![]() ![]() The Resilient Lady is $US700 million ($1.08 billion) worth of ship, one of three originally commissioned by the new line and readied just in time for COVID-19. I gently mention the Bottle Opener Incident to Mila later in the day – no histrionics, no threats of a no-show at tonight’s stadium performance – and by the time I’m back in my room there is a combo corkscrew-bottle opener among the cocktail accoutrements. Resilient Lady is one of the ships in Virgin Voyages’ fleet. It’s not like I can just check into the joint across the road. Anyway, that would be a bad idea on the second of seven nights at sea. It sprays around a bit but it’s a clear liquid, so I’m not exactly trashing the room. So I slide open the exterior door, hold the bottle sideways, put the top into the locking slot and lever off the lid. ![]() ![]() And I don’t want to risk damaging the marble. Right now!īut, as if to prove I’ll never be a real rock star, I don’t want to bother my assigned agent, Mila. Rather than taking 10 per cent and explaining I have to humiliate myself on morning television because ticket sales are down, this agent is there to quietly sort out my restaurant and spa bookings and – presumably – find a bottle opener. My suite comes with a stocked bar, and an agent. RockStar status on Virgin Voyages comes with perks including round-the-clock access to Richard’s Rooftop, an outdoor bar on the top deck where there’s an all-you-can-glug Moet et Chandon champagne hour each evening. Richard’s Rooftop, a RockStar-only outdoor deck. To be entirely clear, I might have paid $12,500 for my wristband (that’s the price for the cabin, two up, for this seven-night voyage around the Greek islands), except Richard Branson – via his minions – offered the so-called RockStar Suite to The Australian Financial Review in the hope someone would write something nice about his new cruise line, Virgin Voyages.īut no bottle opener, no niceties, Richie Boy. Or is that just my cocaine-fuelled paranoia? This wristband affords other privileges, and makes fellow guests look slightly askance at me. And because I paid $12,500 for a black access-all-areas wristband. ![]() I’m a rock star because it says so on the back of my bathrobe. Inside your suite bathroom you’ll find a RockStar robe. Should I get on the blower and tell my agent I’ve never been so insulted in my life? Should I smash the lid off the bottle on the edge of the bar’s marble surrounds? Or should I go full Keith Moon and trash the room before throwing the widescreen television and record collection over the balcony, into the briny deep?Īt this point, perhaps I should point out that I am a rock star not because of my string of hits, and even longer string of tabloid-narrated trysts with supermodels. The Fab Suite living room has a fully stocked bar and ample seating. No bottle opener! Don’t they know who I am? Then I discover that the tonic has a conventional pop-off bottle top and, while there are books of cocktail recipes, half a dozen bottles of spirits, mixers, a shaker, a strainer, a swizzle stick and a drawer containing a veritable library of glasses, there is no bottle opener. I need to ensure it’s up to standard, so grab a small bottle of London Essence tonic water and check the ice bucket has been freshly filled (as per my rider). My massive suite on the sparkling new Resilient Lady – with balcony, marble benchtops and even a vinyl sound system – has a fully stocked bar which includes a gin I’ve never heard of: Drumshanbo Gunpowder Irish. ![]()
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