Excuse me, but I have a secret.
Part of me doesn’t want to tell you this secret, because then it’s not my secret any more. But I’ve never been very good at secrets SO I NEED TO TELL YOU ABOUT AIRPORT LOUNGES IMMEDIATELY.
My twin sister, Clare, recently hopped on a plane to Europe. It’s important for you to understand that, like me, Clare is – how do I put this? – a plebeian.
We’ve never flown first class or business class in our lives nor will we ever, unless someone pities us so much they offer an upgrade. And we would totally be cool with that.
LISTEN: Holly Wainwright, Monique Bowley and I offer our recommendations for this week on Mamamia Out Loud. Post continues below.
Anyway, Clare jumped on her plane and took her very-economy seat, in her very-economy tracksuit pants, with her very-economy unwashed hair.
Her suitcase is a little bit broken, because of course it is, and her carry-on still has dirt from a trek in Thailand on it.
Clare stopped in Abu Dhabi for a few hours, then jumped back on all the way to London.
But in London, Clare had a seven hour lay over. Seven hours. This was after 20 hours on a plane, and about four sitting in an airport weighing up whether or not to get Burger King at 5am Sydney time. Spoiler: she did.
She was gross (she’s always gross, but she was particularly gross). She was hungry. She was bored.
And that’s when she remembered Mum saying something about how you can buy your way into an airport lounge.