In a move that can only be described as a triumph of human endurance over basic common sense, British Airways has announced plans to launch ultra-long-haul flights lasting a frankly preposterous 20 hours. Because, you see, the only thing better than a 10-hour flight is a flight so protracted that you can watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, the extended editions, and still have time to contemplate the void. BA's press release, issued, presumably, by a gaggle of executives who have never actually sat in a middle seat, trumpets this as a 'revolution.
' I call it a carefully engineered torture chamber with wings. Let us examine the evidence. The average human bladder, as any seasoned traveller knows, has a capacity roughly equivalent to a thimble.
After 20 hours, one would either need to be catheterised or develop the ability to recycle one's own urine. Then there is the matter of the complimentary meal service. You will be served three meals, each of which will be some variation of 'chicken or pasta,' each of which will be seasoned not with herbs but with existential despair.
By hour 14, the cabin crew, once perky and professional, will have the hollowed-out eyes of war criminals. The in-flight entertainment screen, which boasts 'over 1,000 hours of content,' becomes a mocking window into a world you will never re-enter. You will watch half a romantic comedy, then switch to a documentary about penguins, then stare at the flight path map for 45 minutes wondering if the plane is actually moving or if this is a simulation designed by Satan.
But BA insists this is the future. 'Passengers want non-stop connectivity,' they claim. No, passengers want to not be trapped in a metal tube over the Atlantic with strangers who remove their shoes.
The only revolution here is the one that will occur in your bloodstream as deep vein thrombosis sets in. They will offer you 'wellness kits' containing compression socks and a card with breathing exercises. What you will actually need is a supply of intravenous gin and a ejector seat.
And let us not forget the environmental impact. Twenty hours of sustained kerosene-burning is the equivalent of each passenger personally setting fire to a small forest. But BA assures us they are 'carbon neutral,' which is corporate for 'we will plant a tree somewhere and hope you forget about the hole in the ozone layer we just blew.
' To be fair, the planes will be new Airbus A350s, which have larger windows and better air filtration. So you can appreciate the view of the Arctic ice caps melting as you contemplate your own mortality. The route?
Likely London to Sydney, Perth, or a layover in purgatory. The price? Roughly equal to a mortgage payment.
But you will be paying for the privilege of suffering. I foresee a new class of passenger: the ultra-long-haul zombie. They will stagger off the plane, eyes glazed, limbs stiff, smelling faintly of recycled air and regret.
They will be met by loved ones who will pretend not to notice the thousand-yard stare. And they will say, 'It was fine.' It is never fine.
But BA knows we are a species that will endure any discomfort for the promise of a slightly quicker journey. We are the same people who queue for hours for a rollercoaster and then complain it was too short. So yes, I could survive a 20-hour flight.
I would mix my own gin from duty-free and use the sick bag as a pillow. But I would not recommend it. Unless you have a pressing need to be in Australia and a burning desire to hate yourself just a little bit more.
In that case, by all means, book your seat on BA's express elevator to madness. Just don't say I didn't warn you. And whatever you do, avoid the chicken.
