Passengering Do’s and Don’ts

August 4th, 2026

And into August we go.

More than half the year has disappeared already, and I find myself thinking about Halloween presents and Christmas shopping. Isn’t that dreadful when the flowers haven’t even stopped blooming yet?

I’ve enjoyed the summer so far though, in between the showers. Those evenings sat in the garden with the dogs at my feet and a glass of rosé in my hand. Occasionally the children emerge to see me too, checking in on dear old Mum in between TikTok videos, Xbox battles and whatever else young adults do these days.

I do sometimes wonder how long it will be before the nest is completely empty and those visits become mostly virtual though...

But anyway, that’s enough middle-aged mum chat. That’s not what you’re tuning in for, is it?

You want the juicy stuff. The behind-the-scenes bits. The insights. Not me worrying about the empty nest that is looming somewhere on the horizon.

So, I have a good one for you this month because, believe it or not, I started writing this blog from above the clouds.

Yes, there I was, three wines down, post-movie and post-dinner, attempting to co-ordinate my fingers well enough to type and give you a real-life, real-time insight into what it’s like to be a passenger on your own aircraft.

A customer in your own shop, so to speak.

And so, before I get to the part where I accidentally drink my body weight in alcohol and fall asleep with my socks on, I should probably explain how I ended up there in the first place...

I think it’s probably the same at most airlines; crew get positioned here, there and everywhere.

Sometimes it’s because an aircraft change means more crew are needed on the flight home.

Sometimes it’s because the schedule has left an aircraft with too much downtime, or not enough, to use the same crew for both sectors. The reasons are probably endless, to be fair and, me? Well, I gave up trying to second-guess the thinking behind it all a long, long time ago.

All I know is that a lovely little New York positioning sector suddenly appeared on my roster and I found myself saying a silent thank you to the rostering gods for considering me for such a cheeky little number.

Of course, it is a bit of a mystery prize, so to speak.

It’s not like booking a holiday where you know you’re definitely going. There’s a strong chance, yes, but right up until that aircraft door closes, you daren’t get too confident about it because there is always the possibility that you’ll be the diva who falls off the stage at the last minute.

“Pack your uniform in your carry-on.”

That’s the rule.

Because if the working crew are missing a soul, you may well be the unfortunate volunteer who suddenly finds themselves going from passenger to crew member before you take off.

And trust me, that little possibility has a remarkable way of keeping you humble.

So, no airside drinks. No welcome champagne, even if you’re lucky enough to get a seat up front… and if you find yourself wedged in a middle economy seat between people with questionable eating and hygiene habits, well… suck it up buttercup… just because you’re positioning does not afford you all of the benefits of a real passenger – you don’t have a choice in everything.

Luckily for me, I did manage to score a cheeky little upgrade, although it was touch and go for a while. And believe me, I felt the heartstrings pull when the crew member offered me a boarding champagne. But don’t you worry, I made up for it once the door was shut.

I had a lovely seat next to a colleague and, for a short while at least, I found myself trying to put myself in the passengers’ shoes. To think about the frustrations that might be blighting the fare-paying traveller as they filed past me all flustered and hot.

Because we do forget sometimes.

It’s easy to become defensive when someone boards a little short-tempered and to take it personally, but we haven’t been standing in the security queue for forty minutes while every bag seems to be searched. We haven’t been battling our way through a crowded terminal, or been tackled at the gate by people who appear to operate on a free-seating mindset despite having allocated seats.

We know there are issues with locker space on certain aircraft, but we’re usually the ones sorting it out. The heroes arriving in the middle of the battle, not the ones who were there when it started.

And perhaps that’s why, every now and then, it’s good to sit on the other side of the curtain and remind ourselves what the journey feels like from the passenger’s perspective.

And so we boarded, took our seats, said hello to the crew we recognised and did our very best to be no bother whatsoever.

There is always an element of guilt when you’re the one sitting down being served while your colleagues work away around you. But, out of uniform, we aren’t permitted to help, so the guilt is kind of pointless.

