Survived the strike at Heathrow Airport unscathed. To us veterans of pre-Thatcher Britain, in fact, the strike was a feeble affair. No nation-wide power-outs, no pitched battles between police and pickets, no piles of corpses stacked in undertakers’ yards (the gravediggers went on strike at one point in the 1970s). Our flight actually left on time Saturday evening, the only inconvenience being that they could not serve us food.
British Airways staff were on their best behavior, the airline having taken a big hit from the strike. I have never been so fawmed over — felt like the man in the cruise ship ad — you know: “I have lived like a king…”
They gave us vouchers to buy food at the airport concessions, and in addition had tables set up handing out free snack packages. We didn’t go hungry.
The lady in front of me at the departure gate was from one of the canceled flights. The BA guy told her she was being bumped up to first class. The poor lady wailed in protest: “The one day in my life I get bumped up to first, and you’re not serving food!”