May 1991. The first time I took my mother (then 66) abroad, we flew to Toronto with Air Canada. It was a 747 combi, so only half the cabin space of a normal 747. But, we had a touring rugby team in there. By the time we took to bouncing over Labrador, Mother and I were blocking an aisle each, while the crew were in the aft galley, frantically poured the remaining booze down the sink. "I'm sorry sir, we have run out."
When we got into Pearson, the team was starting to look a little hungover. They still had to fly to Calgary, I think, and there was a HUGE queue in the immigration hall. Bet they didn't feel like drinking on the next leg of the journey!