Christmas turkeys fly no-frills

It is often said that queuing orderly is a very British thing. Indeed, I have been with many a continental European who has derived much mirth from the spectacle of nice straight line along the side of the road waiting for the number nine bus to pull up.

This has two exceptions. One is the London Underground in rush hour, where normally civilised London commuters scramble for that all important last square inch of breathing space on the Circle line, so as not to get to work late.

The other is at Stansted Airport, from where I had the dubious pleasure of catching a plane yesterday. It is one of the worst designed airports I have been to. Part of the problem is low-cost airlines trying to cram as many passengers into a small space, but there is no room to do it. Each of the check in desks has too little space. It is not so much a queue, but a herd of cattle waiting to be branded.

And for those people who've been checked in last, by the time your bag has been through the x-ray, you've got about three minutes to dash across to the other side of the airport to board the plane. Only to sit on the plane for half an hour before take off. I realise that for the price you can't expect wonderful service, but it surely doesn't have to be such of a mad panic, does it?

And the best thing was that we weren't told that they had no sandwiches on board until we got to 2,000 ft.

But at least we arrived ahead of schedule. It's funny that budget airlines have generally better punctuality that the national carriers. Maybe it's because what is normally a two-hour flight is scheduled to take 2.5 hours. Or maybe I'm just a cynic.