I recently flew first class for the first time.
I'm not saying that to boast (well maybe a little) but more to show that as one of the hoi-polloi, I was granted first class access by the good grace of Emirates, when the airline selected me – presumably at random – for an upgrade.
Here is what I learnt.
I had never flown first class before, and had no illusions that I ever would. Aside from the prohibitive price tag, I have never considered myself the type of person that turns left in planes. Perhaps I lack the required je ne sais quoi, or perhaps its because I wear nothing on my feet but Birkenstocks, but I have never felt that the pods in first were my destiny.
So imagine my surprise when on a recent flight to Paris, my boarding pass was swapped with one marked with that magical word, first. I felt like Charlie Bucket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with the Golden Ticket in my hands.
Entering the plane, I tried to mirror the calm confidence of other passengers around me, as they moved nonchalantly to their cabins, clearly on familiar territory. I, on the other hand, was not 100 per cent sure that it wasn't an elaborate practical joke. I was self-conscious and clumsy; I stumbled over my own feet and when stowing my bag on the floor, I managed to get tangled in my seat belt. So much for an elegant entrance.
As others sat quiet, sipping cold drinks and tapping on their laptop keyboards, I sat gazing around my private cabin. Amazed at the sheer size of it, I took in the shelves, the windows and all the buttons. Anyone who knows me will know that, like a magpie, I am inextricably drawn to anything shiny. So, with a button to raise and lower the drinks cabinet, one to hide the vanity mirror, and one that slides the chair from upright into flat, I was in heaven. And then, I found the button to close the doors.
Of course, I am familiar with doors – even with doors on a plane – but having a set of doors all to myself was almost more than my brain could comprehend. Enthralled by sliding them open and then closed, I just kept pressing the button until the stewardess came over and asked if everything was all right. I mumbled something about it being amazing, but she was already gone.
I tried to watch a film but couldn't figure out where to plug in the headphones, or how to turn off the table lamp. But when the stewardess offered pyjamas to sleep in, I was delighted. I had heard of these fabled items and now here I was, being presented with a pair.
When it came to the food, I might as well have hung a learner sign around my neck. Unlike in the rest of the aircraft, food doesn’t just arrive. The stewardess asked, in a soothing tone, if I was hungry.
At that point, I wasn’t, so I declined, expecting to be shaken awake for breakfast. As I soon discovered, in first class the staff take their cues from the passengers, who can request anything from the menu at any time.
Being a newbie, however, I had no idea this was even an option so sat expectantly waiting. Meek as a lamb, buckled in and hungry.
The cost of a first-class seat, I would argue – having still never actually paid it – is shown in the quality of the toilets.
Normally the facilities on a plane are in a cramped cubicle with surfaces you never touch. The first-class toilets, in contrast, are like discovering Narnia. One wall is entirely mirrored, and there is a bench big enough to sleep on, as well as towels, toiletries and a cupboard with a hair dryer in it. There is even a shower in one corner.
Of course the big hoorah about flying first is getting to shower at 47,000 feet, and I duly booked my slot. Due to an impromptu nap, however, I missed mine. I could blame it on not setting an alarm, my lack of food or being tucked up in pyjamas. But either way, that was my chance to shower in the sky and I missed it.
I would love to say I will make up for it on my next journey in first, but we all know that's never going to happen. Golden tickets don't come around twice.
