Steel crowns, Cigarettes and Beehives

Pop it on a full screen and marvel at the bad dental work (passengers), tall hair (stewards) and abundance of smokes (almost everyone). Argh! Watch the (likely) not flame retardant upholstery!

Fact: All planes of this era were flown by sentient Marlboros.

Fact: All flights were this convivial. Quick, fetch me a glass of whiskey and a bristly moustache, I want to join in.

Also, enjoy the jazz. It's quite danceable in places and picks up a heady pace as they show the luggage being loaded into the hold (rightly so. No one ever packed ANYTHING into anything else in the sixties, without being underscored by jazz.)

Carte Du Jour: 35,000 Feet Above Food

You can guarantee whoever you fly with, the menu will definitely taste better than the food. Mmn, card. But this is all part of flying's charm. The portions wouldn't suffice for even the Tiniest of Tims, the most pocket-sized of Polly's and the spongy plastic cutlery is as useful as throwing your food into the air and wishing it into bite sized segments. But I wouldn't change a thing. If nothing else, it serves as a reality check for the normal, nice tasting grub that usually passes your lips, either side of the plane journey (a reverse taste explosion sandwich, if you will). So who cares if your in-flight pasta has a mild bakelite-tang or possesses top notes of polypropylene. It's MEANT to be that way! Learn to love it, like you did brussel sprouts, menthol cigarettes and that bubbling tofu dessert they once served you on a cold night in Roppongi.

The menu design however, is another world (top, above is Virgin Atlantic's best). Like old fashioned airline posters, they always shout sophistication, class and cool. It says, 'look at me! Hark, at the whimsical and delightful morsels within!' Even though it is essentially for show, as the offer is always the same as that documentary, Airplane: steak or fish (actually more likely chicken as it keeps it's squishy juices on reheating. Mmn). Or if you fancy getting fed first; veggie, vegan, lacto-surprise, wheat-free, gluten-free, fun-free, low-fun and so on. The menu, is at best, some fancy pomp, politely handed out for the sheer sake of tradition and polite distraction. But why not? Anything to take our minds off the fact we're flying. Like a massive painted bird or a welly at a wanging contest...

Don't forget I can't speak for those who lounge in first class, where the grub is certainly sweeter. Even so, the champagne's awash before take-off, so I think after that, anything would taste good.

Of course the best menu design is that of yesteryear. Full of promise, laden with quaint Enid Blyton sounding dishes, they have some hilarious turns of phrase: a 'hard' roll! At least it's honest. A chicken pie 'mainliner.' What! And who is Charlotte Colville? But, they make you sit up a little straighter just looking at them, right? Take a look below. I defy you not to want to precede everything in life with a fancy carte du jour. Even your daily to-do list...*

And yes, that little boy is definitely talking to his bread roll. Must be the bends.

* Here's one of the many things I would do if I had all the money in the world: open a restaurant shaped like a plane, recreating all the dishes off these past time menus. Every hour, the whole place shakes, recreating some mild 'turbulence,' just around Charlotte Colville time. The stewards would sing the safety demo, and if it's your birthday the Captain awards you an exciting Birthday Cravat, which also doubles as a life raft. There might be saxophones. You may be encouraged to dress like it's 1962. It's niche. Anyone fancy stumping up the cash?

A Merry Prankster

I am flying Virgin Atlantic to Chicago this summer. 

Yesterday, rather pleasingly, somebody told me there was a tiny amount of anarchy about what I choose to do on stage...

Please wait patiently while I connect these events for you.

Back when it was cool to have asymmetric hair, wear dayglo, and be impressed by Bros, Richard Branson was a humble record label honcho.  Then, deciding it wasn't quite enough rubbing shoulders with the Human League and winding magnetic tape back into cassettes, he launched a fleet of aircraft.

Now, thinking objectively, it was a pretty left field move.  A little like if Louis Walsh woke up and decided to create a clutch of commercial catamarans or Simon Cowell bought a Hang Gliding franchise ('honestly Simon, the harness is totally safe...')

So you can imagine if aviation business bigwigs we're slightly dubious.  The Chairman of BA even suggested if tanned Bran had, 'worn steel rimmed glasses, a double breasted suit and shaved off his beard, I might have taken him seriously - as it was, I couldn't.'

It didn't matter much though as Branson didn't take BA seriously either...

