A Much Better Start

21:00

Oh my god. I am NEVER FLYING COACH AGAIN.

We've all walked through business class on our way to the not-so-cheap seats, and marveled at the absurdly spacious armchairs, and at the same time wondering at the suckers who would pay through the nose just for a nice chair. Well, let me tell you. I am now finishing my first hour on the other side of the curtain, and as God as my witness, I am never going back.

I am here through the grace of my cousin Jeffrey, who works for Delta and hooked me up with stand-by tickets. And stand-by, aside from being much cheaper than regular rates, also comes with a very high chance of being put in business class. Because really, who the hell is going to actually *pay* for these seats?

Ah, the seat. It has eleven different configurations, as well as a reading lamp, a real pillow and duvet, and personal viewing screens. I've only ever had a personal screen on one flight before - also a red-eye on which I was supposed to sleep, but instead watched the entire Godfather trilogy.

But best of all, I had not one but two mimosas in me before we even reached the runway. And lord almighty did I need them (cf: passport drama).

After take-off, we were also offered today's NY Times (I guess it will be yesterday's London Times upon arrival?), and hot towels, and a goody bag containing such useful bits of awesome as an eye mask, ear plugs, mouthwash, hand cream, toothbrush, lip balm, and hospital socks. I LOVE HOSPITAL SOCKS. And while I wrote that last sentence, I was delivered a plate of salted nuts (I guess people with allergies aren't allowed in business class) and a glass of red wine.

My plan: see if my private telly has got any Doctor Who. Eat and drink everything put in front of me. Get thoroughly tanked. Repeat until London.

A girl could get used to this...

22:00

Another glass of red wine down, and the future seems a good deal more cheery.

I just had a first course of Moroccan crab salad, cream of asparagus soup, and a Greek salad, while listening to an excellent recording of Beethoven's 7th on fancy noise-canceling headphones, and all is well with the world.

Next up: beef and Mussorgsky.

23:00

Dinner: Grilled fillet of beef (very good!) with bearnaise sauce, accompanied by potato gratin and broccolini with hazelnuts. The planned Mussorgsky was replaced by Madonna (same difference?), and I could hardly touch my dessert platter of fruit and cheese.

When the plates were cleared, I curled up under the duvet with my third (fourth? who knows) glass of wine and watched The Fires of Pompeii, which is much more marvelous than I remembered, and daydreamed about how cool it must be to be James Moran and get to watch your own episode on airplanes. By the end of the episode, all that wine had done its job; I was knackered. And though I would love to continue enjoying the television sampler, sleep is now necessary. Sad!

09:00 (London time)

I slept till the end of the flight. Right through breakfast, I'm afraid to say. The bloody flight was just not long enough. And how often do you get to say *that*?

10:30

On the Picadilly line, en route to central London, and I miss my flight already. It was looking yesterday like I'd miss my flight in the more conventional sense of the expression, but I daresay I prefer this sort of missing...