I will no longer defend British Airways

I have long been a defender of British Airways, often in the face of huge derision it has to be said.

Like the time I was working in Dallas… the guy who commissioned us laughed his head off when I said I was going to fly BA from Edinburgh to Heathrow and then direct to Dallas.  He recommended KLM.

But I stuck to my guns and flew BA… except I didn’t, it was American, who were hopeless.  Mostly because the in flight movie was projected onto the bulkhead, like it was the 1980s or something.  The film was Toy Story 4.  Now, I’m not usually an emotional bloke and the fella sitting next to me (who I didn’t know and wasn’t watching the film) looked at me very strangely as I suddenly found my eyes watering!

Anyway, the flight back was BA and they moved my seat at the last moment shoving me next to the window, hemmed in by a very loving couple who got amorous in the middle of the night.  I was desperate for the loo but daren’t let them know I was awake… I kept my eyes firmly shut and the music turned up very loud to block out the slurping.

Despite this I was a defender of BA… until February 14th.

My most beloved and I were flying back from South Africa – in this case a flight of 12 hours because of head winds.  The flight left at 8.30am and we got breakfast as usual at about 10.00am.

Then the crew disappeared.

No, I mean they really disappeared.  We couldn’t find them.

It got to about 4.00pm, six hours after we last had something to eat and I was starving.  My wife, who was also hungry, finally tracked down a stewardess and asked when we could get something to eat.  This is what she said:

‘Two hours before we land.’

‘But that will be 6.30 – eight and a half hours since we last had something to eat.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Well I need something now.’



‘Yes, sorry.  Nothing I can do about it… we usually get lunch boxes at Cape Town but we didn’t get any this time, so there’s nothing to eat.  We did have some chocolate bars but the other passengers were like a flock of vultures and we haven’t got any of those either.’

I’m not kidding you – that was it almost word for word… and then she disappeared again.

Eventually my wife had to buy some chocolate from the ‘boutique’.  Guess how much it cost.

Eight quid.  Yes, you heard me right.  Eight of our British pounds.

I’m sorry, but, unless there’s no choice, I will do anything not to fly British Airways again.

And I was their greatest fan.



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