Can you imagine it?

There you are in your matching Alo sweatsuit, loading meal boxes into ovens or collecting trays, and a real passenger spots you.

What on earth would they think?

That the airline has some very questionable practices, no doubt. That it should be reported to Head Office, Customer Services, or perhaps straight to Instagram for a few likes and a whole lot of completely unsolicited opinions.

So no.

We sit down.

We ask for nothing.

We behave like the most dignified of dignified passengers.

We don’t expect special treatment. Perhaps a bottle of water to keep us going. We happily accept whichever meal choice is left over and we try our absolute best to be the easiest passengers on the aircraft.

If we can’t help our colleagues, then the very least we can do is make their day a little easier, don’t you think?

And it was a good flight. I watched a movie, enjoyed the complimentary drinks that seemed to keep appearing, wrote the best part of this, with every intention of performing a sober edit the following morning, and eventually wobbled off the aircraft in New York ready to enjoy twenty-four hours in the Big Apple.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle over transport to the hotel. It seems Scheduling could book our tickets and reserve our rooms, but whoever was responsible for arranging the transport was either on a day off or operating under the assumption that a sixteen-seater minibus could somehow accommodate almost thirty crew.

Of course, the first seats were offered to the crew who had actually worked the flight. That wasn’t even a discussion. Still, I can’t pretend there wasn’t a tiny wrench as they pulled away without us. It had been a long day for everyone, albeit a considerably easier one for us.

And so, we got the train.

Yes, we went all independent when someone decided we could get into town quicker under our own steam than waiting for another bus to arrive. We absolutely nailed it too, following the captain through the station like an obedient flock and arriving at the hotel a full five minutes ahead of the working crew.

Go us.

We’ll claim the expense back, of course, but I have to admit it felt like quite an achievement, doing something like that when we usually don’t have to think about such things. I even jotted it all down, just in case I find myself visiting New York as a passenger any time in the near future.

And as for New York itself, I hadn’t even realised how much I’d missed it.

I haven’t been there much lately. It’s one of those destinations that seems to evade me personally, but it’s always a pleasure to come back.

The World Cup was being played there too, so we all headed to a bar to watch the match in real time and, I have to admit, as someone who barely understands the offside rule, but with several drinks already under my belt, I became far more emotionally invested in the outcome than was probably reasonable.

One craft beer quickly became three. Then a gin and tonic or two appeared from somewhere, and before I knew it I was stumbling back through Manhattan wondering whether I was getting too old for this sort of thing.

The answer, it turned out, was probably yes. Because the next thing I remember is waking up face down on the bed in my minuscule Manhattan hotel room, still fully dressed and without so much as having taken my socks off.

Which, as any crew member will tell you, is usually a fairly reliable sign that you’ve had a good night.

I should say I’m not proud of this, but heck, you’re here for the insights, so there you go.

But I do have to say in hindsight, that while drinking your way across the Atlantic may seem like a brilliant idea at the time... It may power you through the rest of the day and gift you a false sense of stamina, and it may also give you a wildly misplaced faith in your own drinking ability… you will almost certainly pay for the following morning.

And believe me, I did.

I dragged my hungover self around the city regretting my decisions. I walked two thousand steps in one direction to buy my Wallflowers from Bath & Body Works, then another three thousand back towards Macy’s. I picked up the bits I needed from Target and eventually attempted to neutralise the stomach acid with a Chipotle on the way back to the hotel.

And then, before I knew it, it was time to fly home.

I showered, polished myself up, ironed my uniform and came downstairs to check out looking as though I had been working all along.

The funny thing was though, I barely recognised anyone.

The crew all looked completely different from the group I had travelled out with and, quite frankly, a night flight isn’t the ideal time to be trying to learn all those new names. I spent most of the journey smiling politely and hoping nobody noticed I hadn’t got a clue who half of them were.