So while I don't have a huge inclination to be like Richard Branson, I'm certainly no bidniz man, I do appreciate his mildly anarchic attitude.  Especially toward his high altitude venture, of which I will be partaking this July.  If BA were the trusty chinos of air flight, Virgin were the naughty drainpipes.  Not least because Richard made provocative statements with his livery when it suited him.  He stamped No way BA/AA on his craft in opposition to a BA and American Airlines super-merger (hello 600,000 lb placard). He also daubed his planes with a Union Jack design, at exactly the same time BA ditched them favour of the 'ethnic' images that so irritated Margaret Thatcher  (remember HankyGate? When old Madge popped a snotty rag over a model tail fin of said 'ethnic images' and it made the six o'clock news?  Cringe. O. Clock.) And another, rather enjoyable move, was giving the proceeds of his court win to his staff, after Virgin sued their rival for libel.  Party on.

Of all the big carriers, Virgin has one of the coolest, creative and cheeky pieces of livery. A retro stamp of fun and frivolity; pin-up girl 'The Scarlet Lady' has been lazily draped about the craft's nose right from the start. Beautiful and not even remotely affected by high speed 500mph wind burn, she looks as good today as she did in the 80s (and she KNOWS it.)

I sort of feel like I shouldn't be championing such brazen thigh bearing (is she PC?) but from a simple aesthetic point of view I find her to be a Total Dude. And pretty cheerful. And it wouldn't really be quite as picturesque if she was lolling on the fuselage in a Muumuu and wellies.

Created by Ken White, Scarlet is actually a take on the images that tickled the noses of WWII aircraft, which in turn were drawn by wartime pin up artist, Alberto Vargas.  Vargas, a Peruvian artist, had a great time drawing ladies in the buff in the 30s and 40s for Esquire magazine, Hollywood posters and more but abruptly stopped in the 70s after the death of his wife.  Grief and nudey drawing obviously don't mix. Despite this, he still created thousands of images some of which sell for princely six figure sums.  That's a lot of dollar for a wink and some bum cheek.  But fair play to the man.  He was a pretty mean life drawer.


So, Sir Branson: staunch music lover, grappler of bronzed models for photo opportunities, impudent, forward thinking rebel and billionaire.

...Punk...?

He signed the sex pistols to Virgin Records in '77 and if it wasn't for that God Save The Queen wouldn't have been allowed out on day release in a straitjacket, let alone crash land in the charts like a great dollop of angry sputum.  However journalist Peter York probably got it more accurate when he called Bran a 'merry prankster,' with an eye on anything money making.

So although he's woolly and a little cheesy, the fair sized splash of disobedience in his ventures pleases me.  I will muse this as I cruise across the Atlantic upon the wings of mild misrule on a small tail wind of rebellion this summer.

So, hold the chinos.  Me, Scarlet and the naughty drainpipe are coming to get you ...

See Bali!

TWA made some awesome posters. Unlike today's concept, canny or '1000 hours in the boardroom publicity-plus, soul-molesty' ad jobs, these were just simply bloody beautiful to look at.

I also like early TWA ads as they were clearly proud of their Lockheed Constellations*, which almost always feature in every poster, no matter how small. Additionally, some of the generic destinations outlined in the posters were very pleasing too:

The Orient!

Europe!

A Creature!**

* In 1986 they rescued a Connie from the US desert, cleaned it up, got it working and then, calling on the very few Lockheed pilots left, specially trained a bunch of young aviators the 'obsolete' skill in prop magic. How wonderful is that?

**Curious untruths.

The attention to detail - the need for people to see it and want it, was right there. Don't pretend every single poster doesn't make you not only want to go to 'Los Angeles!' but also to put on a smart heel or a spat, iron your cocktail dress, wedge on a hat and step aboard a prop for some decent turbulence and a gin & orange.

No? Well then I urge you to find your pulse. Immediately.

Also, please enjoy this a wonderfully twee narrative of the 'average' 1950s Connie journey I found idling in a Youtube crevice. It's a crooked-toothed, dolphin-shaped fuselage marvel of yesteryear; a beguiling, brilliant and lovely ode to post-war air travel. Here, the pilots talk through the safety checks before take-off. As an amateur translator, I will endeavour to relay to you a loose transcript as to what I think they are saying in the cockpit. However, much like the average Magic FM listener singing along to their favourite song, I'll be getting at least 80% of the words completely wrong.

Enjoy.

'Fluteski Compass? Corrected.'

'Vaccum? Checked due to war-ness.'

'Directional Giros?' 'He, one day!'

'Trim Tabs?' 'Slim.'

'Take -off Flap?' 'Take off Flaps!!'

'Hero heaters?' 'Tank Ears.'

'Control Services?' 'Bean Told Travels!'

