ready to depart: Virgin America: like flying in an 80s nightclub


we’re On Board!

Not exactly the Normandie.

Virgin America is Awfully similar to the (late) 80s nightclubs of London we recall – hot pink neon, vivid blues that show up white undergarments (blush – learned that one quickly) and a general sense of louche behavior/manners……



Merry Christmas.

We’ve been up since 5AM.

and – bizarrely – so have a lot of other people.

It’s a Full Flight!

good lord.

and lots of small people/children/off-spring with Barbie pink roller carry on luggage like tiny sprite flight attendants.

see you on the Other Coast.

teamgloria toes In The Ocean in approx 6 hours and counting.


JFK/T8: leaving for the Other Coast #bliss

as our friends here know, it’s been an Awfully Long Time since we pulled down the trusty silver samsonite, grabbed the black leather jacket and an ever-ready-selection-of-travel-size-products and wrapped ourselves warmly in the black pashmina (hard to find a black one but ever so much nicer and Rather Chic) and slipped into the back of a black town-car leaving manhattan in the early hours…….

if you are new to our adventures, (perhaps drawn here from instagram or the post yesterday on a delicious gift of a hat from the Basque region of spain – we Do have a most glorious set of jet set friends) here’s why we haven’t travelled/traveled/flown since late august: tobias and his sisters the Tumour/tumor story

Oh! We Do Love To Fly.

we even paid extra to get a nicer seat (this trip is for sheer pleasure so the Day Job isn’t footing the bill and popping us in the comfort of the front of a transatlantic jet……..but we were not born to riches so the back is normal and when at the front we beam with gratitude, darlings – especially on a Long-Haul flight to the People’s Republic of CHINA in our la vie jet set or paris, milan, madrid and the other points of engagement for the Day Job last year.

we must post our pictures of India (before we became teamgloria but we do have them in our archives….). Wonder how the Sophisticate is doing…….last we heard, he was watching Dawn over the Ganges. we’ll let you know more soon.

see you (in a virtual sense) on the Other Coast!

*huge sunny grin*

hello from 17J: off to the Other Coast.

darlings! we’re in the air once more. bliss.

first, some pictures.

this was from the friendly 1 train last night (but as much as we wanted to click and comment, there was nowhere to respond to the lovely question as to our well-being…)

then this morning we awoke (a little puffy of eye it has to be said – time for some eye cream upgrade? suggestions please in the comments of your favorite/favourite/chosen brands) at 4 AM (yes, we like to fly early) and the car service arrived at 5. a lovely black town car. we do enjoy traveling/travelling in style – plus the dreadful #irene had caused flooding on parts of the rail service so we couldn’t do the usual cab to Penn Station to the “air train” (which does not fly, sadly – we were Most Disappointed) to JFK.

here’s our view at JFK while pausing to re-arrange messenger bag (stuffed with laptop, magazines, an actual book-book and the iTouch with, oh, we have no idea by now, 100 e-books?) and clasp hold of the trusty silver samsonite (if you’ve been with us for a while you’ll know that he burst open on the way from milan to paris – we know, your heart bleeds for our vie jet set in business class – alas not today – domestic, we fly economy) and stroll on..

and here we are IN THE AIR (gosh, isn’t WIFI delicious?)

unless a Very Short Trip is scheduled by the Day Job (unlikely as labor day is upon us and then we have just two days back in the office before……you know what….) this is our last trip with tobias and his sisters.

we shall miss them.

and yet seriously hope (apologies for split infinitive former newspaper editors from our past…) that we don’t get any more tumors/tumours/scariness.

although we have learned a great deal by their presence.

we have to tell you something.

we haven’t told our parents.

we can see your face now – a quizzical look (and a more worried look from those who are parents themselves)


you ask.

how would you tell YOUR parents?

mum/dad (insert other configuration here – we are terribly modern at team gloria….) “we have three tumors/tumours in our throat. they are growing aggressively. after several biopsies the medical team (and there is a team – this is America, people) found a “mass” that they said “we don’t like the look of” (see – straight out of the bloody movies, that line) and “we need to operate” and mum/dad (other configuration) and the surgeon is going to slit our throat open (they call it neck dissection which seems actually worse as a phrase bringing to mind frogs and biology lessons, bunsen burners and sharp knives and those very unattractive thick plastic Joe 90 glasses that didn’t fit over one’s delicate shell-like ears so we quit and returned to Latin and Advanced English Literature instead, skipping sports on wednesdays for extra elocution and singing – a lovely voice, they said, let’s hope we still have it post-neck dissection….) and remove not only the three tumors/tumours but also our thyroid (which is damaged by the aforementioned unmentionables) and both parathyroid glands and we’ll be off work for three weeks taking radioactive iodine (as bad as it sounds) and feeling rather wobbly from what we’ve heard.


how would you tell them?

and – to be honest – we are not ready for their reaction.

so we’ll be very British and tell them after. like this:

“oh” (airily) “we had a spot of surgery”

“didn’t want to worry you”

what do you think?

more importantly – when YOU (yes, you) are reading this after we DO tell you.

how do you feel?

yeah, ok, in the comments if you like, but pick a different surname or two so you don’t break our anonymity.


life is so hard when one has attachments.

it wasn’t like this on Star Trek. was it?

although Battlestar Galactica (be still our beating heart for those fighter pilots in uniform who like to play cards and frack a lot) had quite a story-line that was almost Oedipal as we recall.