I have recently discovered that policy should be extended to those I hate, in case it turns out that I quite like them.

And so it was with Michael O'Leary the boss of budget airline Ryanair. It must be said that as a sucker for a bargain, I have used his company many times, flown to Dublin for a penny etc. In all honesty I have no complaints about service or reliability. But company policy regarding checking-in caused some sucking of teeth.

If you book online that's fine, but if you don't have a boarding pass it costs you to have it printed out at check-in. If your bag is over a tiny size or weight limit, they charge you. They even charge you to buy one of the little transparent plastic bags you need for your make up.

I work in television, I wear make up. It goes with the job.

There was also a plan to charge customers to use the toilets on Ryanair flights.

What annoyed me was how the airline treated soldiers who tried to use their Army ID when flying within the UK. The airline said such cards were not valid. It was churlish in the least for O'Leary then to call for the army to provide security at airfields so that he and his suits could make a tidy profit. Wait till I get a hold of him, I said to myself. As an officer in the TA, I'll give him the good news.

The scene was set. I was sent to a hangar at Prestwick airport, where Boeing 737s were being maintained in the company's engineering facility. The airline was announcing an extension, so successful was the first stage of the project. First minister Alex Salmond was going to be there, as was O'Leary himself. I rubbed my hands. Good. I could get a kick in.

There was a roar from the runway and another 737 landed. The roar got louder as the aircraft rolled towards the hangar. By the time its blue and yellow nose peeked inside the sliding doors, we all had our fingers plugged into our ears. The cabin door opened and the only passenger trotted down the steps.

Because I was suited and booted he may have thought I was Salmond's bodyguard. He marched inside the hangar, ignored the assembled cast of thousands and pumped my hand up and down, wishing me a good morning in his lovely Irish brogue.

I had sharpened my kicking foot - "... about the Army ID cards," I wanted to say. But I couldn't.

He was wearing a jacket and battered chinos and open necked shirt. He slouched, hands in pockets, as he addressed a line of apprentices. As an officer and a gentleman, it would have been wrong to eavesdrop, but the chain of four letter expletives came drifting over the workshop to me, as he shot the breeze.

Salmond gave his usual polished statement and interview. O'Leary looked as though he'd just got off a train, which in a way he had, and spoke to the press as though he was in the pub. I hoped someone would mention the army.

Press conference over, we jumped on a bus to take us back to the terminal. O'Leary got on carrying my cameraman's tripod - usually my job. He stood beside the driver chatting to him as though he'd known him for years. In my experience, bus drivers in these situations are usually roundly ignored.

Then he turned his attention to the PR girls. They were dolled up and fragrant and cooed and twittered as he flattered and flirted. He was so laid back I felt like getting a shovel and scraping him off the floor. I edged closer, my poison pen sharpened. I grabbed the tripod, the bus stopped, the doors opened and he stepped off.

He turned and addressed the media behind him.

"I can't believe you guys didn't mention paying to use the f***in' toilets."

Printer friendly version

Email this article to a friend

Bookmark this

---