Private Jets- Yep, Worth 8 mill
I went on a private jet today, the point being to drink wines at altitude. These included Bollinger and one in a gold bottle. It was, in brief, awesome.
Here’s why. I didn’t want the “flight” to end (we managed to make the distance between Luton and an airfield near Cambridge last an hour). Ever. It was like a Cadillac of the Skies. Plush as hell dark leather seats, totally capacious and spacious, with giant pillows. Gold panelling and consoles for TV. Blinds controlled digitally, in pretty woven fabric encased between the layers of window glass. I had the master switch and delighted in making every one else’s blinds fly up and down evilly. Another thing: nobody gave a goddamn about SEATBELTS. Do you know how great if feels to be seat-beltless and fancy free on takeoff? I could have got up and done a hoola hoop dance and nobody would have told me off- maybe because there was nobody to tell us off. In fact, you could see straight into the cockpit- no door, just two guys playing at flying. At 40,000 feet, thanks.
Why was I on this jet? Oh yes, to taste wines at altitude to see if they’re worse, given the deadening of the palate at height, the pressure and the dryness. I can report that money can buy you plush private Rolls Royces of the skies, but it can’t buy you Champagne that bubbles freely at 40,000 feet. That’s some reassurance, anyway.