Right, so after postponing India 3 times (April 2007 - too hot, June 2007 - I'm in China, October 2007 - My mum is planning major construction on her apartment) we finally settled on a now-or-never date of February 2008. As I am merely a chaperone on her trip (she's visiting friends and I'm along for the ride) I have no other option than to follow her route and travel arrangements. Upper Class flight to Delhi it is. Well, if I must...
In case you didn't know, Upper Class travel from Heathrow grants you access to the Virgin Clubhouse at Terminal 3... so after a 5 second check-in, an elevator ride straight to a separate security channel with 0 people queueing ahead of us, and some retail therapy in Duty Free, we finally head for the Clubhouse... except... we can't find it. No signs. No map. Nada, Niente, Nothing, Niks. So I ask at the Bulgari store (as you do) and they quickly point us in the right direction.
A 15 minute walk later, we arrive at the elevator to the clubhouse. I get that this is for pampered people who would prefer to expend as little effort as possible... but what exactly is the point of a sofa in an elevator that goes between 2 floors? Hmmmm. Let me rephrase that. What exactly is the point of a sofa in a PUBLIC elevator that goes between 2 floors? Exactemundo.
The clubhouse is suitably impressive - groovy moodlighting, lots of rounded shapes and funky chairs, hair salon, spa section, long bar, sushi / cold snack area, and an a-la-carte restaurant. After booking my appointment for the free haircut (yeay!), we sit down to a nice dinner. Following risotto and fish, I head to check out the restrooms before reporting back for my haircut. They've got me down as a wash and blowdry only... apparently the word CUT and my pantomime of snipping my hair with finger-scissors wasn't clear enough at time of booking. My mum starts her award-winning-scene-creating performance and they quickly fit me in after all. Sometimes mums are really handy!
My stylist is formerly of the Harvey Nicholls department store and the time flies by as we chat and he cuts. Conditioned beyond all frizz, I am done just as our flight is called out and we sashay to the gate.
Once ensconced on board, we get to grips with being Upper Class. First there's the pyjamas (I opted for extra comfy and asked for 2 sizes bigger than normal and ended up with Shaq's pants and Roseanne's top). Then there's food to order on-board, but we miss out as we're still stuffed from the Clubhouse dinner. My mum books a hand massage from the onboard beauty therapist for pre-landing. I figure out how to construct my perfectly flat bed, roll up in my duvet with my pillow and... still can't sleep. I end up trying to watch movies all night from my perfectly flat position. The massage never comes to pass (beauty therapist is MIA), the breakfast is uninspiring, and I haven't slept a wink... was it worth it? Of course, I just had the most expensive haircut of my life!
