Spymon

Part 1: Over Indulgence In Every Sense of the Word...
BA362 LHR - LYS
A320
Departs LHR T3 15:55
Seats 4D and 4F


I've over done it, pure and simple. When lunch and dinner become one, I should have known to stop. We're somewhere over France, who even cares where, it's another uneventful short haul hop to the in-laws…

It's probably best we go back in time a little. Two years ago N and G my brother and sister in law were travelling the world on a tandem bike, completely crazy, but an adventure of a lifetime that we shared with them for an all too short week or so in India. If you've not been following the story that's a good place to start. You can find the link at the end of one of my other rambles.

Now that your up to speed you probably should have read the one about their excrement eating dog. Still reading? I think you're in for a treat.

If you read my last attempt at a TR or at least the title, you know what's coming up. Let's go back a week or two to my last day before changing job (again). I tried with everything inside me to go out on a high and it was a spectacular success, so much so that I let it carry over into the weekend and I have now ensnared two more people into the world of FT, or at least my attempts at storytelling. Sorry S and T, you are both very kind. I had some free time over the weekend and T who was enduring Ramadan in the most perverse way by continually chatting to me about food from dawn till dusk. Between that and talks of a crazy road trip, it was a fun evening. Somehow on a high of stupidity I challenged myself to a 4 course lunch and a T3 lounge crawl.

A long and sleepless night followed thanks to an awful film involving wolves, Liam Neeson, a plane crash and staying up chatting much longer into the night than was sensible. The rather vivid dream that followed woke me up in a state of panic but on early morning analysis felt rather life affirming. Still it was a lot better than the night I was working on excel sheets, that made for horrible nightmares that I never wish to repeat of never ending broken formulae. The vivid dream could also have due to spending an hour on the phone to my mum who seems to be enjoying her later years camped out on Daily Mail island, adjacent to all the job stealing illegal immigrants and the latest enclave of IS.

So, catching up we were booked on a late afternoon flight from LHR to LYS and Ms. Spymon made the foolish decision without my prompting to get to the airport early for a leisurely lunch. Actually this was my plan all along… We catch the 10:25 from home and arrive at LHR for around 12:30 after the usual uneventful journey on HS1 barring the couple of escapees or perhaps preachers from Daily Mail island enjoying their hate filled newsletter. We enjoy our hour long tube ride as we're too poor and humble for the HEX these days. Though the bulges in the seats opposite reminded us both of a certain episode of the Big Bang Theory.

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We head down the increasingly familiar purple corridor with the never ending travelators, up the escalator, hold our breath through the smokers section and inhale some fresh conditioned air in the quiet confines of Zone G and BA check in.

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What is it with the club desks at T3. Two trips in a week and the desks seem to be filled with people frozen in time. Today it’s a Saga group who just seem to have stopped. Baggage going nowhere, check in agent stock still and a resigned look of hopelessness is mirrored on the adjacent desk. I think I recall seeing these passengers when we checked in for our flight to BUD last week, maybe one of the regulars can confirm? We give up and join the front of the ET line. The check in agent is friendly and curious to why we are here so early.
"Don’t worry, we're in Club", I reply.
"Do you know where the lounge is?" She offers back.
"There's plenty to chose from we'll be fine."
Choice can be a difficult friend to deal with.

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So starts the slippery slope to hell that we find ourselves on. Woo! Fast track and no slip ups, school groups or surprises.

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Ms. Spymon doesn't want to go to the noodle lounge. For some reason some lovely white marble is staring us in the face and before we know it we are in a lift sharing a joke with a young gentleman with an AA BP, "Glad its not just us sneaking in here!" He tells us how busy AA and BA are and immediately turns left to the F section, alright for some.

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We are admitted by the agent who makes sure we turn to the right and reminds us our flight will not be called. I make a quick stop at the gentlemen's room and am immediately impressed, no waiting, spotless and reminiscent of a nice hotel.