Then, just like that, we landed.

We said our goodbyes, collected our bags and drifted back to our cars, ready to head home.

Forty-eight hours gone, a hangover conquered, and another story to tell.

And the rest of the month, indeed the month ahead... well, it’s the summer holidays, and I should think that tells you all you need to know.

Full flights. Delayed departures. Chaos, challenges and all the little dramas that inevitably come hand in hand with our busiest time of year.

But that’s okay.

Because what I’ve come to realise over the years is that a flight is always just a flight.

Whether you’re a passenger or crew, whether you’re in Economy or First, whether it’s the trip of a lifetime or simply another day at work, the basics remain the same.

You take off.

You have a bit in the middle.

And then you land.

And regardless of where you’re sitting, how much champagne you’ve consumed, whether your bags made it, or whether the person in 32B spent eight hours kicking your seat, the only thing that really matters is that you land safely.

Don’t you think?

So, for now, I’ll leave you with that thought. I’ll stock up on some sleep, preserve what little energy I have left and get myself ready for the busy weeks ahead.

And after all of that will come the blissful lull of September… when calm will be restored.

I’ll see you there.

Much love,

Susan x

Saving Stray Dogs on a Layover

July 7 th “026

Well, happy July everyone, and for those of you who reside, like me, in the Northern Hemisphere, may we all have a beautiful summer month ahead! I’m picturing beach days and barbecues for you, and hoping that wherever you are you find some fun and adventure while you’re there.

This month, I have found myself writing this blog in my hotel room during the quiet hour before check-out. I had intended to spend all evening working on it, but lo and behold, I got distracted in the way that I always seem to, and now here I am with sixty minutes to get some thoughts down and give you an insight into the bonkers life I lead.

My friend Andy just texted me. He works for a different airline these days since jumping ship some years ago and leaving me behind, and I’m always intrigued by the places he gets to go to that aren’t on my network. This time, he informed me that he had just enjoyed a delicious pizza in Naples and was very pleased with his hotel, and I can’t say I wasn’t a tad jealous.

My reply to him though? A photo of me in my bathrobe eating dinner, and a message that read: “I’ve spent all afternoon trying to find a vet for a street dog in Mumbai and am now tucking into a room-service curry before my flight home”

Don’t you think that’s slightly crazy and yet somehow magical? Two friends from the UK, living completely different lives at exactly the same moment. Him strolling around Naples eating authentic pizza, me dodging tuk-tuks to feed street dogs and ordering paneer and kachumber as though it’s something I eat every day.

And that, in a nutshell, is one of the things I love most about this job. One day you’re sat at home trying to decide what to watch on Netflix, and the next you’re halfway across the world, navigating a city you’ve never lived in, eating food you couldn’t pronounce ten years ago and having conversations you’d never have imagined.

But I know there will be some of you who are less interested in the food right now. Those of you who, like me, are slightly animal-obsessed and immediately locked onto the words “street dog”.

So let me fill you in on that...

Crew are generally a compassionate breed. We have to be. We spend most of our working lives looking after people, and for many of us that compassion extends naturally to animals too. Over the years I’ve heard countless stories of crew members caring for strays around the world. Cats in Antigua and Tel Aviv. Dogs in Delhi, and elephants in Kenya. And whenever it starts, it always seems to escalate remarkably quickly.

What begins with somebody sharing half a sandwich with a cute canine suddenly becomes a WhatsApp group, a fundraising effort, a veterinary appointment, and a small army of crew members carrying bags of dog food through airport security.

Imagine my embarrassment yesterday morning when my bag was selected for a search and the security agent pulled out pouch after pouch of Pedigree. He looked at me as though I had the world’s most bizarre dietary requirements.

Of course, I explained that the food was for the street dogs in Mumbai, but not before every other person behind me in the queue had watched my bag and its contents being sent back through the scanner for a second look.

But, I decided by then to just leave them guessing. Let them wonder what sort of diet the crazy airline lady is following this month.