'Engine Instruments?' 'Normal!'

'Generators?' 'On.'

'Carburetor Air?' 'Cold!'

'Propellors?' 'Full Increase.'

'Mixtures?' 'Rich...'

'Fuel Props?' 'On high!'

'Airplane?' 'Ready!'

'Kansas City Tower, TWA Flight 2...Ready for take off.'

Chug, chug, chug, grumbly, chug...

You Are My Sunshine

Christmas List: Sundance Yellow dress, hooded cape, Princess Line coat with Universe Blue trim and Go-go boots. Pilot's licence, fictional back story, fake passport, a bright sunny day in '77, Aviators and some plot...

Top banana.

Yes.

Girl Flight

Attention girls! In the sixties, Aspiration Pie was served hot in the form of Air Stewardess, Shirley Flight. The book series by Edward Reginald Home-Gall (gender bending pen name, Judith Dale) were a Brit alternative to the US Vicki Barr books, which ahem, Barr the name were pretty much identical in premiss: a 'career oriented' bunch of yarns for girls, about life as cabin crew. And there ain't nothing more high achieving than handing a hot towel to some dude in a tube of decreased air pressure, right?

Shirley actually seemed to have more fun than is plausible for one lifetime. She worked for Trans Continental Airways and almost always wore a pillbox hat on the cover art, no matter what adventures she encountered, be these scrapes with snakes in the Congo Reserve or finding bullion in a flying doctor's turban. I think it's fair to say I am now deeply obsessed with this bizarrely action packed portrayal of air hostess-dom and especially mad for the book jacket art. To the point where I'd definitely try bashing my face against a good few of the more exciting selection, just to see whether I can dive into the colourful canvas, Mary Poppins style, and join Shirls in a Pacific Castaway excursion or three. Only the Flying Jet adventure cover holds less appeal, as she appears to have injected her countenance with Margaret Thatcher, fifteen years too early. Boo. See what you think.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the land of Ten Years Previous, alternative fictional herione, Kitty Hawke, was a pilot. With her girl air crew, she gazed cooly from the pages of Hulton Press's 50s comic 'Girl,' in her sheepskin aviator jacket and fly hat. But little girls in nighties up and down the UK remained unimpressed. Publisher Marcus Morris (founder of both Eagle and Girl) reasoned it was due to the lack of personal stuff in the plots. Apparently girls only liked action if there was a long lost uncle or a romance at the end of the runway. Bah. Damn that genetic propensity for human interest.

Interestingly Marcus Morris was a priest as well as a publisher (that old combo). So his main aim was to create a wholesome 'alternative' to American strips which he thought, 'brought horror into the nursery.' His first ever idea was a comic strip following the adventures of an inner city parson called Lex Christian to appear in Eagle, but it never came to pass (much like my ideas for Hades Boy, Professor Exodus, Scooby Dumali and John the BapMan). Instead, Lex swiftly morphed into 'Chaplain Dan Dare', the first parson to be launched into space (closer to God?) and then again into the secular Dan Dare (clearly prayer and orbit didn't gel) where the dog collar was dropped in favour of a captain's badge, and the Chief of the Interplanet Space Fleet was born.

Kitty lasted a bit longer than Lex, but not much. Which made her effectively as unpopular as the defunct space parson. It's odd as equally cool Flight Officer Joan Worralson, pilot in the Woman's Auxhilery Airforce and fictional star of the Worral's book series, was a female avio protagonist hit despite the lack of fwuffy dogs, missing relatives or time travel. Worrals just flew around on ordinary missions (within the earth's atmosphere) busting spy rings, with all relatives safely stored away at home.

Later, Girl tried again with a new heroine of the skies: Angela Air Hostess. But Angela wasn't cool. She didn't fly her own plane, head up a crew or punch spies. Nope, she just looked for lost toddlers in a nice skirt and squabbled with a 'beautiful selfish cousin' who also fancied the handsome, vigorously chinned Captain Ian Lewis: he of the 'puzzling' yet important manner and impressive array of off-duty, jazzy cravats. If she'd also been a secret ballet dancer who sewed buttons on cakes for sick donkeys, and kept a basket of kittens in her overhead locker, it wouldn't have been too off the mark. She gave good hat though.

