Champagne on a Plane

The first leg of the 14 hour journey was spent being squashed between two friendly and considerate men but who seem to stretch as wide as the seat and the arm rest, which meant I was quite literally sandwiched between them. I managed to sleep for an hour but woke up with a sore neck and far too close to one man's armpit. Landed in Bahrain for a short stop over and was in a delirious but positive state. I went to the bathroom to freshen up and was greeted by a puddle of water on the toilet floor. Ended up dropping my bag in the puddle which marked the end of the positivity.

My damp bag and I arrived at the gate for the flight to Colombo and after a short queue I handed over my boarding pass and passport the the man. A big red cross appeared on the screen. Fuck. Did I book the ticket? Have I been blacklisted? '

Upgraded to business class' the man said bluntly as he crossed out my seat number and wrote the new and improved number 3D. 'Wow thanks!' I said and immediately regretted it - gotta play it cool. Random thoughts popped into my head as I walked to the mini bus:

- Will there be any famous people?
- Why the fuck am I wearing pyjamas?
- Will there be champagne?
- Thank God I bought Kettle chips and not Walkers.

Once I got to the glorified seat I realised that on small planes business class is more like VIP seats at Vue cinema...but still. I tried to take pictures of the legroom and comfort levels but it started to give away the average reality of this moment in my life. As if the cabin crew could feel my disappointment, they started handed out glasses of cold drinks in real glass, not that polysterene shite (!) At this point people were still walking down to find their seats and I was very aware of being judged...I am one of you I promise! I am just pretending to enjoy this drink!

An elderly woman was looking very puzzled, scanning her ticket and looking up at my seat number. Sudden panic swept over me that it was all a mistake and I was going to have to do the ultimate walk of shame down to my original seat at the back. As she showed me her ticket, I felt relief mixed with awkwardness - it was on row 8 which meant I had to direct her down and beyond the curtain...sorry hun.

I saw my seat neighbour from the previous flight as I looked back and smiled at him and hoped he would not judge me. At this point they started handing out hot scented hand towels....it was all too much. My sympathy did not last long as we were bombarded with miniature drinks and snacks. More juice? Yes. Medjool dates? Yes. Mini black coffee? Yes.

And the finale made it all worth while - the dining menu was now being handed out. Goodbye mysterious beige mush and hello arabic mezze and grilled red snapper.

So much for slumming it as a backpacker...