Having unsuccessfully tried to convince the girl at the check-in desk that I was worthy of an upgrade to business class on my Malaysian airlines flight, I prayed; “Dear God, please: (1) let me have an entire row to myself; (2) if not, then at least let me sit next to some charming piece of eye candy that will flirt outrageously with me for the duration of the trip; (3) failing that, definitely no horizontally challenged person, so challenged they cannot fit in their seat without the armrest being up; and finally (4) no screaming babies located in the nearby vicinity.”

So it was with some relief that I found myself in an aisle seat with an empty space next to me. Crisis over, I turned my attention to the in-flight magazines. Devouring the list of movies on offer, I wondered whether the food would be any good.

The last time I flew it had been to New York City over a month ago on a paid-for business class trip – I’d been ever so excited about the prospect of Upper Class on Virgin Atlantic; the limo service, the lounge at Heathrow and especially the four-course meal on the flight! I hadn’t expected gourmet, but when the reality arrived I found the food to be disappointing, something closely resembling bad microwave dinners but served on plates with proper cutlery. Even the food in the lounge had not been up to par. Although the lounge was an icon of futuristic chic, modern, luxurious and fun, the cod I ordered from the menu tasted like it had been cooked from frozen. Dear Sir Richard Branson, for £3,500, even if it was someone else’s money, I had expected better.