Angela was born at the pen nib of artist Edward Dudley Pout, and although she may have been a little prim compared to Kitty and tiger-torn stockinged thrill-seeker Shirley, she did have a bunch of fictional yet very covetable dresses. Does this make Pout an unlikely fashion designer? Either way, Pout's drawings were/are ace, stuffed with big chins (men), long necks (girls) and now-vintage charm (mostly the cars). Outside of comic land he was a versatile artist, designing billboards and posters for the film industry. A life bookended with quaintly named residences, he started his existence on Frog Island Farm, and ended it at Gribble Bridge. Like a comic strip story-sandwich, he clearly knew a good beginning, middle and end.

If Dudley Pout were still alive, my perfect proposal for him would involve this: Kitty and co-pilot Worrals rocking the helm of a Lockheed Constellation with Angela and Shirley in the back selling muffins, tea and gin to Lex Christian, en route to The Siberias to fight tiger-bears in turbans. On the way they all solve at least four Chinese Puzzles each and everyone has a quiff. By the end, Lex is drunk and fighting diamond smugglers, Shirley has five members of a Venus spy ring safely detained in her hat and after a day trading barrel roll tips, Kitty has secured a date with Captain Dan Dare aboard the Tempus Frangit.

Now that's what I call an adventure.

Amen.

Sonic Clanger: Like a monkey at a zebra party

Tupolev-144 was Russia's entry into the Miss Concorde-a-like Pageant.

So like England v Germany in the 1990 World Cup and Oasis versus Blur in the Britpop glory days of 199smemething, the gloves were off.

And then back on. So keen was the USSR to rush the sonic Tupolev out the same year (they actually trumped Conc by three months) they forgot to make it any good. It looked fairly similar in silhouette to Concorde and retro magnifique within (fruity oranges and brown swirls baby) but it was a liability from start to end. It's nose dive crash at the Paris air show in 1973 was pretty much a PR apocalypse.

Tupolev kept getting parts added onto it. Much like the popular 80s Rotastak hamster accommodation (which FYI is totally pimped these days - galactic space stations and castles - who knew? Check out the high end rodent real estate selection here. Palatial digs or what. Give me five, Snuffle-Crunch.)

Except in this instance it was less about Cricetinae interior design and more about off setting outrageous safety issues.

Shortly after it's birth, the TU-144 sprouted canards (puppy like ear flaps) at the front as it was unstable. It's breaks weren't as good as Concorde so it had a 'breaking parachute' added (essentially a massive pair of bloomers which burst out of it's ass). It also had to have replacement engines and it's structure was a crack's delight. It was basically like a fleet of flying split ends.

Blooming hell.

Major Clanger and Tupolev were often swapped without passengers noticing a thing...

The result was a quirky looking thing. Both delightfully cute and creepy. But the crux was, it was mostly crap. Serious failures were more common than coughs. On one flight in 1978, the plane suffered 22 failures out of a possible 24. But took off anyway to 'avoid embarrassment.' What? Exactly. That's like me going to work despite having a face fracture and a highly contagious medieval fever.

According first hand accounts, the Shit-Something's-Wrong siren blared on board that craft for the whole 75 minute flight. The captain responded by attempting to mute it with a passenger pillow (he then used forks from first class as evacuation slides, strong coffee as wing glue, and a window blind as a surfboard). Luckily (not as predicted) all the landing gear extended and the plane landed without killing anyone. Happy holidays!

The Tupolev was such a worry, even national carrier Aeroflot gave it a wide berth, choosing not to incorporate it into their future planning. Ever.

That's like disappointing your parents.

Most passengers hated it too because it was ridiculously noisy. When the engines, air con and cooling system cranked into life, they combined to make a noise so obstreperous, passengers just two seats apart had to pass written notes to one another.

Sample:

'Yo, this is noisy, Sergei, isn't it?'

'Sorry, I can't hear you. Hahaha. Aah...'

An entire redesign would have taken too much time for the TU-144. Tweaks were made but essentially the whole infrastructure was busted from the beginning. If only they'd ironed out problems at the top, the end product could have been okay. It's much like attempting a good nights sleep on a full bladder. By 4am you're fucked, tired and wish you'd peed at midnight. But now it's far too late to get that glorious eight hours...

Tupolev's inaugural flight was like a D-list celebrity trying to put a shoe on. Or monkey turning up at a zebra party. It was basically blighted from all angles. It had structural cracks, dysfunctional blinds and broken bogs. And those were just the minor issues. It took it's last cranky flight ten years later and was officially obsolete in 1984.

Who knows. If only they'd called it the Maxi Tunnel of Fun or the Cosmo Pod and added some parts from the Curvy Tubes Kit, perhaps things could have been different.

But we can't all be as successful as a Nottingham based hamster cage company, can we?

Snuffle-Crunch approves.