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Relieved, I meet Ms. Spymon in the lounge. On arrival one thing is evident, it's quiet, oh so lovely and quiet.

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There are five people in the lounge, two wearing airport ID. Ms. Spymon is already complaining about the lack of food but that hasn't stopped her getting some juice and pastries, at least she was smart enough to skip breakfast this morning.

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We have a nice spot with partial tarmac views of an EKA380. I hit the bar and continuing my theme from #bestdayever on Friday, I enjoy my first glass of a delicious, light prosecco. I then head over to that little hole in the wall, the one in the corner that if you didn't know existed you'd never know why it was there. Perhaps it's where they stack the dirty dishes. However, if you're still reading and don’t know me personally you know where this is going.

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I press the bell, take my disk and head back to the table. Grinning ear to ear, I plonk the lot down.
"What's that?"
"Food ", I respond.
"I don’t see any food, just some salad."
"You'll see…"

I have to confess the prosecco is rather good and the minutes quickly disappear. I liked Galleries Club until today, I think I'm going to like this place a lot more. Close Encounters of the Third Kind erupts from the table. It's ready. Sure enough a small, black lacquer bowl on a tray had appeared at the hatch. I head over and finally get to see what all the fuss is about. I bring over my dan dan noodles like a dog retrieving its ball for the first time, look, look, look, again!

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The arrival of food prompts a move away from our comfy chairs to the dining table. By this time the lounge is now heaving as a sixth person has entered. With all the excitement more food has arrived and Ms. Spymon happily refreshes her plate with rice, chicken tikka masala, thai chicken curry and chick pea and spinach curry. A few bites in and she is particularly impressed.

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So much so that on finishing the noodles I have to try it too.

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My prosecco seems to have refilled itself in all of the excitement and I merrily tuck in to my food. T whose fault this whole gluttonous mess has occurred is impressed with the food. Two plates down, Two to go… We don’t really want to leave the calm confines of CX and maybe we shouldn't have done.

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The lounge is over crowded by now as there's at least one person in my eye line and the number of guests is slowly catching up with the number of staff. Our plates are cleared and we are asked if we enjoyed our food, we did.

It's now time for dessert and we go on a walk for round three. Once again failing to follow all reason and logic we head for the AA Admirals Club… we were expecting a good stretch as lounge H looked and from the many descriptions sounded like a long walk from the CX lounge. Before we'd had a chance to lose our breath we'd arrived. Someone seems to have played a cruel joke on AA here as the Virgin Club House with its glamorous entrance is right next door.

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We enter and are suitably underwhelmed. It's not busy and we soon find some lovely comfy leather seats.

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If the CX lounge featured a partial tarmac view, then AA offers a full on airport view. Sometimes a single image says more than words can ever manage.

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I visited the restroom and in my opinion it was my favourite part of the lounge, lovely dark tones with accents of strewn tissues. I go fix myself a coffee and although the branded machine doesn't inspire confidence the red cup and saucer combo are pretty cute. For some reason they had another machine next to this one and I don’t know why but I think a tub of Gold Blend could have done a better job. I fill my plate with pastries and a slice of cake before heading back to enjoy the view.

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Ms. Spymon returns with her dessert,
"How is it?" I enquire.
"Like in the other lounge but a lot less tasty."
I share meal 3/4 with T and poor old S who I feel a little bad for spamming. I think T strongly regrets encouraging me. Ms. Spymon had also gotten tired of me sharing my adventures and had some quite different words to share with me that are not suitable for a family site such as this… You'll be pleased to know my bright orange phone is thankfully alive and well.

Feeling suicidal, or perhaps fearless I do a final sweep and attempt to take one last meal for the team… I can't bring myself to do it. There are two choices available today, pasta and pasta. I can't see the chicken through the condensation on the lids. The food looks like something from a Dolmio pack, the one that has a use by date from a galaxy far far away, refrigeration not required. Getting a rather horrible flashback of a time when I ate these 3-4 times a week I feel a new lease of life. It's almost time to board so I bid a smiley faced farewell to S and T who are probably glad by this point that BA don’t have onboard WIFI and are spared from my rendition of afternoon tea, for now at least. We head off for gate 7 with the intention to never return to the Admirals Club. Whilst BA may serve slop from a trough , at least it's BA slop, AA seemed to be serving the Tesco value version.

