The secretary in New York had apologized for not getting me into business class, except for the flight between Barcelona and London. No apologies were necessary, as this was the least memorable flight I've ever taken.
I sat next to a fellow in a tie and a short-sleeved white shirt who must have been Poindexter's younger brother. He was fascinated with the ledgers he took out of his briefcase, and thwarted any attempt at conversation, even a "hello" or a "thank you". It wasn't rudeness exactly, since he acknowledged my handing him things from the flight attendant. He simply had an uncanny ability to deflect all friendly gestures. And it's not that I didn't try.
"Worm," said I, and took out the newspaper. I believe that this was my first introduction to the Daily Telegraph, and I have to say that getting information out of the Telegraph was harder than getting a grin out of my neighbor. Friends later told me that this was a good paper, but the last straw came with the cover story about a woman who won a TV game show, and needed to buy a bigger place because her council house was too small for all the prizes.
In any case, the flight was short. I was very impressed about how easy it is to hop around Europe, and that was part of my decision on whether to move to London. The answer on all sides, by the way, was "yes", which took me from the class of sometime-traveler, and made me wish I could spend more time at home.