The dogs certainly aren’t complaining, though. Because, for the little gang who live beneath the underpass near our hotel, it seems they have acquired an entire extended family of airline aunts and uncles.

They must have been thoroughly confused when it first started. Strange humans who didn’t look like the usual passers-by, turning up with treats and parcels of food that tasted considerably better than the scraps they were used to finding.

These days, though, they know exactly who we are.

The moment we cross the road they come running over, tails wagging furiously, eager to see what we’ve brought with us. Some of them even seem to recognise individual crew members, heading straight towards their particular favourites as if checking whether room service has arrived.

I can’t really blame them. If somebody kept appearing at my home with snacks every few weeks, I’d probably be pleased to see them too.

And they’ve multiplied too.

While much of Mumbai’s dog population has thankfully been neutered, that particular programme doesn’t seem to have fully reached our little corner yet, and there are now several youngsters amongst the regular gang, one of which caught my attention on this trip.

He seemed bright enough, but there was something not quite right about one of his ears.

They looked sore and inflamed, possibly infected, and once I’d noticed it… well, I couldn’t just turn a blind eye, could I?

I’d seen before that a few of the dogs wore collars, which made me assume they were being monitored by somebody. Perhaps a local rescue organisation, or a welfare programme of some sort. It seemed logical enough, so I decided to ask a tuk-tuk driver who was parked nearby if he knew.

“Sir, what does the collar mean?” I asked politely.

He grinned and shook his head from side to side.

“The crew, they feed them,”he said. “You are crew? You need ride later?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “I’m crew, but no ride tonight, thank you.”

His English was limited, so I pointed to the rather grubby collar on the dog now sitting at my feet.

“What does this mean?” I asked again.

“Ahhh,” he nodded knowingly. “The crew, they put them on.”

Well. What was I supposed to say to that other than laugh?

I could hardly call him out on his bare faced lie, could I? Sir, if airline crew were responsible for accessorising Mumbai’s street dogs, I can assure you the collars would be considerably more extravagant than these. There would probably be matching sets, personalised name tags and a heated debate in the crew room over choices of colour and gems.

So, I simply smiled, thanked him for his time and left it there, deciding he had nothing sensible to say!

The puppy’s ear still bothered me though, and before I knew it, after a chat with the hotel concierge, I had disappeared down a complete internet rabbit hole trying to locate a local vet. One message became three messages, which became a social media post, which somehow became an entire network of flying animal lovers offering advice and pledges of more food coming.

The wonderful thing about animal people is that they seem to appear from nowhere whenever they are needed.

By the end of the afternoon, a vet had been found, the dogs had been fed, several people had offered to keep an eye over upcoming trips, and what had started as a passing concern about a puppy’s ear had somehow turned into a small community project.

I suppose that’s how these things happen. You notice one animal. Then you notice another and start bringing treats. You mention them to a few colleagues, who begin stopping by as well, and before long you’ve accidentally adopted an entire underpass.

The dogs certainly don’;t seem to mind the arrangement.

And so, with my good deed for the day complete, I’ve spent the past couple of hours enjoying the rather more luxurious side of layover life. I’ve squeezed in a small gym session, demolished an excellent curry platter from room service, and now find myself preparing for the journey home.

I always think there’s something satisfying about leaving a place feeling as though you’ve done a little good while you’ve been there. Even if it’s only filling a few hungry bellies and earning a couple of wagging tails.

And now, I should probably dig out my manual and at least attempt some revision, because it has just dawned on me that we also have the joy of inbound briefing questions this evening.

Normally, those little gems are reserved for the outbound sector, but whenever there’s a crew change, the company does like to keep us on our toes by throwing them into the flight home as well. And tonight, that is exactly what awaits us, because our four Indian crew live here. They are what we call ‘National crew’; they live at their home base and fly back and forth with us to London, but on a different rotation to our own layovers. We wave goodbye to one group on arrival and say hello to another on the way home.

