Charles declined breakfast. I sipped an energizer - a fruit smoothie of sorts while wiping my hands on the warm towel. As a regular economy flyer I know that at about this time I'm trying to press my baggage into the over-filled overhead, avoid breathing in the possibly rancid breath of my shoulder companion and engage in prayer - dear lord, please let a hottie sit next to me. Yet again my non-belief is confirmed as time after time - well against the odds given the frequency of travel , hotties are always seated elsewhere.

Ashleigh was serving me. We used to be on visiting terms years ago so I wasn't especially impressed he knew my name. I was impressed that he knew everyone else's though.  The initial breakfast serving was a plated fruit salad along with yoghurt and coffee. Next came an option of muesli or omlette - veg or with bacon. I selected the latter while dipping the corner of my croissant into my coffee. I wanted to look jaded so I paged first through the Highlife and then lowlife - oops the whatyoumacalit local in-flight mag but quickly got bored (this is a prerequisite for Club Class) and read my Fortune instead.

The egg was surprisingly good. It's airline food to be sure, but as a soufflé omlette it worked well. It was accompanied by a grilled tomato and cream potato. Although I was ready for another pastry I dismissed the basket with the back of my hand staring fixedly at the page. I wasn't reading, of course, but I wanted to pretend I was.

We arrived half-an-hour late so charged to The Sandton Sun where the media interviews I'd scheduled for Charles were taking place. I was a changed man - the memory of Club Class quickly faded as a darted around offering drinks, fluffing cushions and kowtowing to media heavies.

I love the double life.