02.03.13 - Business. But no class.

Until today I had never flown business class.

For those who have, I apologise if this is dull. For those who haven’t, this isn’t showing off. I just want to get down what it was like. Because it was jaw-dropping.

Our personal car swept us past building works into an oasis of calm behind T3. There, uniformed staff relieved us of our bags and charmed us through a dedicated, queueless check-in.

We dashed through duty free, seeking the Virgin lounge. This was tucked away in Narnia-esque fashion near some unpromising-looking toilets, up a secluded marble staircase. This opened onto a complex so stuffed with high-class services, it was like a Cambridge May Ball. Deli and restaurant food; three bars; arcade games; viewing platforms; a spa with pool; a barbers; multi-sports screens.

Most occupants looked bored or nonchalant, as if this were totally normal. I make no judgements – for many of them I’m sure it’s a humdrum means to an end. I’d love to say we played it equally cool…alas, we sampled every service with childish glee, rushing about in fits of giggles. I had this nagging feeling someone would shortly collar me, crying, “You are an imposter, sir! Nobody comports themselves thus in business class, particularly not in a…football shirt!”

In this photo, I find myself swinging in a wicker seat suspended from the ceiling supping my third glass of bottomless champagne, trying not to wallop the businessman behind me toiling at his laptop…

No class. None.