In 1999, I flirted my way into an upgrade on the Concorde from London to New York, but that’s another story.
I’m not going to attempt to describe the joys of flying supersonic, as they’re pretty well-described elsewhere. Suffice to say it was one of the top 10 memories of my life.
But I do have an amusing recollection from that evening:
It was my first and only flight on Concorde, so I was thoroughly enjoying the experience of hurtling through the sky at 1,350 mph — faster than the sun, being served caviar and lobster, and looking out the window at the curvature of the earth.
Across the aisle from me was a distinguished-looking gentleman who kept waving off all the champagne and food. When it came time to eat the main course, he had a cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off. He seemed totally unimpressed by the whole experience, as though he did this regularly.
I wondered who he might be, to be so jaded about flying on Concorde.
As we began our descent, the flight attendants were passing out souvenir pens. He waved that off too. One chirpy attendant inquired,
“But sir, are you SURE you don’t have a neighbor’s kid or a nephew or someone who’d like a Concorde pen?”
He smirked and said, “Thank you, but I can assure you that I don’t need one.”
Meanwhile, a couple of attendants were standing at the front of the plane, trying to get her attention with sign language. Flustered, she walked up the aisle to talk with them.
The guy sitting next to me chuckled as though he knew something. I leaned over and asked, “who IS that guy on the other side of the aisle?”
“That’s Lord Colin Marshall, the chairman of British Airways.”
SMUDGED POSTCARDS 