Joan Collins

Diary – 1 November 2003

I was as excited as a kid going to Disneyland to be invited on Concorde’s last flight from New York to London. I’ve always regarded it as one of Britain’s greatest ambassadors, and we considered that being a part of its final journey was too important a historic event to miss. Percy and I thus arrived at a darkened and seemingly deserted JFK airport at 6 a.m. for a 7 a.m. flight. Are we the first?, I inquired of the charming special services representative. ‘No, you’re the last,’ was the reply. ‘The party’s been going for hours.’ We checked in without luggage, which for me is itself a historic event, but I still managed to pocket a couple of Concorde luggage tags, which I understand are now selling for £17 on e-Bay along with various other mementos from the iconic aircraft, including memorabilia catalogues, safety cards and a bathroom sign. God only knows how they took that off.

Going through security I beeped — too much bling-bling — and so was then subjected to a rather undignified and barefoot body search, which would have been normal except for the mass of New York press that awaited us. Fortunately they gallantly declined to photograph the humiliating experience, but that did not prevent them from gawping. Into the departure lounge we went, where there was a party atmosphere as luminaries and celebrities quaffed champagne and gave interviews right, left and centre to the eager American and British press. I said how tragic I thought it was that this magnificent piece of cutting-edge technology was going to be phased out and that I hoped that another company, perhaps Virgin Atlantic, could keep it going as had been reported. Just before embarking I popped into the loo and while combing my hair was asked by a nervous BA press officer if I would do her a big favour.

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