There is no queue for the fast track BP check and Ms. Spymon thinks she's hit the jackpot with a bank of free seats, but the only thing she nearly hits is the floor as the legs are broken. No sooner as she's picked herself up, boarding is called. Again with little fuss we head down the jet bridge to be greeted by our crew, a little older than our Budapest MF lot but they seemed to be enjoying themselves so we knew we'd be in for a good flight. When the gentleman who seemed to be running the show also did the announcements in French himself rather than pressing a button, two things were certain, one this flight was going to be fun and two, from the look on Ms. Spymon's face the effect of the CX lounge prosecco had yet to ware off.

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We trundled along and were soon up in the air.

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This meant only one thing, blue top and afternoon tea. Service was fast and friendly. We didn't hear exactly what our flight attendant said but either she thought Ms. Spymon should join me for a drink or she saw something in my eyes that said I needed another one.

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Seeing the danger ahead, the battery acid is stowed in Ms. Spymon's bag for safe keeping.

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It led me to ponder if I placed a poll on the BA forum on which is worse, swiping CE champagne or stealing crisps from the lounge? I think both are pretty high up on the list of bad behaviour. Might as well do some go go gadget legs and put my feet up on the bulkhead, preferably without socks.

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Afternoon tea was pleasant enough with only a hint of dryness on one of the sandwiches. The scone was excellent as always and by the time I got round to the cake, I think I would rather have chosen death. Thankfully BA don’t offer the choice of cake or death, in CE, you get what you're given.

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Another fun flight is over and as we depart the heat is stifling. Its around 35C outside even at this late hour and things are starting to melt.

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Thankfully, passport control is over in a bonjour. We have an hour to wait for our TGV so should be plenty of time for our bags, look the belt is whizzing round already so they should be off any minute now.

Half an hour later and no sign of any bags and if there was someone there to know who she was Ms. Spymon would have had her first DYKWIA moment. I've finally won the battle, she's ruined forever…

A small round of transfer bags go trundle over the baggage belts. More time passes, round 2 of transfer bags pop out and finally, almost an hour later the priority bags appear on the belt and we face a sticky sprint to the adjacent TGV station, with its unique armadillo design. Lyon St Exupery is certainly one of the nicest looking modern stations you can find. Creating our own breeze we head down to platform 3 with a few minutes to spare. The high walls of the station providing some much needed shade. The silver TGV soon arrived into the station, it's the coolest looking thing in the airport.

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We get on to find the usual over crowded baggage section and then wonder if we should feel bad for kicking out a ticketless mum who has made our seats her home. Someone has also tethered their cat to the table in front of me, head down and be as British as possible, remove any hint of eye contact or conversation as once engaged only bad things will happen… It's one of those days, let's embrace it and go full on commuter mode! For some reason the air conditioning is turned off whilst the train is in the station. Perhaps there is a good reason for heating up the passengers… 30 minutes later and we arrive.

The trip has begun and we "look forward" to a few days hard earned rest to sweat out the food we have consumed. We make a good start as Ms. Spymon's Dad offers us a champagne toast in honour of the new arrival who we'd hopefully see in a couple of days. I think I'm done with champagne now… Glad we're flying home down the back.

Spymon

It's far too hot here. So what better way to start our trip than a big tasty salad and a cold beer in the air-conditioned paradise of restaurant Saint Jacques. It may be 37C outside but it's 21C here, not bad.

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A few days in and we finally get to see little baby N. Unfortunately I'm dreading the coach trip up the mountain. It's still really hot and I've been filled with tall tales of sick bags and Bulliesque drivers (he's a whole other story). They can't be worse than Ms. Spymon's Dad. I've made sure to eat light in preparation, the unbearable heat makes this a lot easier. We had the roast meat we were supposed to have the day before with some potatoes. It was nice not to cook for some reason.

