I came across a complaint letter on the food and other services provided on a Virgin flight. I have to say it is pretty funny although best complaint letter ever might be somewhat exaggerated:
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 dessert?
I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents, and if they knew I had started dessert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries.
So let’s peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what’s on offer.
I’ll try to explain how this felt. Imagine being a 12-year-old boy, Richard.
Now imagine it’s Christmas morning and you’re sitting there with your final present to open. It’s a big one, and you know what it is.
It’s that Goodmans stereo you picked out from 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: