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The callousness of modern commerce

I arrive at Bergerac airport to catch the 14.50 flight to Bristol, having shared a lift with a brilliant but somewhat confused young guitarist from Yorkshire. Moments later Mr ‘Mildly Stoned but Supercool’ reappears in a panic. The Leeds flight he imagined was at 1400 has left three and a half hours earlier. He needs to borrow a phone to call his mum, as his credit has run out and he has no money or cards. There seem to be no payphones. We get no signal.

He does however have people he can stay with in Bristol. So, speaking no French, he goes to the Ryanair desk to see if he can get on the Bristol flight and is told no. Instead, he can pay another £280 for a ticket on the next Leeds flight, which is four days away. He is barely eighteen years old. Having no choice, but reassured that our erstwhile hosts have been tracked down and are on their way to rescue him, I board my plane. There are spare seats.

I have vowed never to fly with this monstrous airline again.


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