Premium Does Not Equal Posh

Top of my  list of things to note about my flight to the UK is – as the title suggests – Premium does not equal Posh.

Having said that, mind you, Premium does equal “better than coach” – marginally.

Besides the size of the foot room - “foot” being the accurate measurement of it – and possibly the meal (though I’d hate to think that Coach got something less than the meager meal we did) Premium Class was nothing to write home about – and yet, I just have.

Probably the best part of the flight, besides the chocolate bar I got in my dinner packet – how can it be dinner when it happens at both midnight and/or 0700hrs simultaneously – depending on which time zone you’re trying to follow.

Anyway, besides the chocolate, the best part of the flight was the octogenarian I was sitting next to.  He started off our flight telling me funny stories from his past living in Canada (which threw me a bit due to the fact that he looked rather British and sounded the same).  He talked of the explosives he would accompany on a plane flown by the founder of the now-defunct WardAir.  Then he talked about his family’s trip on the train from Toronto to Calgary three days before New Year’s Eve in the 1960’s and how his wife told the Conductor she wanted to go for a walk outside the train, and when the Conductor obliged her, he laughed when she returned mere minutes later and the Conductor said - “She’s not from around here is she?”

Then my flight-mate brought out the book he was reading – I had noticed it before (as it had a man in uniform on the cover & I’m always on the lookout for war-related books to mention to C).  It was “Monty” by Nigel Hamilton and my travel-neighbour ruefully stated that “This book is about my old boss”.  He then told me a story about his time in Africa and how they all had to eat dried meat which gave them all diarrhea and how a group of NCOs all went into the latrine at the same time and the latrine seat broke and the fell in. 

He also told me a story about how the British soldiers at one point in time were all given large green envelopes, this happened when he was stationed in Italy, and the envelopes could contain anything that the soldiers wanted to send home and the sensors would not touch them – anything in there was sent as is.  He told a long and winding story about a tank driver and how when the stopped to do some repairs someone accidently bled the brake lines and the tank rumbled down an embankment and ran over a jeep.  Luckily, the jeep was empty and then the jeep driver returned, he asked if anyone assembled around the wreckage had a green envelope as he’d like to send his jeep back to his wife.

This entry could also be called: “To Sleep or Not to Sleep” or “The First Red Skyline is Dusk; the Second, Dawn” and, most annoyingly - “Hurry Up & Wait”

Mother Nature had seen fit to create the worst May 4th weather imaginable to the City and blanketed – nay, shellacked it with heavy wet snow that she applied in a vigorous sideways fashion.   Being a bit concerned about the road conditions C and I decided to leave early for the airport.  Arriving three hours prior to the flight to discover that the flight was delayed 1.5hrs – leaving us at least four hours to kill.  US – because C opted to stay with me because abandoning me to my fate was, apparently, not an option.

The  check-in counter woman, as if sensing C’s resolve (or my reluctance to leave him behind) managed to procure a special pass that allowed C to accompany me, past security.  After a detour back to the car to divest C of his myriad of Swiss Army knives, First Aid scissors and anything else we thought might get him in trouble with Security.

Once past Security, and with “Tim’s” in hand C & I sat down for a game of Scrabble – which C had suggested we bring (I think it must be a Scouting – Be Prepared kind of thing).  We managed to play an entire game before heading over to the gate to wait some more.

The flight boarded 30 minutes after it was scheduled to depart and after another half  hour waiting in our seats we finally pulled away from the gate a full 2.5hrs behind schedule – my only happiness being I got to spend all but the final 30 minutes with C (does that sound sappy?) and I was happy too in the knowledge that I was wise not to have pre-booked my train from Gatwick to Bath.

About an hour into the flight the sky became an interesting mix of layered red & orange over top of grey – dusk was upon us.  Two hours later the sky was once  again the colour layers – dawn.  It was tomorrow – at 11:30 at night!

Then I was faced with the dilemma – it was midnight behind me – but ahead of me, in the UK, it was 7AM – should I sleep? or should I stay up to somehow better acclimate myself to the time change?

By 8AM (1Am) I still hadn’t decided though useful thought was/is beginning to wane – and maybe just a couple of hours of sleep would be nice…

So I will arrive, 3 hours late and sleep deprived – will I get to Bath without issue? 

Only time will tell.