Online: bath.live | twitter: @bathlive | facebook: fb.com/bathlive Up, upgraded and away

Seems we can start flying again. I’ve rebooked my thrice-cancelled holiday in exotic climes for this coming May. I’m calling it my May or May not break. Things could easily change for the worse. Those British Airways vouchers are getting distinctly curly at the edges.

I have a friend who has as many theories about getting upgraded as she has long-haul flights. One time she reckoned that if you left it to the last minute to check in, you are more likely to get bumped up a class. Steerage is always over-booked, she said. She ended up with that rotten seat between the screaming babies and the toilet queue.

Then she read somewhere that first come, first served was advantageous. I’ve no idea why, but the sight of her eager I-got-here-first face confronting the somewhat stonier gaze of the check-in guy was highly entertaining.

Another theory concerned what clothes one wore. They never upgrade anyone remotely scruffy or wearing shorts, she declared. The result was a hot and bothered arrival in crushed and creased best frock, followed by a request for iron and ironing board from the hotel reception.

Following this latter theory, on tour with the Natural Theatre Company, I donned my whole Georgian stage outfit, brocade waistcoat, Baroque wig et al at check-in. Half the Gatwick desk staff and luggage handlers assembled to take Instagram pictures, and then melted away, leaving me to sheepishly repack my suitcase with nary a meal deal upgrade, let alone a luxury first-class reclining seat.

Once, on a package holiday my friend and I did pay for an upgrade. We were really looking forward to it. We thought it strange that nobody else was queueing at the first-class desk. Imagine our disappointment when we found the plane had been replaced by one that wasn’t configured for firstclass seating. They did give us real cutlery and a full row to ourselves. We spent the whole flight being stared at by the other passengers who obviously thought we were isolating with something contagious.

To give the airline its due, a cheque totally refunding our upgrade was waiting on the mat when we got home two weeks later.

The only time I have been genuinely upgraded was for being famous. Not that I am, but my street theatre team at World Expo Brisbane came to see me off wearing the Natural Theatre flowerpot heads. As they were disrobing in the car park, a worried Qantas staff member rushed up and asked who I was. Don’t you know, answered my quick-witted Australian friend, that was Ralph Oswick. The Ralph Oswick! Thinking they had committed a faux pas by not recognising an A List celeb, I was chased through passport control by a young man waving a first-class ticket.

Turned out it was only valid as far as Hong Kong, but at least I could tell my ever-hopeful friend that I had achieved our long-cherished goal!

Ralph Oswick was artistic director of Natural Theatre for 45 years and is now an active patron of Bath Comedy Festival