Positioned by Branson as a challenger airline to the BAs and PanAms of this world, Virgin Atlantic always set out to be different.
But if you can’t be the biggest, then how do you stand out?
You become the sexiest, friendliest, most rock and roll airline in the world. You introduce on-board cocktail bars, personal TVs on every seat, plus flat beds and massages.
And you make sure your cabin crew are the most charismatic in the game, with a sense of adventure and a dash of irreverence.
When you’ve paid £6,500 to travel in Upper Class to Cancun vs some £650 for economy, you expect moments of wonder.
So, what do you get for your money? Come on board Virgin’s inaugural flight with Metro and find out.
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You’re at the airport. Is pre-flight any different?
With Upper, you get access to the private Upper Class Wing entrance at Heathrow T3, which includes a private security line.
Through doors that look more five-star hotel than airport, you are ushered to an opulent space of velvet sofas and artwork in lieu of plastic chairs and Pret.
This is how all trips should begin. I vow never to fly again unless it’s Upper.
Then I’m whizzing through the glitz of T3, nipping into Chanel intoxicated into believing that I can afford a £12,000 suit, a left turn at Fendi and a 3-minute walk to the Virgin Upper lounge.
Arrive early for free-flowing champagne, a raw fish and charcuterie bar, coffee and burgers, curries and afternoon tea from the a la carte menu.
Oh, to be in there with you. What about when you get on the plane?
It’s straight past the infamous Virgin cocktail bar and into the Upper Class space with three columns of seating.
Outer window seats are the ones to book, particularly the left side of the cabin – 1A through to 10A – as they offer the most privacy. Seats are leather with direct aisle access.
There is a footstool, for feet, for guests to dine with you, or to stash your bag underneath while you have all the room in the world above for your carry-on bag and more.
Quilted duvets and a button convert your seat into a bed when you’re ready to sleep — not that you’ll have to do it yourself. The ever-perceptive cabin crew will swoop in and make it up for you while you freshen up with the REN kelp and magnesium moisturiser provided.
Let’s be real, though: I did not fly Upper Class to fritter the time away on sleep. The lure of the flat bed and the silky eye mask may be strong, but the call of the bar is stronger. An urgent need to sample the drinks list was burning — so, where to start?
We think we can guess… Pre-take-off champagne, of course. And while there is no alcohol-free fizz just yet, there are excellent AF alternatives, better than a hell of a lot of London bars, in my opinion.
Guests are encouraged to pre-order via their booking before the flight to allow for accurate stock preparation and avoid food waste.
It’s a rarely spoken truth that airlines must offer abundance and choice to customers expecting a full menu, which necessarily leads to waste. It’s a smart move by Virgin and, while it’s optional, deserves good opt-in.
I swerve the truffled mac and cheese arancini starter for a generous portion of smoked salmon with ‘salty fingers’ (a crisp, briny, edible succulent) and cucumber salsa.
Never have I been offered a salty finger on terra firma, let alone at 35,000ft.
As if a rarified coastal leaf garnish were not enough, the dish is scattered with cornflower petals. Where are we, Meghan’s gaff in Montecito?
It sounds even swisher. Any sweet treats? Dessert is chocolate fudge cake with almond crumble or a hot apricot and lavender cake with fresh cream.
There is a cheeseboard. It is abundant. It has West Country brie, red fox and Wensledale blue with grapes, red onion chutney and crackers. It comes with a Quinta do Noval port.
I am under a duvet, quaffing cheese and booze, watching Netflix (the streaming internet, from £12.99 for the flight, is strong enough).
What else? Order a cup of tea and you’ll get Twinings in a bone china mug. How civilised.
Have a coffee and you’ll be contributing to Change Please, who send 100% of its profits to support people experiencing homelessness.
Elsewhere, the cosmetics bag does not set my world on fire, but you know what does set my world on fire? Snacks.
Cherry pie ice cream and mini cheese nachos are delivered to my seat. I didn’t know I wanted them, but eat them anyway.
Then there’s the Wonder Wall: a sea of treats loaded with everything from bananas to Bloody Mary crisps via the wonder of the ‘snackable pickle’.
As I fill my pockets with packets of baby gherkins, a bemused passenger is asking her friend why on Earth anybody would want to snack on a bag of pickles.
I lean in to ask why on Earth anybody would not.
The clock tells me it’s been 9hrs and 42 minutes but it’s sped by.
In Upper, my dear, time flies.
