Not that I escaped feelings of guilt. When I was allowed to board earlier than others I felt the guilt of one who had stepped outside his station in life.
This was made worse when I had to sit in my seat/bed/pod thingie in the front of the aircraft sipping on champagne as all the others trudged past me towards their seats further back. And one of these was Mrs D.
But you would have been impressed by my chivalry when, armed with a hot towel and a glass of champagne, I started the long trek down the aisle. I made it through premium economy smoothly but, as I hit the congestion of economy passengers still looking for their seats, I had no choice but to turn back.
I had made the effort and it hadn't been easy. I mopped my brow with the moist towel and sipped the champagne to slake my thirst.
The seat/bed/pod thingies were finished in tasteful grey and black and all were arranged in herringbone fashion.
This had two disadvantages: it meant you were eyeball to eyeball with the passengers passing on their journey to the back; if you wanted to look out the window you would crick your neck.
The toilet offered no such viewing problems. This was the only aeroplane toilet I have ever been in which boasted a window.
For men operating their number ones function, this meant a perfect view down on to the Tasman Sea below. In fact, it was easy to imagine one was personally - in a very small way - contributing to the volume of the sea.
This experience was not available for women except during the hand washing stage of the operation.
Back in my pod, I examined my surroundings. Unfortunately, there were two things which clearly labelled me as a first-timer.
First, I couldn't locate the tray table. I only discovered it later when the first course of my meal came and the stewardess opened it for me. It was big enough for two.
There was also a bin which bore the label "for literature only".
Had I known about this bin in advance, I would have brought with me a copy of Pride and Prejudice or Great Expectations but, being a first-timer, all I had to stick in it was a pamphlet. At least I'll know for next time.
During my Peter Gordon-designed meal, I did disgrace myself by spilling some of the jus from my braised beef cheeks on to my T-shirt but with the aid of a starched linen napkin and some bottled-at-source spring water, I was able to remove the ugly but tasty evidence.
My message to you: if you can afford it, take it - especially on a long haul flight.
Unfortunately, the cost is outside my means so my next flight to LAX or Heathrow will still involve the back of a seat in my face.
But I'll treasure this memory.
- Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.
