MONTY: Airline rant

I write this column on my laptop several thousand feet above the Egyptian desert. I’m typing with fingers that tremble with indignation, as I happen to be incandescent with rage. I’m sitting on an aircraft run by Viking Airlines, being glowered at by the senior air hostesses. We are at the tail end of a long discussion, relations are somewhat strained, and I suspect my coffee – should it ever arrive – will taste slightly odd.

The reason this situation is pertinent is that I’m returning from Hurghada, a location beloved of British divers. Many of you will be taking this precise flight in the future I imagine, so it feels reasonable to make a stand and perhaps – as divers make up a huge percentage of the clients on this route – indicate that there comes a point where enough is enough.

So, how come you find me all purple-faced and vein-throbbingly irate? For the past week, I have been having the time of my life on the good ship Blue Horizon, led by expert guides, mixing with the most courteous and affable of crew, and surrounded by as nice a bunch of divers as you’ll meet. The highlight was photographing oceanic whitetips as they flicked and circled beneath the hull of our vessel – a first for me, and a huge ambition realised.

Hard drive bulging with images, and head throbbing agreeably with a slight hangover, I duly arrived at the airport for the flight home in high spirits. And that’s where the fun began.

After we boarded, there was a discrepancy between the number of people on the plane and the number on the manifest. Several headcounts later, the skipper announced that we all needed to get off and identify our bags, as he only had 25 minutes left before his duty time expired. Off we thundered to mill on the tarmac in a bovine mass as the crew hurled bags out of the hold. Mine was handed to me by the skipper himself, sweat rings under his arms and eyes wide. It was bedlam. Indeed, one of the air hostesses remarked that in 20 years of flying, she’d never seen anything like it. But they cracked it – good on ‘em.

We all trooped back on board, the spirit of the Blitz to the fore, and off we jolly well popped. We were an hour late, we were dehydrated and shattered, but there we go – can’t be helped. The crew were very professional, right up to the point when they announced that we would still have to pay for every tiny little thing – including blankets (which is a new one on me). The same announcement mentioned that one of the two toilets on board was not working, and soon an impressive and wriggling queue formed at the remaining cubicle.

And here’s the rub. I’m not a complainer, I’m middle class and would rather eat my own trousers than make a fuss. But, to my surprise, the red mist descended and I found myself suggesting that perhaps some free headphones would be a good idea – normally Viking charges three quid for them – essentially providing a free film to compensate for the appalling shenanigans on our flight. It’s an utterly insignificant amount of money for the airline, but a nice gesture to passengers who were caught up in the administrative vortex of the previous hour and had been inconvenienced by the airline to whom they had paid their cash.

So, a succession of increasingly senior cabin crew made their way to my seat and told me that they simply couldn’t authorise giving 91 people some cheap plastic headphones for free, but the more staff members said no, the more I decided that we deserved better. I even offered to personally pay for all the headphones, and was told this was not possible either. Some sort of catatonic state of denial had descended on the small mob (well, two, but they had scary hair) of cabin staff who surrounded (well, flanked) me. I was now, officially, a troublemaker, sitting in the eye of a perfect storm of mutton-headed obstinacy, absurdity, and general contempt for the concept of actually treating customers as human beings.

Anyway, the crew won. No headphones, and muttered conversations abounded behind the curtain in the serving area. All I have is a sense of burgeoning outrage, some rather odd-tasting coffee, and my column. What about customer service? What about common sense? Has the world gone completely stark staring mad?

With our hard-earned pennies, we divers pay to keep this route going, we pay over the odds for the excess weight that is essential for us to conduct our sport safely, and we are assaulted by sales patter from the moment we board the aircraft to the moment we disembark. All we want is a bit of consideration and an acknowledgment that – on certain routes – divers are vital for airlines in these times of recession. Why, when we go on holiday to Egypt, should the most horrendous aspect of the entire experience be the flight?

Finally, let me point out that the views expressed here are mine – Monty Halls – and not DIVE’s. They are also the views of anyone with a functional brain as opposed to a Brussels sprout, an ounce of common sense, a shred of dignity, and – still – no headphones.