And, they truly are a blessing. They don’t just bridge the language gap but, because they fly the same route repeatedly, they become absolute masters of it. Nothing seems to faze them.

One hundred special meals?

No problem.

Forty wheelchairs?

Easy.

They run the flight like a well-oiled machine, leaving those of us who only visit occasionally floating along in their calm wake and wondering what on earth we’d do without them.

So, I’ll forgive them for cursing us with extra briefing questions because they change over at outstations.

I’ll do a quick revision session on doors, drills and portable equipment and hope the manager lets us answer as a group, because nobody needs that kind of pressure at the start of a long night flight, do they?

Then we’ll load everyone up, put the kettles on, and begin the journey home.

I’ve downloaded a few things to watch in crew rest, my crossword app is primed and ready on the iPad, and if I’m lucky there may even be some excellent jumpseat gossip at three in the morning.

And If there is, I might just have to share it with The Red Eye.

For now though, I must dash.

The wake-up call is looming, pick-up follows an hour later, and of course we all have to be downstairs fifteen minutes early to settle bills and sort ourselves out. Honestly, it does seem as though one minute you’re checking in in London and the next, poof, your twenty-four-hour layover has vanished and you’re on your way back!

So, until next time, I’ll leave you with my thought for the month:

Wherever you find yourself, leave the hotel and see how other people, and the animals live.

And if you get the chance, do some good while you’re there. It will make you feel good too.

Much love,

Susan

Last Minute Catastrophes

June 2 nd 2026

Well, somehow we’ve made it almost halfway through the year, and yet it only feels like a few weeks since we were eating Christmas dinner, don’t you think?

I think it’s something about flying that makes time slip past so quickly. We live roster to roster, often wishing days away as we look ahead to the next one. We bid for flights months in advance, forget where we’ve just been before we even check in for the next flight, then come home and lose whole days sleeping off the return sectors. It’s almost like, while we’re away, we’re living someone else’s life… and when we come home, we forget all about that one.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s why time moves so fast at home. Is it because I only really count the days that I’m there that I’ve found myself in middle age when I still feel in my twenties?

Maybe it’s just me though {hic}. Maybe you don’t feel it that way at all. We all see things differently, after all. But writing this blog does help. It lets me hold onto those days a little longer, capture the moments before they fade. So thank you, genuinely, for being here and letting me share them.

May was a good month. Busier than the ones earlier in the year, but that was expected, and I felt ready for it, ready for the summer warm up when flights get fuller and there are suddenly more of them…

But, I had a great roster, which always makes a difference. It never feels like such a hardship to go to work when you’re genuinely excited about where you’re heading. I had a quick layover in New York, two nights in Barbados for that much needed R & R, and then the month finished off with a cheeky little South Africa… always one of my favourite places to go…

We stay in a lovely hotel, we meet up for dinner and a few glasses of wine, and I get to restock my wine rack for less than the cost of a weekly shop at home. For context, that rack holds twenty-four bottles.

I remember the days when customs would only allow us to bring back six. Since they increased it to twenty-four… well, it feels like a missed opportunity not to make the most of it. South Africa does produce some incredible wine, after all…

And it was a lovely trip, as always. The sun had been shining, and on the last day I even made it out to see the elephants. A little bit of culture, you know. When you travel that far, you do have to make the effort to see something beyond the hotel and the bar occasionally. Nobody else wanted to come, but that was fine, I’m a big girl now and don’t mind doing things alone..

And they were incredible. Huge, gentle, curious creatures, all raised from orphans. They let me feed them, stroke their trunks, stand close enough to feel their breath… and I was so glad I’d made the effort to go.

Right up until the drive back that was.

Because that was the moment everything went a little bit wrong… and made me seriously question my decision to do anything at all on departure day ever again.

So, picture this.

We left the park early afternoon. It was about an hour back to the hotel, plenty of time before check out. There was myself, another hotel guest, and a young local driver, all chatting away, swapping photos, doing that post-excursion debrief where everything still feels fresh and exciting.

