I spent a few minutes this morning looking for a first class upgrade between Heathrow and Vegas. Business class is nice. First class is exceptionally nice.
I was thinking “screw money I’ll pay £200 each to upgrade if the computer lets me”. It demanded a phone call, so I didn’t bother.
Fast forward to the Cathay Pacific lounge in Heathrow terminal three. Having had two breakfasts courtesy of the Dublin Airport lounge and the BA flight to Heathrow, I avoided the impressive noodles, enjoyed a Prosecco procured by the fragrant Rachel and wandered off to the gents. On exiting, I noted our gate number and rounded up the lady. The longest walk ever from lounge to gate.
Rachel, seeking out the business class queue somehow jumped the priority boarding area to get seen first. Bar code on the boarding pass scanned red. The word “shit” went silently through my head. “You’ve been upgraded to first”. An instant “get in” followed by “shit, what about me?” went through my head. Followed by a more polite “have I been upgraded too?” – answer a decisive yes!
I had priced up this trip in first a few weeks ago. Some £12,000 more expensive than business class. Not even considered! I’d been keen to blow my stash in light of an ever decreasing life expectancy to the tune of £400. Presumably they’d overbooked the cheap seats and undersold the posh ones. We were shunted to the nose of the plane as a result. More room for my feet. Easier to stretch my aches. Better food.
Do I complain about losing my window seat? Do we get a higher number of first class Avios for what was a business class booking? Why couldn’t they tell us earlier, allowing us access to the first class lounges?
I think I’ll lap up the extra luxury, the free pyjamas (my third pair) and highly attentive service. I’m a mere silver status member of the British Airways Executive Club. Rachel an unimportant Blue. Slightly surprised to get shunted up a level. But deliriously happy after a bad day yesterday.