Anyway, after sharing photos from our Budapest trip with the in-laws, it's off to the coach station for our date with the sick bag. We arrive and I see at least one thing that catches my attention and even after more than a decade the joke doesn't get old. I wonder if this is the only place in the world where you can get a coach to Die? I really should have taken the picture but we were worried about missing the bus… You can look it up if you don't believe me. It's only 3 Euro each for the 90 minute ride up to Le Cheylard. The leg room makes BA look rather generous, the air conditioning thankfully is excellent along with the views as we head into the hills.

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The ride is surprisingly pleasant and quick. What Ms. Spymon's Dad was doing to us all these years I don’t understand. The closest I felt to feeling sick was the fumes from the cars whilst we waited for G to pick us up from the bus stop.

We buy a boot load of food to take back to the house with us, we had come to help after all, not to gawk or get in the way during what must be a terribly stressful time. The choice of food in the French supermarket can be a bit of a challenge when used to the ridiculous selection available back in the UK. The other sad thing was that lots of the vegetables were imported from Spain when they are readily available in France. That being said we had quite the stash and I was looking forward to sharing my culinary skills and feeling useful as I had no idea what to do with a week old baby.

We head back to unpack and see mother and baby, as expected little N is absolutely minuscule.

I cook a potato salad and some pasta, as we had some fresh gown salad leaves and recently dug from the earth new potatoes that needed eating. The salad was a real hit but my pasta sauce died completely, it tasted lovely but after three lots of reheating so we could sit down together it had thinned out too much. We toasted our success with more champagne, their success of a beautiful baby of course, we had just turned up and made dinner, not really a reason to crack open the bubbles, unless your name is Petrus!

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N & G's dog Tamam is nuts. He's raggedy, sweet and looks like he fell on his head at birth. He's been having a tough time of late, stung by bees, electrocuted by the cows' fence and has a new sister to deal with. He seems a little shell shocked, picking up things too big for him, not really wanting to play. Maybe he's just the sensitive type acting the extrovert animal but with a world of inner turmoil. I don’t know. We take him for a walk up the road. The landscape is beautiful with the colour of summer, purple flowers, rich green forest, ticking with insects and song. Occasionally nature is broken by a car and Tamam is in his element, straining at the leash trying to run headlong at everything on the road. Possibly he's feeling suicidal, perhaps he really just fell on his head. I think he craves some excitement and stimulation.

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We return from our walk with some beautiful images and one perfectly live dog who just needs some love and support. Tonight is crepe night, or crepe party! The exclamation mark is present and correct. The reason for the celebration is the new venture G is about to start as a crepe seller.

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Sunday is always a perfect day for politics. With religion firmly off the table what better thing to do than bring up the age old debate of left vs right.

Sadly today the politics was more literal and involved repeated arguments during a scenic walk of whether we should turn left or right. The problem being we were too stubborn or fearful to take the centre ground, there was a dog loose with no master, it was more sensible to navigate from the margins, preferably away from the cows.

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Much arm waving followed along with some rather angry words. Apparently we had been told to turn left, just not where we did. With a field of infinite choice at our disposal we paced up and down angrily through cow pats, bog and the most uneven ground. Another equally fun telephone call was placed and feeling in a happy mood there was no turning back. We'd only just got going.

The centre ground and it's obstacles suitable dodged we returned to the house to negotiate some dinner conversation.

The following day we wake to find we have been invaded by a Dormouse

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Our final day in the mountains and I make a delicious lunch of cauliflower cheese with broccoli. The kitchen looks like a bomb site, pain au chocolate breadcrumbs have gone flying everywhere alongside a sticky broccoli béchamel that has stuck to every available surface.