And then the heavens opened.

Not a bit of rain. Not even a proper shower. Oh no -This was something else entirely. A full- on African storm. Sheets of water hammering down, lightning cracking across the sky, the kind of rain where even with the wipers on full speed you can barely see beyond the bonnet. We slowed right down, creeping along as the traffic began to bunch up. I’ll admit, I glanced at the time. Just a quick check. We were still fine. Still had plenty of margin to absorb a short hold up.

Eventually, the rain eased a little. The road began to clear, and we started moving again, picking up speed, making up for lost time.

And then…

BOOM.

We hit a pothole.

And two minutes later we were limping onto the hard shoulder with a burst tyre and a growing sense of dread.

The poor girl driving couldn’t have been more than twenty. And yet, there she was, out in the pouring rain, trying to get the wheel off while myself and the other lady stood there feeling completely useless. To her credit, she didn’t panic. You could tell she was used to this sort of thing. Long drives and rough roads, having to just get on with it when you are miles from anywhere. She seemed confident she could sort it. But the spanner just wouldn’t grip the wheel nuts, it seemed to be worn on the inside somehow. And suddenly it felt like the odds were against us.

Because let me tell you, if there’s one place you do not want a burst tyre, it’s on the side of a highway in Johannesburg.

I’ll admit, I did feel rather vulnerable. At one point, three men rolled past on what I can only describe as a kind of pedal-powered cart, piled high with goods like a moving freight train. It was such a strange contrast. Everyday life for them, and yet for us it all felt a little surreal.

A kind man did stop to help, which was a temporary relief. But even though he did have some luck, even he couldn’t shift the last stubborn nut.

And all the while, I could feel the clock ticking.

We were only about half an hour from the hotel by then. Close enough to almost touch it, and yet so completely stuck.

By the time we finally gave up trying to change the wheel ourselves, and yes, by that point even I was having a go with the damned spanner, we limped into a garage just down the road and it dawned on me that there was every chance I was going to miss the crew pick up.

And worse than that… maybe even the flight.

My mind went straight into overdrive.

I started running through every possible scenario.

Could I get an Uber straight to the airport and meet the crew there? Would they wait? Would they even be allowed to?

And then, well, I started to imagine the aftermath.

The phone call with management. Trying to explain something that, technically, wasn’t my fault. The note on my file. The questions. The raised eyebrows. Maybe even a ban on leaving the hotel on layovers.

It sounds dramatic, I know. But trust me, airlines have a real talent for overreacting when things don’t go to plan.

I’ll admit, the panic was just about settled in, when the young men at the garage took one look at us and clearly decided we needed rescuing. Me, soaked through and almost in tears, and the poor young driver, who had the weight of everything on her shoulders, including me.

They got to work straight away, no fuss, no hesitation, and within minutes our new heroes had that stubborn wheel off, the spare one on, and just like that we were back on the road…

And somehow… I made it.

Back to the hotel with twenty five minutes to spare. Not long enough to run to the supermarket to get wine, perhaps, but just enough time to throw everything into a suitcase, get changed, and make it down to the lobby before pickup.

It honestly felt like a small miracle.

But, I have to say, I was completely thrown for the rest of the day. You know when something disrupts your routine so much that you just cannot get back into your rhythm? Well, that was me. My usual flow was gone. It was like my muscle memory had simply given up, and I spent the entire flight feeling slightly out of sync.

And yes… mistakes were made.

Nothing serious, thankfully. But definitely not my finest performance. I single-handedly managed to turn the meal service into a bit of a shambles thanks to multiple mistakes on my order sheet. At one point I nearly handed an almond slice to a passenger with a nut allergy, which he very sensibly double checked before taking and averted a crisis.

