In the meantime, I’ll settle for travelling to as many different places as possible. Strictly I’m not actually in Hawaii any more, I got back yesterday after an amazing week there on a press trip. It was upper class treatment all the way, quite literally starting in Virgin’s Upper Class lounge at Heathrow where, after stuffing myself with a hangover-cure breakfast (eggs benedict and – aptly – a bacon roll), my fellow travellers and I spotted Kevin Bacon.
The quality of the stars on offer just got better and better. Not really. Minutes after boarding the plane, I saw Peter Andre get on. Actual Peter Andre. Looking tanned and husky and carrying several rather unmasculine Louis Vuitton manbags. Actually they were probably Jordan’s, as she followed next, looking tanned and husky and carrying yet more Louis Vuitton bags. And Princess Tiamii, her improbably-named girl-child.
This was followed by her fat manager, her husband and their infant, who proceeded to cry regularly throughout what was otherwise an enjoyable and food-packed flight. I managed to eat every course on the menu and still had time to fit in watching a film or two (the highlight was the pain au chocolate bread and butter pudding. With champagne cream. I can still feel it on my thighs).
Thankfully the Andre contingent weren’t going any further than LA, which meant the 5 hour flight to Honolulu passed in relative silence, compared to all the yakking about Jordan’s new cosmetic surgery treatments on the other plane. And finally, after 16 straight hours, we were arriving in Hawaii….
