Luxury Briefing.

THE DC-8s JAL operated did not have the range to do this in one hop so you had to stop and de-plane at a weird time of day or night in Anchorage, Alaska, while they re-fuelled. Here, the only concession to cultural interest was a stuffed polar bear in a vitrine. It had a label helpfully explaining that when this yellowing example of ursus maritimus was shot, salmon fat dribbled out of its mouth for several hours. This was always a surreal experience.

I was reminded of it on a recent flight to New York on British Airways’ new service from London City Airport. Allsorts regulars may recall that I most unusually won tickets for this at an industry event raffle, but that was no good reason to refuse the trip. The little Airbus A318 BA uses cannot carry enough fuel to allow it to take off from LCY’s short runway and actually get all the way to New York, so you have to stop at Shannon on the west coast of Ireland to take on some more avgas to continue the journey. Romantically, Shannon was where the flying boats stopped. Less romantically, but more practically, it allows you to go through US immigration and paranoid security procedures. Just like Anchorage at three in the morning with one too many Jack Daniels on board, this is a strange experience. We found three Marines in full combat gear walking through a sepulchrally silent Irish airport on a sunny afternoon.

London City Airport is itself a marvel of lash-up improvisation. It was originally built by the contractors John Mowlem and they appear to have executed the plan without the unhelpful or costly intervention of an architect. Instead, it looks as though someone has ordered airport components from Travis Perkins and assembled them in a somewhat casual manner. Le Petit Trianon it is not, but it does work. You can check in for New York up to 15 minutes before departure. There are no crowds. The gate is a lounge and they serve Champagne. Because you have done the official stuff in the Irish Republic, you go through JFK at the domestic terminal without let or hindrance. We were off the plane and into a cab in 10 minutes.

The A318 is in an all-Club Class configuration with 32 sleeper seats, so it’s like a big Learjet dormitory with an open bar. The food is said to be by Iqbal Wahabb’s Roast, but re-heating at 39,000 feet tends to remove identifying gustatory features from most dishes. Service was excellent: cabin staff are not truculent refugees, but a volunteer elite for this prestige service which carries the old Concorde flight number 001. Coming back, my wife had a massage in the JFK lounge and we ate a not at all bad curry before boarding. I can remember nothing of the flight back which is the highest praise I can imagine. This, I think, is the future of flying. We don’t want to do more of it, we just want to do it better.

And how strange to be back in New York after what has been a long time for me. I rather like what Le Corbusier said about the city: “a magnificent catastrophe”. But what a strange mixture of synthetic energy and myopic provincialism. It was very exciting staying in the penthouse triplex of The New York Palace Hotel and it suddenly became even more exciting when I discovered the room rate to be $15,000 a night. (No, not a misprint.) But I found New York quiet. There is much more organic energy in London. So, despite BA’s brilliant new service, I have no plans to return soon.

So here’s a rueful 21st-century century paradox: at last, a decent way to fly commercial. But the logic of the destination has disappeared.

More from Blogs, Stephen Bayley blog.

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