Concorde no longer exists- and even though I can’t stand flying, and think every minor change in engine noise is a cue to adopt the brace position, I was sad that I’d never get the chance to break the sound barrier (if you don’t count having rows.) So as it got warmer, it seemed appropriate to celebrate the past glories of Concorde, zooming above the earth, and admiring the views. And knowing that I wouldn’t actually be risking my life by being forced to hurtle through space in a thin cigar-tube made it even better. Again, how to recreate the world’s most famous aeroplane in a small Victorian house wasn’t my first consideration- I just assumed I’d think of something.
Obviously outfits were a prime consideration here- I’m a raging feminist, but as I was organising and cooking it all, it seemed silly for Simon to be serving me- so I decided to be the 80s-inspired Stewardess (I would not answer to ‘trolly dolly’) – I happened to have a blue hat that looked vaguely convincing with a little badge on the side, and a suit with a striped scarf (charity shop, of couse) did nicely. He came as a rock star with mirror shades and a medallion, which apparently, he already had in his wardobe. I wanted everything to be convincing, so the first thing I bought was a navy washbag, from the Pound Shop. It turns out they have a fabulous little section devoted to international travel (I love the sophistication of this.) I managed to buy the washbag, an eye mask and ear plugs, a blow-up neck pillow, plug-in headphones and a pack of playing cards embossed with aeroplanes, all for £3, and then I found a masculine-looking little set of travel toiletries at Quality Save for a quid. And amazingly, some weeks before, when the idea was only a strange germ, we’d found some actual Concorde luggage labels at Preston market, for 50p, so with one tied on the washbag, it looked superbly plane-like.
The next question was where to locate this plane. Again, I ended up choosing the hall, because the landing’s too narrow (despite the rich potential for jokes about landing lights). It required vast amounts of googling to compile a vague notion of what Concorde actually looks like inside, but thank God, one man was so excited by his trip, he devoted an entire website to it, including details of menus, photos of inflight meals and excruciatingly dull details of cabin pressure, crusing height, and probably the steward’s inside leg measurement if I’d read that far. Nevertheless, it was very helpful, specially when it came to choosing crockery. Everything was laid out with OCD perfection on white trays, on white tableware, with all the plates at right angles. I bought two white plastic trays from Tesco for £1 each, and found that my own bog-standard white plates looked fairly convincing when laid on white paper napkins.
Actually attempting to make the hall look anything like the inside of Concorde was difficult. I had a long white curtain left over from the bedroom, so I hung that over the front door, and used a white sheet to cover the stairs. (I also had to take down all the pictures which was tiresome, but I don’t believe Concorde had any Arthur Rackham illustrations up.) There was no way I could fit two chairs side by side, so I cheated and pretended that Concorde had a private section with chairs (My parents have two black leather chairs that were perfect- again, borrowed) that faced each other across a small fold-out table (borrowed from my friend in the basement flat.) Laid out like that, it looked pretty good.
Then we needed views to marvel at. I couldn’t think what to do about this, until I happened to walk past Oxfam and see a book in the window called “Britain From Above.” An 80s coffee-table book, it was the sort of glossy nonsense that everyone aspired to 20 years ago, and was page after giant page of- yes- Britain from above, featuring lavish castles, dramatic mountain peaks and rugged coastline. I spent abut two hours standing on a chair, taking pictures of pictures- but once it was a slideshow, it really, totally looked like the view from an aeroplane. Of course, everyone goes on about seeing the curvature of the earth from Concorde.. and luckily Mr “best day of my life”‘s website featured a few shots.. which I, er, borrowed and incorporated into the iphoto slideshow fairly seamlessly. How exciting- we could see the edge of space from our own hallway.
Next, I wanted a bit of technical business- so while the imac was balanced (doing it’s usual ‘window on the word’ job) on one side of the chairs, on the other side, I had Simon’s laptop featuring close-ups of the flight deck. I found those on line too- along with the logo, and the menu, which looked excellent when I’d printed my own version out. You’d be right in thinking this was all a ridiculous amount of work. But as our trips went on, I became quite obsessional about detail- if I could get it right, I wanted to; as half the fun was in the hilarity of sitting in the hall, feeling, for a brief moment, as if we really were somewhere else.
The food, however, was the biggest challenge. Having pictures for reference was great- but it also meant that if I got it wrong, I’d know about it. It took me several hours and some cursing and raging to create a fair approximation of a sample menu, which was: Smoked salmon with chopped egg white and yolk- yes, separate- onion and red onion with warm rolls, Chicken breast (portobello mushrooms for me) in truffle sauce with savoy cabbage and fondant potato, and a mango and almond gratin. I did cheat a bit, because the budget didn’t extend to truffles- I used morels. The fondant potatoes were a complete pain (you have to get them exquisitely soft but not falling apart), and as for separating hard-boiled egg white and yolk into exact strips of colour, it’s the sort of thing the wicked stepmother made Cinderella do for a laugh. So I did question what I was thinking of.
But then I was cheered up by finding ‘airport noise’ on itunes, (tannoy bongs, ‘last call to Dusseldorf”, that kind of thing) followed by ‘taking off’ noises and ‘aeroplane ambiance-‘ a mere £1.58 meant that with it playing on a loop, it would sound exactly like being on a plane. In fact, when I first played it, I felt genuine fear in my stomach- “oh no! we’re taking off! Oh, wait, I’m in my hall..”
Finally, I borrowed the 70s tea trolley from work, which did perfectly when the dodgy rose pattern was covered up with white linen napkins, and allowed me to deliver champagne (well, prosecco) and wine directly to our cabin. We spent a lot of time that evening looking at the view, then Simon put on his neck pillow and eye mask and had a little sleep as we came in to land…