We have another English accent in the house today who will be taking us back to civilisation later on. I confess my hatred of tea, fish and chips and umbrellas and she says something rather unprintable about the dog who had great fun winding me up the last few days. Tamam and I have a real love hate relationship it seems. Anyway, the voice belongs to N's friend's Mum and we have an enjoyable conversation. She also brings a rather lovely tart.

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The drive back is a torture. We start our journey stuck behind a farm vehicle that would not have looked out of place on one of our Indian adventures. Bails of hey stacked high and wide, us feeling high and dry behind the slowly moving obstacle. Once we finally pass we speed up and I spend the next 2 hours fearing for my lunch on the winding road back to Valence.

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The last full day of our trip and what better way to celebrate France than with an amazing meal at Maison Badet. It may not be quite up to the very highest heights of dining but we had a great time.

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We are welcomed warmly and have a nice table outside in the shade. We all do a 3 course 25 Euro Menu which is pretty decent.

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Complementary bread and water are waiting for us with a nice little pot of tapanade.

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We have a prawn and mayonnaise amuse bouche and I eat my prawns without a complaint.

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It's the last full day of our trip and I want to enjoy it as much as the first even if I don't really like prawns. I have some bread and wine to mop up the taste and whilst not the best bottle in the world it seems more mellow than what we'd been drinking the last few days.

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Back to the food and I have a hot starter that I thought would be a boring plate of charcuterie. Instead I have some buttery hot potatoes, meat and a lovely cheese sauce with just a little side salad to rest the palate. The potatoes are superb, buttery and heart-stoppingly good, life is treating me well today.

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The rest of the table enjoy the salmon starter.

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Next up is the duck, which is good but not quite right. The sauce seems to be a mix of deep meaty flavour which is also in the potatoes and is bound together with raspberries. It's, well cooked and perfectly seasoned but doesn't quite come together despite the wine trying really hard to make them best buddies!

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The fish didn't look bad either.

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We finish with dessert and coffee. I have fruit mousse in a chocolate shell with Chantilly and a lovely hot chocolate sauce.

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Happy days indeed. The coffee on the other hand is very poor.

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A great way to end our time away. Up next the return journey home.

zeltergiset

Great photos!

Spymon

Thanks Zeltergiset. I enjoyed taking them!

stu1985

Great TR so far! Love the pictures of the views up the mountain. Some of the food looks great too!

Spymon

Thanks stu1985. The food was quite low key this trip unfortunately. The mountain views are indeed stunning.

Spymon

Flight BA363 LYS - LHR
Departure 19:15
Seats 4E and 4F

We arrive nice and early for our train which gets increasingly retarded (bad French/English pun alert!) with every sweaty minute on the platform. Making our flight on time is looking increasingly uncertain. 35 minutes en retard for an alleged 35 minute journey… At least the announcements are funny, some people are born to talk, this guy is certainly one of them. I, on the other hand have a voice for newspaper and a face for radio.

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As is often the case, TGVs run in pairs and for some reason I picked the 2nd train in the pair. Thankfully I did as this rare piece of intuition meant we still had a chance to make our flight.

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The other train making up the pair had been further delayed and if we had been on that we almost certainly would have missed our flight.

The train rolls in and find our seats at the end of the carriage.

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Once again they are occupied, this time there is no cat but the woman has a huge collection of bags, a walking stick and some kind of hearing aid contraptions. Thankfully Ms. Spymon deals with her and I deal with the cases. We have definitely upset the seating gods this trip… The train plods along, at least by TGV standards.

We finally arrive at Part Dieu to be told that the train we were on was broken and everybody had to get off. Our plan of a quick escape was over as the corridors filled up and those around us seemed to be taking forever to organise their bags.

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We bump off of the train and onto the platform trying to leave the station in double quick time. There's no time to feel sympathy for sandled feet, more so when trying to break through the scrum at the bottom of the stairs. My polite and patient behaviour was spoilt when Ms. Spymon loses it and with a loud and rather blunt excuse me she parts the crowd in an almost biblical fashion whilst I did my best London commuter impression, putting my head down and speed walking away. Apologies to any women children and those with difficulties who were hurt in the process.

