I fell asleep in my first class seat full with chicken from a late night in flight meal. I’d assessed the BA breakfast menu and was really looking forward to their “traditional British breakfast with Irish bacon” when I awoke.
Alas, the wind was behind us and our flying time only five and a half hours. Sleep crammed in between episodes of Blackadder Goes Forth, the dinner and waking up realising I needed to pay a visit was only three hours. An hour left until landing.
Alas, a rare feeling came over me. I didn’t want breakfast. Even more radically, I didn’t order breakfast. Despite the comfort of the seat we both left the plane tired, unfed and particularly unhungry.
Progress from drop off point to security to lounge was, despite the distance covered, swift. Back into the Concorde Lounge at Heathrow. A perfect cup of tea. But no desire for food from either of us.
Sleep deprived. Jet lagged. And then a delay of over an hour announced for the short flight back to Manchester.
We couldn’t ask to be in a better place than this lounge for such a delay, but, despite having enjoyed the whole experience, ending it in Manchester’s rush hour traffic isn’t ideal.
And I’m surrounded by far ee D food I don’t want to eat.