[Anonymous]

[Anonymous]

In which our correspondent tries a new carrier, loses his passport and catches the flight – but, as usual, misses the point…

I recently had to make a two-day trip to Dubai and, as I had a meeting in Bedfordshire on the day of my departure (don’t ask), my PA suggested flying with all-business class carrier Silverjet from Luton. I’d heard of the airline, and I’d heard of Luton, but that was the limit of my exposure. Travel is all about new experiences, however, so off I went, ready to be impressed.

The all-business class concept is a good one on a number of levels. Firstly, I believe all people should be treated equally, and it does just that. Secondly, it eliminates any guilt I feel about the writhing masses in economy, hunched double for eight hours as I relax with a glass of champagne. Thirdly, since there aren’t as many people on the plane, it doesn’t take so long to board or disembark, which is a big part of why flying is so boring. Lastly, as I found on arrival at Luton, it has a dedicated lounge with showers, snacks and plenty of seats.

It couldn’t last. We pushed away from the gate on time, as you so often do, since airlines have to do this within 15 minutes or it counts against their “on-time departures” stats. We then sat on the tarmac for a while.

At this point you are a happy prisoner. Happy, because the airline has fulfilled the first part of its contract, you have departed on time – but prisoner, because no matter what happens from this point, you are stuck with your choice. Strapped into your seat, you are now a child in a pushchair, forced to whine for food and drink, with only some games on a console and moving pictures for entertainment. In the air we are all infants.

So instead of wondering what was delaying our take-off, I sat and mentally organised my day of meetings ahead. It’s at this point I noticed that my fellow passengers weren’t the normal business class crowd. Business class cabins are normally filled with people like me – men, once athletic, but now slightly podgy and tired-looking. Plus a couple of severe-looking women with clipped suits and rectangular glasses.

But Silverjet’s plane was filled with a different crowd: platinum blondes wearing see-through white linen trousers and golden sandals, and a couple of kids. Since when do kids travel on business? And where were the people like me? I could see a couple of my kind scattered throughout the plane but it suddenly became clear to me that all-business class no longer means what I thought it did. It just means they will take all business. And any class.

Still, it seems to work. My flight was surprisingly comfortable, once everyone realised my laptop was for working on, and not because I didn’t understand how to use the AVOD. Everything was silvery and white, including the amenity kit with white Champneys socks and eye-masks, making the white-linen women fit right in.

The service was good (the crew introduced themselves to each passenger and asked what you would like to be called), very friendly and not at all phased by Bugsy Malone demanding swordfish instead of lamb. Mind you, the fish was very good (the menu is by Le Caprice) and I ate all three cheeses, not being able to resist Butler’s Secret Cheddar, Oxford Blue and Somerset “Rustic” Camembert.

I can only blame the novelty of it all for my next mistake. We disembarked so quickly in Dubai that it was only when I was on the shuttle bus to Silverjet’s private terminal that I realised I’d left my passport on the plane. I raced to the front of the bus and explained the situation to the driver. This is where it gets special. He stopped the bus, used his radio to call the plane, and shortly after arriving at the terminal another bus pulled up and I, red-faced, was reunited with my passport.

Now tell me where else that would have happened? Imagine if I’d pulled a similar stunt going into the US from a normal scheduled carrier. Are you kidding? I’d still be in that room next to immigration. My loved ones would be organising publicity campaigns for my release. Instead, the worst bit was the white-linen women, who looked at me with disdain.

Back in England two days later, I took the free Silverjet shuttle service to the train station and the driver offered to take me all the way home for a fee. I found the whole experience slightly disconcerting, as though I hadn’t really been abroad at all – unless you go through the pain barrier that is Heathrow, it feels like you’ve cheated. In fact, all the time in Dubai I had to keep telling myself I was really there, not helped by the fact that the city is clearly imaginary anyway.

Still, at least I thought I could make up for my agnosticism by becoming an apostle of this new airline. I’ve been in business for quite a few years now, and I think I can spot a winning formula when I see one. Then a week later I hear it’s gone bust – so what do I know, anyway?

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