Easyjet

Dear Sir/Madam,

I have never flown abroad before as my good ladywife Agatha has never had any truck with foreign languages or alien foodstuffs. However, we were recently persuaded to visit the Costa Brava by Amanda Lamb from A Place in the Sun, the only programming effort that has challenged the supremacy of Midsomer Murders on our television in the last fifteen years.

Spain turned out to be a mistake; although Ms Lamb had assured us that the Spanish are very much acclimatised to the manner of Britons, we found them to be loud, obnoxious and incomprehensible. Several times we had to ask for directions and were subjected to nonsensical babble; no amount of shouting or pointing seemed to penetrate their sun-shrunken skulls. In addition, the food was filthy muck; I quickly learned not to order prawns as they were served to me with heads still attached. On the first occasion this barbarianism offended my sensibilities to such a degree I had to go and lie down in a darkened room with a cold flannel for 45 minutes. The second time I hoped would be different, but still the wretched shrimp was presented to me with all its appendages intact. Rest assured I will be contacting the Spanish embassy to lobby against this vile and distasteful practice.

Regardless of the uncouth ways of our European neighbours, I found the Easyjet experience to be a pleasant one, regardless of its unfortunate colour scheme. The cabin crew were all excellent, but it was the lady on the ground who really cemented my regard for your organisation. Her name was Fiona, and she was truly a reincarnation of Boadicea, the glorious leader of the Celts. Although lacking in the fiery red hair department, I could clearly envision her clad in an iron breastplate and riding a spiked chariot. I am talking about queue-jumpers, sirs! It has pained me that respect for the practice of queuing in the British Isles has declined in recent years and numerous people - some of them my fellow countrymen as well as ill-mannered continental types, I am ashamed to say – tried to push to the front of the queue at the gate! Of course I was bristling; my good ladywife Agatha and I had been waiting patiently for 35 minutes in order to secure ourselves window seats and now a legion of self-entitled crusties were trying to get in front of us. Fortunately – and thank goodness, because although a pacifist at heart I have a very low tolerance for queue-jumping ne’er-do-wells – Fiona clearly shares my views on waiting one’s turn. With poise and professionalism she in effect told the blights to sod off to the back of the queue, to my immense gratification and delight. When they protested, she told them everyone had to wait their turn.

What I mean to say, sirs, is thank you for employing such wonderfully fair-minded staff. In such an increasingly impatient and ill-mannered world, it was deeply refreshing to see someone upholding the pillars of respect and civility in your organisation, and I salute you.

Yours admiringly,

Derek Haselhurst-Horton