Your guide to first class travel and private jets, Hollywood-style

When Mark Hayes moved from Cork to LA for fame and fortune, he ended up hanging out with Robbie Williams — on a yacht in the Caribbean.

SO YOU want to travel like the rich and famous?

The first rule is when someone more successful than you asks if you’d like to join them on their jet to Vegas or Miami or the Caribbean: don’t dress like a hobo, as if you’re wearing pyjamas on your way from Cork to Dublin on the Aircoach.


Dress sharp.

Sharper the better. Trust me, you don’t want to let the side down.

The first time I went on a private jet was from LA to Vegas. A short flight; 45 minutes.

Sure I’ll wear my old UCC tracksuit pants and this plain old t-shirt I got free in a Guinness promotion. Comfort on.

I show up at the private airport in Burbank.

Everyone is looking dapper: suits; dresses; shoes and socks. Except me.

I’m wearing a tracksuit, t-shirt and flip-flops — as you do when you’re clueless.

Side note, there’s no real security check points when you’re flying private; there is no taking off of the shoes or getting frisked or any of that.

You just roll up to the airport, pre-checked (I think the fact one of you in the party can afford a private jet makes them think you’re not going to hijack it).

My buddy who invited me aboard, let’s call him ‘The Man’, was dressed in a immaculate, dark navy, $5,000 Tom Ford suit. Should’ve followed his lead (and at least worn pants/jeans and socks).

So, follow the inviter’s fashion lead.

It’s always safe to be overdressed rather than underdressed so you don’t have to pretend you slept it in and grabbed the first thing you could find, which happens to be the slobbiest outfit you put together for some dumb, unknown reason.

(Comfort is for clowns, I’ve realised.)

Second, there is no need to stop off on your way to the private jet and get Subway sandwiches for everyone.

Jets are kitted out with platters of the finest food, all you can eat and then some more.

Juicy fruit platters, fresh salmon and bagels, the finest ham, turkey and pastrami, rows and rows of desserts and all the finest booze you could ask for.

It’s like an offering your Mum serves up when everyone comes around to your house at Christmas time.

Except it’s on this 10-seater, G-6 plane high, high in the sky.

It’s mighty.

Third, don’t clog the toilet of the private jet; it’s never fun.

I once flew from LA to Miami. After about five minutes I had to use the bathroom, dodgy stomach (didn’t sleep a wink the night before out of fear I would oversleep and miss the 11am flight).

I forgot that the toilet seat would be clean as a whistle, in fact, they’re padded like a soft, velvet cushion. I used far too much toilet paper wiping down the seat.

I flushed said toilet paper; cue impending water level rising like a Tsunami wave.

Cue me exiting the toilet without even getting to use the bathroom.

Cue people saying water was leaking from the bathroom.

Cue me pretending I only went in to wash my hands.

Cue never been asked to fly with that group again on a private jet.

(When I returned to my abode from Miami that time the sink in my kitchen had somehow blocked itself with rubbish and filled up with dirt and mud from the pipe, smelt like a zoo, felt like karma retribution.)

Next tip: Say yes to everything. 

Last weekend I ended up in Vegas with Ron White, a very successful and hilarious American comedian, backstage at his show at the Mirage, after just getting VIP tickets to the Beatles’ Love show, hanging out with the comedian Carrot Top, drinking $2,000 scotch, listening to people telling me how much they enjoyed reading my books, while eating the finest slices of ham I’ve ever tasted, on my way to go for a swim in the pool on the balcony of Ron’s suite, all because I said yes to my friend Kai asking me the week before “Want to go somewhere next weekend?”

It was all a surprise for my birthday but I just said yes without knowing where I was going.

When people in LA ask if you want to go on a trip: Just. Say. Yes.

Almost said no before.

What a fool.

Got a call from Robbie Williams, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Same thing I do every day in LA, trying to become a star.

“Fancy coming on a trip?”


“It’ll be good, trust me.”

Where to? “

Meet me at the Atlantis Resort in the Bahamas tomorrow by 10pm. Text when you’re there.”

Fair enough.

Check flights from LA to the Bahamas.

Chunk, especially booking the day before.

Hmm, what to do what to do? Should I go, I don’t know.

Texted my buddy Jimmy:

“Should I spend all my money on a flight to go on a trip to the Bahaas with Rob?”

Jimmy: No reply.

Balls. Era sure, might as well. Book the flights.

Spend all my money at the time. Bahamas on.

Get a reply Jimmy: Don’t text me this late, sleeping.

Good man Jimmy, I’ll take that as a yes, backing up my decision.

So I get to the Bahamas. Rob was coming from Miami.

Meet another buddy Chris in the hotel by the port.

Doesn’t have many details either. We have a few fruity holiday cocktails.

Get the text from Rob: Meet us by the pier.

Down we go. Hey hup, I hear a “Well boss”.

Look up: It’s Rob, standing on what looks like a super yacht.

“Fancy taking this around the Caribbean for a couple of weeks?”

Rude not to, to be true!

And that, dear reader, is how I ended up on a super yacht for two weeks, having the greatest laugh ever with the likes of Rob, Gary Barlow, a private chef that we thought was Bill Murray in disguise, and a few more, all living the high life on the tropical seas sailing around to various islands, including the actual desert island shown at the start of Gilligan Island TV show and a place called Pig Island where pigs run wild and free and try to eat your feet, and also ended up being attacked on a jet-ski by a shark.

Thank the sweet Lord I said yes.

(Who cares that when I returned to LA I was broke, it was well worth it.)

Hmm, what else does a hobo need to know?

Always say yes to the Caribbean offers.

Once ended up on a private beach resort in Barbuda that had a pink beach with pink sand and the person that stayed in my room before me was the Prince of Monaco, as you do.

That was a hoot.

What else? The best part of travelling to Vegas on a private jet is the flying to and from.

Everything after that is a bit of a let down.

Miami offers are always worth a punt although the humidity there wreaked havoc on my hair, very tough to tame for the seven days I spent there.

Still, maybe don’t complain when you’re being taken as a guest of honour. Might look a tad ungrateful.

Final tip, when you finally get your own private jet, don’t forget to return the favour to all your buddies who’ve hooked you up before.

(I’ll need a 100 seater at this point. Fly on!)

Mark Hayes is a comedian and author of three books including RanDumb (#1 on Amazon Humour). He can be found on Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram @trickaduu or at


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