Welcome to my 800th post. 800 bite-sized, fun-sized, drivel snacks. Aren't you lucky?
So... why the radio silence this end? Well, I have been doing all manner of Very Exciting Things. Exciting Thing Number 1 was Nice Kate and Kev's wedding. (It feels wrong to say "Nice Kate and Kev", like I'm implying that Kev isn't nice. He is nice, it's just that "Nice Kate" is Nice Kate's name. I told Monty Cat's babysitter, Mel that I had been to Kate's wedding and she said, "Oh, Nice Kate?" Which pretty much proves it. My parents have met Nice Kate and Kev, and still only know Kate as "Nice Kate".)
Anyway, the wedding was lovely, everyone looked beautiful and behaved well, apart from TheBloke (TM) who firstly decided he was going to be the Pope by putting the napkin on his head, and later decided my fascinator looked much better on him than it did on me. Sadly he was right.
And it's been a whirlwind - no sooner did my arse touch my sofa in London, it was time to pack my bags again for New York - a work trip.
Please skip the next few paragraphs if you still want to be my friend. Because I am about to be more Annabelle than Annabelle herself.
So, I'm currently sitting in Virgin's Upper Class Lounge at Heathrow. The day so far has gone like this:
9.14, one minute before my agreed pickup time, I get a text from my limo driver to say he is here. He puts my bags in the limo and drives me to Heathrow.
10.30 We go through our own special entrance at Heathrow. Thanks to sat nav, the staff know I have arrived and greet me by name, whisk my bags away, glance at my passport, hand me an immigration form, and point me in the direction of the lounge ("The Clubhouse").
10.40 After wandering through Duty Free ("Where our prices are inflated by 17.5% to negate any savings you might make!") I enter the Clubhouse. They greet me again by name, as if they were expecting me. I am informed that the tables have waitress service, or if I prefer, there is a deli bar serving everything from smoked salmon to pork pie, to panini, to a pint of prawns. I do not know what a pint of prawns is, but I imagine it might be a pint... of prawns.
I have a wander and find myself in the spa area, where they book me in for a complimentary manicure. I could choose to sit by the pool or the sauna, or go get a spray tan, but - silly me - I didn't put a bikini in my hand luggage.
10.45 I wander up to the roof garden, past the 3D cinema, where a bunch of kids are watching a DVD of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, but to be honest, I can't see any 3D glasses available, so this bit could be a bit rubbish. Still, there is another massive cinema, twenty feet away, showing news, sport and... well, at the moment, adverts.
10.50 I decide I'll have something to eat and select from the breakfast menu (though as I type this at 11.26, I've only got four minutes until the lunch menu starts, so who knows, I might go for a second round), and I order Eggs Benedict. They ask me if I want a cocktail, but as I've still got work to do, and drank quite enough at the weekend, I decline and opt instead for a freshly-made, frothy hot chocolate. It arrived within five minutes and was delicious.
All this is - of course - free. Or perhaps "included in the price of my ticket" might be a better phrase. As you can imagine, the ticket wasn't an Easyjet special.
I believe I can opt for a massage on board (but probably won't, as I don't have a good history of foreign massages - see Hong Kong and Turkey), and there's a cocktail bar actually on the plane. When I arrive in New York, a chauffeur will pick me up and drive me to my hotel. Which will probably seem utterly crap in comparison.
Oh. My. God. I just realised - I've been sitting on their computer bank next to what I assumed was condiments for food - sauces and the like. It's actually a "help yourself" pick and mix counter. I would keep typing but my mouth is now crammed with toffee and it's hard to type whilst your fingers are still in the sweetie jar.
Annabelle moment over. Sorry about that.
800th Plog complete!