Alcohol
Well… we made it to check in. “What cabin are you travelling in sir?” the British Airways gestapo officer asked me. She clearly didn’t appreciate that my trackies and Ben Nevis hoodie were actually Louis Vuitton. My shoes were dirt cheap Adidas trainers from an outlet. However, something about me just said MONEY! Wow, I’m writing this 5 drinks into my day at 6.45pm, forgive me for being off my tits and ever so slightly deluded.
Fortunately, despite the best efforts of Avanti trains, the London Underground and no doubt Kier Starmer attempting to sabotage my journey we had arrived in plenty of time to hit the lounge.
Ding... Round 1… The little lady had something i can only describe as salad and a glass of juice. I have curry, rice and Prosecco.
Ding... Round 2… dunno what she had I had a mountain of nachos, salsa, cheese, gauc, cheese, white shit, cheese, jalapeños, cheese and cheese, oh and some feta cheese. The Mexicans love their feta. Oh and a Prosecco. Trouble is, nachos make me thirsty. So I found the ready mixed cocktail bar. Oooooohhh an Old Fashioned is just what I need. Yeah… and a bag of crisps. I’d paid £305 for this free shit. I was going to enjoy it!
A few moments later I realised, our gate was open and we were a long walk / stagger and a train ride away. Fear not blog fans! I downed my Old Fashioned and we arrived at the gate with moments to spare. I sat with commoners for a number of minutes before they called our group. We then had to suffer the indignity of having to catch a bus to the plane. Urghhhhh... By the time I arrived at my seat on the plane I had tears in my eyes. It had been almost 30 mins since my last drink.
Fortunately the pre-flight champagne soon made an appearance. I now feel worse mentioning the post take off cocktail. And does it sound bad if I tell you they were going to use Johnnie Walker in my cocktail but I asked if they could use a single malt instead. We aren’t cave men after all!!! Look I don’t have an alcohol problem. It’s just, I do like getting value for money. Glasses and glasses of value for money.
Soon meal time was upon us. As you’re aware, instead of your usual fare, I had decided to try the Asian Vegetarian trick. It’s Saturday night. We all like a curry don’t we? On this occasion, British Airways had decided all Asian Vegetarians were probably Hindu so that’s what I’d ordered. Hindu vegetarian… Chicken Tikka Masala and Rice. Ok not chicken but something equally yummy. Well, to say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I was disappointed. What I received was a lovely fruity salad thing with cucumber and some lime pickle. Who’s eating that for a meal? It did come with some cold bland soup and a lot of very English looking bread.
I forced myself to eat most of it and then set to think how I could commit suicide on the plane. The woman just over from me was tucking into Shepherds Pie. Bitch. I would have punched her, but business class baby! Couldn’t reach. Back to my suicidal despair, just as I’d drawn blood on my left wrist with my almost sharp, but actually metal cutlery, the steward came over and replaced my salad plate with a big bowl of Paneer Tikka Masala, rice and some spinach crap. I kissed him full on the lips! Being careful to keep my mouth mostly closed so he couldn’t steal any Paneer Tikka in the height of passion! The Lord had saved me. Perhaps I’ll have a drink to celebrate…
Time passed like time passing. Sloooooooowly. Soon we were 5 hours into our drunken cruise in the sky, racing towards the sun in an effort to maintain a beautiful perpetual sunset. I’d had a little nap. Maybe two hours. I awoke feeling like a man who’d started drinking mid afternoon and had fallen asleep snoring in a chair. Do I feel alive and refreshed? No, I’ve got a bloody hang over. When. Will. I. Learn?
Almost at the end of my hangover we arrive in New York, on time. We then queue for half an hour because someone is parked in our spot. Into the airport and we are all set for MPC. Mobile Passport Control. It allows you to feel special and jump the usual 4 mile queue. All our details are in the app. Taken a selfie on arrival. Following all the signs for MPC... and then… a small American hobbit of a woman directed us to the normos queue. I object. “Madame, surely you have noticed, I am far from normal! Can you direct me to the MPC queue please?” “Sir there is no MPC at this airport” but but all the signs and videos telling you how to prepare for MPC. “Sir there is no MPC at this airport” But that kiosk says MPC “Sir there is no MPC at this airport” say that again and I’ll really be quite frustrated and probably punch you. “Sir there is no MPC at this airport”. We are British so I say “Thank you!” In a slightly sarcastic tone and quietly join the 4 mile queue. That told her!
Some hours later we collect our bags and emerge out of the secure area to be greeted by “TAXI” in six foot tall letters emblazoned everywhere. My first thought was how jolly helpful the good people of New Jersey were being with their clear directions. I approach the taxi supervisor lady who is at a desk that is literally cordoned off from the world, so you have to stand six feet away from her to have a conversation. This is the great USA customer service you’ve heard so much about. “Where to!?!” She threatened. I replied with the grid reference for Manhattan, so she knew this wasn’t my first rodeo. She probably thought I was American. “Also, would you mind terribly if I enquire how many of your US dollars we may be expected to pay for the journey madame?” “120 dollars” … “Thank you so much” she pointed to the door marked TAXI in 12 foot high letters.
“One last question. Can you direct me to the Uber pickup point?” The steam issued from her ears. She went to draw her gun. Uber were her nemesis. But in this capitalist Mecca they all had to play nicely and fairly together. Now pointing with the middle finger of her right hand, as if to convey some sort of message, she directed us to the Uber collection point. The signage for which was barely visible. It was practically 50% of the cost of a yellow cab. Did our driver spend the whole time talking to himself? Did he smell? Did he smell of marijuana? Yes, yes and yes! But with the money we saved I can afford to go get a beer!! Hic.