In a development that has sent shivers of existential dread down the spines of even the most stoic frequent flyers, the UK aviation industry has announced that 20-hour non-stop flights are on the horizon. And who is leading the charge? Why, our very own British carriers, naturally. Because if there is one thing the world needs, it is more time trapped in a pressurised aluminium tube at 35,000 feet, eating food that tastes like recycled regret and watching films you would not touch with a bargepole on terra firma.
But wait, there is more. The industry, in its infinite wisdom, has assured us that passenger wellbeing is at the heart of this grand vision. Yes, you heard that right. Wellbeing. The same wellbeing that currently manifests as a packet of pretzels and a seat that slowly adopts the contours of your spine as if trying to absorb your very soul. But now, they promise, things will be different. There will be ‘wellness zones’, ‘light therapy’, and ‘hydration stations’. I imagine these will be positioned precisely within arm's reach of the toilets, ensuring that every trip to the loo becomes a pilgrimage through the circles of hell.
Let us pause to consider the logistics. A 20-hour flight means you effectively lose an entire day to the sky. You will board as a relatively composed human being and disembark as a crumpled, dehydrated husk with the emotional stability of a toddler denied a biscuit. And this is before we even mention the other passengers. You will be spending 20 hours in close proximity to the man who insists on removing his shoes, the woman who watches her iPad without headphones, and the child who has discovered that kicking the back of your seat is the funniest thing since the invention of the whoopee cushion.
But fear not, for the UK aviation industry has a plan. They speak of ‘circadian rhythm management’ and ‘in-flight movement programmes’. I can only assume this means they will periodically drag you from your seat and force you to perform yoga poses in the aisle, while a flight attendant with a fixed smile intones mantras about ‘finding your inner calm’. The calm of a man who has been awake for 18 hours and is now being asked to assume the downward-facing dog position is a very specific kind of calm, the calm of the damned.
And what of the environmental cost? A 20-hour flight will generate a carbon footprint roughly equivalent to a small European country. But never mind, because you will be able to offset this by purchasing a ‘carbon-neutral’ gin and tonic at the duty-free shop. That is how it works, is it not? You buy a bottle of gin, and the polar ice caps magically reform. Splendid.
The real question, however, is why? Why do we need to fly for 20 hours non-stop? The answer, as with so many things, is money. It is cheaper for airlines to fly direct than to stop for refuelling, because time is money, and airports charge extortionate fees for the privilege of landing. So instead, we will be treated to an extended stay in a flying purgatory, where the only respite is the occasional cart of overpriced sandwiches and the vague promise that ‘we are now entering our descent, please fasten your seatbelts’.
I propose a radical alternative: bring back the airship. Yes, the airship. It is slow, yes. It is ungainly, yes. But it offers several advantages. First, you can stand up. Second, there is a bar. Third, and most importantly, if the journey becomes unbearable, you can simply open a window and jump. It is the civilised option. But no, we must barrel through the sky at near-supersonic speeds, sealed in a metal coffin, pretending we are having a ‘wellness experience’.
So brace yourselves, fellow travellers. The era of the 20-hour flight is coming. And when it arrives, you will find me in the wellness zone, drowning my sorrows in a ‘hydrating’ gin and tonic, toasting the end of sanity. Cheers.
