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The car – or as Virgin insisted on calling what turned out to be a rather grotty grey Volvo, the limo – turned up 20 minutes late, its GPS system having broken down. Now pay attention here – you’ll start to see a pattern emerging. Notwithstanding the fact the driver didn’t have an A-Z, but that he also stopped answering his phone meant I was about 10 seconds away from dashing to Paddington for the safety of the Express when he arrived.

Things picked up when I finally made it inside the airport (after having been turned away at the Upper Class entrance because I was patently only supposed to be in the cheap seats unless there was a cancellation: know thy place journalist). The lounge is – to steal a line from Ugly Betty – wow gay Star Trek good. All Zaha Hadid-cool undulations drenched in Sushi and good-looking waitresses. You don’t come here to relax or work, but to ogle and coo.

And on the flight back, it’s 8pm or so New York time and the tonal overhead lighting (the bane of my life – I spend half my life asking hotel receptions to find me an occasional lamp with which to read/write/find my way to the door) is supplemented by a tiny pencil light.

I’m typing this by the light of the computer screen alone. How on earth people are expected to work in this hobbity half-light is beyond me.

Oh and then there are the gripes. The small things that British people shouldn’t complain about. But – goddammit – I’ve been in NYC for the last three days so something’s hotdiggity gonna rub off.

I asked for ice. There was still none 10 minutes later. My attendant’s light has stuck so I now have to get up and ask for service (although it did start working again halfway through the flight). And for that matter, where the hell are those nuts I asked for about 20 minutes ago?

Sorry, but this is shoddy. The entertainment system on the way out was so decrepit as to be unwatchable: my attempts to see Son of Rambow were stymied by, first, the picture quality on the screen that made it seem as if the film was being viewed through a kaleidoscope and, second, the fact the screen kept going blank – something the stewardess explained to me as “well, because you’ve got such an old system they’re using tapes and any snarls on the tape means the screen goes blank”. Purples became oranges that became greens that became – oh you get the picture even if I didn’t.

Now on the return leg the whole system isn’t working so they’re rebooting. The entertainment package will be back on in 40 minutes. It’s a shame as personally I’d always fly Virgin, but would now think twice if I was on business.

Hugo Greenhalgh, editor of Investment Adviser, flew courtesy of Virgin Atlantic.

Reservations: 08705 747747 or

www.virginatlantic.com