“Oh I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings…”

You what?

Poet John Gillespie Magee, who wrote this, was a pilot. A long time ago.

Meanwhile for a passenger, flying short haul economy class today (even short-haul business class) is utterly dire. All of it.

From the experience of online booking to being “processed” by the airport, and finally injected – as if hypodermically – via a windowless jetway into a claustrophobic cabin.

A good crew can lift the experience marginally, but the excitement of flying is dead.

The combined ideas of getting airborne and travel to faraway places once had an element of romance. The imagination, given just a little space, could soar. The soul could breathe.

Back at home, the travel brochure still paints sunlit, azure pictures, the airline promises onboard service and a welcome.

Travel reality then suffocates the images. Every aspect of the “service” is individually commoditized and charged for.

Toward the end of October I booked a flight from London Heathrow to Malta, with Air Malta. All the above comments applied. Punctuality was not a problem. But there was more.

There was something totally dead about the trip once the pax were on board. The cabin crew delivered everything, from the safety briefing to the cabin service, as if they were zombies.

The flight deck crew did not make a single announcement at any point. There were no flight progress displays, and zero information was provided about the destination weather and the arrival.

Air Malta, in its current manifestation, is not long for this world, so crew morale was almost certainly a factor. A successor will duly arrive, but any existing crew who are re-employed know they will enjoy less beneficial terms and conditions. Like the employees at their competitors.

Flying is indeed cheap. It has never been cheaper. But it is joyless. For crew and passengers.

You get what you pay for.