, bottles of Sam Adams and my usual torrid wrestle with the lounges wireless network. In contrast to previous visits I did manage to get it working, and so the rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of emails and more beers. As I soon found out, only the shower room and the ladies WC were available, the gents being unserviceable. A full bladder was enough motivation for me to use the female facilities with that frisson of adrenaline that happens when you know you are doing something sensible under the circumstances, but that in a normal situation you really shouldnt. However, even with the gents in operation more facilities are really required in this lounge.
After six beers (becoming somewhat of a tradition for me at Dulles) we headed out onto the concourse and with my usual mastery of timing the flight was called for pre-boarding. I do love to board early to get settled, lay claim to the overhead space that is rightfully mine, and to do the usual people watching in order to populate my trip reports with the snide comments and character assassinations that seem to delight some of my readers hereabouts. Of course, if the planes APU has failed and there is no air-conditioning you do end up with a sweaty wait in 30 Celsius heat. As happened today. The cabin crew giving us a warm welcome onboard were clearly employing the term in its both figurative and literal sense, and even three glasses of cold champagne and changing into my sleeper suit couldnt stop the beads of perspiration appearing on my forehead.
The rest of the passengers started to trickle in and I heard one of the crew talking about only 18 in J, so it looked as if Id have a range of seats to choose from. As the engines started up and the doors closed it became clear that there were only two of us on the K side of the snooze zone, so I decided to let the guy in 2K have some space and moved to 4K for sitting with a plan to make up 5K for snoozing.
It may have been the six beers, or the three glasses of champagne, or the curious machinations of my body clock which had been suffering from living in split US/UK time zones for the last four weeks, but I slowly drifted off, and then next thing I new was the bing of the seatbelt signs being turned off as we reached cruising height. If this has ever happened to you youll know its a slightly freaky experience, causing you splutter and look round in a confused fashion. Happily my glass of Glenfiddich (and some of those cheese straws) was intact, and so I chugged it to cover my consternation and then set about converting the bed in 5K.
Given the anaesthetic properties of the booze and a full day in the office ahead I was determined to get as much sleep as possible so I stole an extra duvet as an under-blanket and put a couple of pillows next to the window. The suite on the 346 is not as large as the 744s, but it was plenty snug enough. Then, after drinking most of my bottle of water as an antidote to the booze, I got my head down and was asleep again almost before it hit the pillow.
I awoke with a parched mouth and a slightly groggy head, but otherwise not that worse for wear. A quick orange juice banished both symptoms, and V.Port told me we had just 45 minutes to go before landing: Id slept for close on 5 hours. Easing myself back into the land of the living I snagged a WC and brushed my fangs. A quick change back into normal attire and I was ready to face Heathrow. And of course, it being Heathrow in the morning we ended up circling the wilds of Essex for another 20 minutes after the seatbelt signs had been turned on. To be expected, I suppose, but this congestion is not going to be eased by Terminal 5 quite the reverse, I guess.
We landed around 15 minutes late, taxiing to stand 40 (the furthest from T3, grrr!). But of course our APU was still non-functioning so we had to wait for a ground power hookup before the last engine could power down and the doors open. And we waited and waited, the captains optimistic prediction of two or three minutes turning into 15. I know this was not Virgins fault, but it does seem to be symptomatic of all that is wrong with LHR: too many planes, too many passengers, not enough staff, not enough service and not enough decent management.
We made it off the plane around 8am, an hour after our scheduled arrival time. My 09:00 meeting was definitely gone, and my 10:00 was not helped by the usual immigration queue (only two desks open: typical) and a few delays to the bags. At least my luggage was out first when the carousel did actually start up, and I cantered through the green channel to find my driver.
A pleasant flight marred only by the malfunction of auxiliary power. I didnt get to experience the service or the food onboard, but for an East Coast flight into the UK, 5 hours sleep makes it a good trip in my book.
BC