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We easily made the Rhone Express which was as underwhelming and over priced as any great airport train.

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We were first off and hurried over to check in with about 15 minutes to spare. For some reason at security the lady didn't like my camera and two phones being in my bag. Rinse, repeat and rejoin the queue. All that was left was a quick passport check and a 15 minute wait for boarding. The one downside about having lounge access is that the people watching is quite different to hanging out at the gate. Lounges are mostly quiet and full of solitary passengers. The normal boarding gate is quite different. I like to play English or French in my head, waiting for someone to speak. I'm not very good at it, for some reason everyone seems to be holding a Canadian passport.

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Boarding comes and goes, the usual chancers and those arriving late to the scene try their hand at the priority queue with little joy. We join the queue when called and on arriving find someone in our seat, again… This chap thought it was fine to swap 4A for 4F and looks a little upset when we turn up and turf him out. Moving boxes, baggage and threatening to move 4A and 4B to the delight of those waiting behind. With a lack of bag space in row 4 I guiltily stow our bags slightly above row three in club and comment to Ms. Spymon that I felt bad about our bags being on the wrong side. Ms. Spymon later tells me our seat shifting friend thought I was talking about him. I feel kind of pleased, even though I wasn’t talking about him at all.

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The flight is uneventful, we both enjoy the vista over a G&T and a ham and cheese sandwich with enough salt to preserve it and us for all eternity.

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I'd left my book in my bag so instead decided to shoulder surf Mr. 4D's Daily Mail, which got me angry in seconds so I eavesdropped on row 5D and E's conversation whilst Ms. Spymon slept. We come into land as the sun starts setting over Heathrow.

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Disembarking was quick and painless, much like passport control and for the first time in a while baggage reclaim. There's something especially emotional about the airport and I definitely felt it today. Perhaps it’s the sad looking last minute duty free just before you come out. Not the signs and scores of people waiting, just the simple dingy corridor down to the HEX and tube. More than anything it's facing up to reality. The hour long tube ride to Kings Cross finishes off much of the remaining holiday buzz.

At St Pancras we have missed our train by 10 minutes and feeling a little hungry we go for a burger to eat up the 45 minute wait. The food comes quickly and we grab a table. Whilst one up on a McDonalds or cheap pub it's lacking the moisture from a good relish, mayonnaise or guacamole.

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DSC09650 by Simon Halsey, on Flickr

One of the staff who is off duty and is sat at the adjacent table has quite the inappropriate and off putting conversation. There are also quite a few people unwinding and in one case fully unwound after a long day at work.

We head up to the HS1 platforms and sleep our way home. Whilst it may not have made for the most exciting TR ever, it was certainly an eventful week and a half for us!

Thanks for reading. If you were brave enough to make it through this, you might want to read a few of the others below.

BA to Budapest - A Last Minute Weekend Away
Three Birthdays Featuring BA vs Easyjet, Lots of Food and Amazing Mountain Landscapes(2015)
Eurostar, TGV, Canoe and a Puppy (2014)
The Adventures of Rebecca Blanton - LHR to CLE on UA (Y) AKA another LHR T2 Trial (2014)
South India: Featuring BA F, 9W, 6E, SG and the Indian Railways (and lots of food!) (2014)
Coffee in Catalonia: Featuring BA, RENFE, SNCF and some good food (2013)
Planes, Trains, Automobiles and a Boat (2013)
For Family, Football and First Class by Train (2013)
Experiencing BA Club Europe (LHR-LYS-LHR) As Family Matters (2012)
A West Coast Adventure: San Francisco, Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon with VX and BA (2012)
Three Ways From A to B a Statusless Persons Guide: BA vs. Eurostar vs. Easyjet (2012)
Voyage To India: Delhi, Agra, Orchha, Khajuraho, Varanasi (EK, SG, IT and Indian Railways, 2010)