Who wants to travel more? Who wants to travel more cheaply? Who wants to fly in business class for less than the price of an economy ticket? Yes, all of you.
So this guide is for you. Use it and you’ll never look back – or turn right when you board an aircraft –ever again.
Category: Travelling Solo
And then, the request: would you give up your seat, because . . . even more hushed tones: “We have a celebrity on board who would like it.” Minutes passed. Oh, for God’s sake, speak up: who is it? La Toya Jackson.
United, at last: she was in 5K but wanted 7K. I had it.
All the abuse did was to confirm for me that the city is everything I said it was, and it reminded me that I’d also forgotten to mention provincial, parochial and, clearly, a haven for expats who have nothing better to do than abuse others on social media.
The truth is, that if a man is single, there is something wrong with him (all the good ones really are taken); but if a woman is single, the chances are that she has had the good sense and guts to ditch the men who have that something wrong with them.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, we’re afraid!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
“We can’t, We will fall!” they responded.
“Come to the edge,” he said.
And so they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.”
But I’m hooked now. Tier Points are my drug of choice, and I would have to spend at least three months in Air Miles Rehab to wean me off the scheme. My only hope is that Sir Richard Branson might read this and, for the sake of my health, give me a Lifetime Gold Membership as a result of the acres of free publicity I continue to give him and his airline.
Even today, and loving my life in the USA, I feel as if I am merely on leave of absence from Paris. A bit like Gertrude Stein: “America is my country and Paris is my hometown.”
Now, I have discovered, on a forthcoming flight, I have been moved from seat 6A in the middle of the plane to 10A, right next to the bar and the toilet, because the aircraft has been changed. Listen. I know that in the grand scale of things, these are not major life problems. But I spend a lot of money with the airline and, after my sixth unanswered e-mail addressed to Customer Service about many other matters, am mightily fed up with the time and energy I constantly have to waste trying to get even a modicum of service at ground level.
I’m just going to have to stop traveling, because my blood pressure really can’t take it. Or I’ll just have to stick to going everywhere that Virgin Atlantic goes, which limits my options.
What are tournéed vegetables? What is a “green apple gastrique”? What’s fregola? A farro salad? These and several other questions confronted me when I sat down to Delta’s Business Class menu on last week’s Los Angeles to New York flight.