I've finally come up for air after returning from two and a half weeks in lovely, wet England. It was a wonderful trip even if it did start off somewhat vexing. The purpose was foremost to attend a family wedding in Devon. My nephew James was tying the knot with his childhood sweetheart Sarah Florence—not to be confused with my Sarah. And confused, people were.
I have flown Virgin Atlantic from Los Angeles to Heathrow for nearly twenty years now and never have I lost a bag. Sigh. Needless to say the bag contained the wedding "paraphernalia." We arrived on the Thursday (wedding on the Saturday). We were assured by a very polite gentleman in Mumbai that the bag was on the next plane. It wasn't. Nor was it on the Friday plane despite a plethora of polite reassurances to "Mrs. Hannah" that it was only minutes away from arriving on our doorstep. At 9 a.m. on the big day, I called again for the umpteenth time. and got another very polite young woman who practically promised the soul of her first born and guaranteed the bag was in London and would arrive at our house by eleven. When I pointed out that we were three hundred miles away from London and that only a magic carpet would deliver it on time, she confessed that she had no idea that England was "so large."
To cut a long story short, the bag arrived at 10.30 p.m that night and my husband spent most of the day holding his trousers up with string.
Virgin Atlantic are always very good about addressing complaints made by their customers. I am eagerly hoping for a pair of complimentary First Class tickets even if we have to fly via Mumbai.