An opportunity for a pearoast
Last time we went to Australia for a family wedding, Grandma was determined to come as well. Trouble was Grandma was 94 years old, and hadn't got on too well with the long journey in Economy last time around.

We agreed that she could come, but only if she travelled Business class. We were kinda hoping that we'd get a free upgrade so she wouldn't be travelling alone (and, to be honest, so that we could travel business class for free), but this did not transpire, so we were stuck in the back of the plane with the rest of the uncomfortable mob while she was up in the quiet area in front of the engines slurping complimentary champagne, in her seat-pod that turns into a bed, a telly bigger than the one at home and all that sort of good stuff that makes travelling bearable.

Meanwhile, we are sweating and uncomfortable over the wings, coming up to 20 hours of travel, legs cramped to buggery, necks stiff, having had someone else's seat back in your lap all night; all the joys of Cattle Class. And who should appear for a royal visit but Grandma from business class, looking fresh as a daisy and accompanied by a nice trolley-dolly, presumably there in case the ravening masses in the cheap seats rose up.

Possibly it was lucky that she was accompanied, since after exchanging initial pleasantries I commented how lucky she was to have had a seat that reclined all the way into a bed, since it had been so uncomfortable trying to sleep sitting up.

"Oh well do you know" she says, "I don't really like it when the seat goes right back. So I sat up with my feet on my hand-luggage."

From behind me, I heard an Australian male voice. It said just one word: "Fuck." I couldn't disagree, really.
(richardm, Fri 2 Mar 2012, 10:42, Reply)