posted on Jul, 20 2009 @ 08:22 PM
Okay.. so I saw this a while back but I recently read it again and I was crying with laughter, real tears! Might have already been posted on here..
but I cant see it, but even if it has.. it needs bringing up again!
'This is a letter recently recieved by the Virgin Atlantic customer complaints team and is currently being hailed on news blogs as possibly the
funniest customer complaint letter ever!
Virgin Atlantic press office confirmed that they received the letter and that Richard Branson himself called the author to thank him for the
Dear Mr Branson
REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008
I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest
incident takes the biscuit.
Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was
subjected to at the hands of your corporation.
Look at this Richard. Just look at it:
I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been
given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?
You dont get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the
tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, its next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That's got to be the clue
hasn't it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with
I know it looks like a baaji but its in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you'llbe fascinated to hear that it wasn't custard.
It was sour gel with a clear oil on top. It's only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of
the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.
Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main
course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see whats on offer.
I'll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine its Christmas morning and you're sat there with your
final present to open. Its a big one, and you know what it is. It's that Goodmans stereo you picked out in the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.
Only you open the present and it's not in there. It's your hamster Richard. It's your hamster in the box and it's not breathing. That's how I
felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:
Now I know what you're thinking. Youre thinking it's more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. Its mustard Richard,
MUSTARD. More mustard then any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a peice of brocolli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on
the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass
the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.
Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.
By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye
earlier due to its baffling presentation:
It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground
cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldnt want to be caught carrying one of these through
customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.
I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts
moved at one point.
Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:
I apologise for the quality of the photo, its just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnsons face through the flickering white lines running up
and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:
Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour. I attempted to watch the film like this.
After that I switched off. I'd had enough. I was the hungriest I'd been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a
My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did
it surpassed my wildest expectations:
[edit on 20-7-2009 by Bluebelle]
[edit on 20-7-2009 by Bluebelle]