The journey started Sunday, on a wonderful sunny day in San Francisco. My colleague tried to swing an upgrade at Virgin's check in, to no avail. When we board the plane, I get told I've been upgraded to First class. I pondered if I should leave my poor, un-upgraded colleague, for about all of 30 seconds, waved goodbye and dashed for First to order my massage.
It was an overnight flight, and Virgin give you "sleep suits". It's very "Stepford Wives", everyone walks around in exactly the same clothes, except for me (as I can't sleep on planes) and one woman who bored in a little black mini dress which barely covered her butt cheeks. What is the point of tarting yourself up, for a 10 hour flight?
So I spent 10 hours reading and talking to the flight crew and eating all the chocolate.
Landing at Heathrow, dashing through customs, as I have way over the legal cigarette limit, and out into arrivals.
You know for a wet, rain filled, windy country, we're crap. All the train lines are flooded out. So no trains. The queue for taxis was too long, and I'm just wanting to go home and sleep. So Virgin laid on a car to take me home.
Now I know why people like Virgin. I've never encountered such good customer service.
So I get home. Sharon, my friend who borrowed my flat, has cleaned, hoovered and washed the bed sheets, and left a little note. So ting my mother to tell her I'm safe. On goes the heating, off come the jeans, and sleep, glorious sleep for 5 hours.
Then work calls...