Forty years ago, I was flying high on Virgin Atlantic’s maiden voyage

On 22nd June 1984, I was on my way to Gatwick Airport to board Virgin Atlantic’s very first flight, bound for Newark Airport in New York. Virgin Records founder Richard Branson had leased a Boeing 747 and launched an airline that aimed to put its customers first. But this maiden voyage wasn’t filled with paying customers – it was packed with musicians, celebrities and journalists who were all on a jolly.

At the time, I was deputy editor of the pop magazine Record Mirror, hoping to encounter a galaxy of pop stars that I could interview. The rumour that Boy George (then Virgin’s hottest property) was joining the flight had attracted Fleet Street’s finest showbiz reporters, so when we boarded, necks were craning to spot his famous hat and dreadlocks.

The rumour mill went into overdrive when someone said that George had been spotted at the airport – but he never appeared on our flight. We later learned he was on his way to Tokyo. My heart sank when I realised that the majority of the ‘celebrities’ on board were tabloid favourites and TV personalities such as Clement Freud, Christopher Biggins and Bonnie Langford – although we were joined by Virgin artists Phil Collins and Mike Oldfield plus legendary TV interviewer David Frost and illusionist Uri Geller.

I was feeling totally deflated until a bemused Holly Johnson from Frankie Goes to Hollywood ambled down the aisle (Frankie’s controversial track Relax had gone to No 1 in the UK charts earlier that year), followed by latecomers Jenny from the Belle Stars, Thin Lizzy’s Phil Lynott, Kate Garner from Haysi Fantaysee and my pal Steve Strange (of Visage fame).

What followed was a seven and a half hour transatlantic party – divine decadence at 35,000ft. The champagne flowed all the way to New York – and Branson later claimed that the maiden voyage boasted the Guinness World Record for the most champagne ever consumed on a flight. He probably made that up, but it was certainly the most champagne I’ve ever knocked back on an airplane. At one point the news flashed round the cabin that we had used 50 per cent more fuel than normal because everyone was running up and down the aisles for the entire flight.

Just after the in-flight movie (Branson thought it would be funny to show the comedy disaster movie Airplane!) had finished, I heard a familiar voice shrieking at me. ‘Betty! [my pen name at the time] I didn’t know you were here!’ It was Mr Strange, staggering up the aisle, dripping champagne on passengers’ heads. I told him I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t have anyone to go out with in Manhattan and he promised to sort me out – he had friends in every nightclub in town.

On the bus that took us from Newark Airport to our hotel, I found myself sitting next to Holly Johnson, who announced he was scared of ‘rough old Manhattan’ (which it certainly was back in the mid-80s) and that he wouldn’t put his hand out of the window ‘in case someone chops it off or shoots it’.

As promised by Mr Strange (then the master of London nightlife), that night I was privileged to witness at first hand Steve’s club-crashing techniques at the hip Limelight club, where he circumnavigated the door policy, spotted an old friend (Brian Setzer of The Stray Cats), and the club management offered us all life membership on the spot.

Holly set Steve a challenge – to get the whole gang (Jenny Belle Star, Phil Lynott, me and a couple of New York friends) in to hip gay club The Saint and hip-hop hangout Paradise Garage. This was a tall order, even for someone of Steve’s experience. In those days, hardcore New York gay clubs rarely granted entry to women and not even Steve could convince them to let us in. He didn’t do much better at Paradise Garage, so I promised Steve that I wouldn’t ruin his reputation by telling anyone back in London.

The most amusing part of all this from my point of view was that Holly didn’t realise I was a journalist and Steve didn’t tell him – so I was able to write the story as a gossip column scoop when I got home.

All I remember about the return journey is that there was just as much champagne available but I couldn’t face drinking any more of it. And that we flew through a thunderstorm and – allegedly – some passengers saw a bolt of lightning go through the aircraft, although that might have been a champagne-induced hallucination. God’s retribution for this rampant hedonism? Possibly.

So here we are, 40 years later, and Virgin Atlantic is still flourishing – and I’m not sure anyone on that flight believed that Branson would make a success of it. At the time, it seemed bizarre that someone who launched a record label could run a global airline. Not only did he prove us all wrong, he also got a knighthood in the process.

I’m proud to have played a small part in this success story – and (see photos) still have the travel bag and badges that were given to all passengers on that maiden voyage.

It’s amazing to me that the universe has chosen 22nd June for me to fly off on another adventure – this time to Dubai, to co-facilitate a training programme designed to help senior leaders speak like TED talkers. Forty years on, I’m still flying around the world at someone else’s expense!