3G eventually calmed down after being told the chicken he’d ordered was no longer available for him, and that all we had left was a baked aubergine. That took a bit of smoothing over. And 11D was clearly unimpressed when I knocked his red wine straight into his lap, a full glass of it too. Thankfully though, for us both, he was already in his pyjamas and I gave him another pair to change into while I cleaned up the seat…

And then there was 6K.

She had very specifically asked for a decaf coffee.

And I gave her a regular, straight out of the coffee machine.

Well, she didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the flight, of course. And yes, I do feel bad about that.

So, I said nothing, and when she out right asked me if I had definitely made her a decaf, well I am ashamed to say that I outright lied and assured her I had… But what good would it have done either of us if I had admitted my error? She would still have been wide awake and I’d have had another angry passenger to contend with… wouldn’t you have done the same?

But, despite my mistakes, despite all my efforts to disrupt the service, there is one thing about flying that I realised many years ago… As long as the engines keep turning, and that you all land safely… well, it’s never really a bad day in the true sense of the word, no matter how bad it might feel at the time.

And I eventually made it home… I had the kettle on within minutes, a cup of tea in hand, and one very clear new resolution in my mind.

No more cutting it fine. Ever.

In fact, I don’t think I’ll be planning anything on departure day ever again. It’s just not worth it.

You never quite know what’s going to happen, and sometimes it only takes one small thing to throw everything else into chaos.

I do remember another story where half the crew didn’t even make it back in time… but I think that one is destined for The Red Eye Podcast, so I’ll let you hear that there first.

For now though, that’s all from me.

Until next month, dear readers I’ll leave you with this small take away: for those of you who drive, especially in a foreign country, take this as a gentle reminder to make sure you’ve got everything you might need for an emergency in your car, that it all actually works, and that you know how to use it. Because the breakdown services might not always be there when you need them, and things have a habit of going wrong at the worst possible moment.

A quick check now could save you a lot of stress later… take it from someone who found out the hard way…

Much love,

Susan

Making the Most of It!

May 5 th 2026 – Making the most of it

Happy May, everyone!

I do hope the sun is shining and that – if you’re UK based - you’ve just had a wonderful Bank Holiday weekend. Of course, I am writing this in advance, so chances are it was raining… but I’m sending some positive thoughts ahead and hoping that it wasn’t.

And more than that, I hope you got to be where you wanted to be. Whether that was for the Bank Holiday, or for Easter, which has only just passed too. Because that’s one thing you can never quite be sure of in this job, is it? Even when you think you’ll make something, there’s always that slim chance that you won’t.

Take me, for example.

All ready to join the extended family for an Easter Sunday roast dinner. Just a cheeky little Florida beforehand, in and out, no drama… and then - boom. Your flight home is cancelled. So, where was I on Easter Sunday? Well, at home I was on my daughter’s phone screen at the table, trying to be involved, while they’re all getting on with things without me. And in Florida I was on the beach with a cocktail in my hand trying to make the most of it…

But… I’m getting ahead of myself…

Because, first, there was the flight, a whirlwind of a trip that switched on my summer mode and definitely deserves a revisit here.

So, I’ll set the scene. It was the start of the Easter holidays, and we were absolutely full to the rafters. It’s the same at the start of all the big holidays - busy flights out, and mercifully light home, for the first few days at least. I have to admit, I checked in with a certain level of fear, or anxious anticipation should I say, after what had been a blissfully quiet few months.

But here we were - catapulted straight into full blown holiday mode without even a chance for a warmup.

And you could feel it the moment people stepped on board.

Whole families of them. Kids, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles- filling the air with their chaotic holiday energy, and the overhead lockers with their overstuffed bags. They double check the numbers on their boarding cards, usher kids into seats… before immediately switching them like it’s a tactical game of chess. Then they pull out emergency supplies to get them through the next nine hours and start nesting, tucking pringles and Haribo into seat pockets, dishing out the electronic nannies and hoping its enough to keep the peace.

They’ve saved for this. They’ve planned it down to the smallest detail. They’ve booked the park tickets, mapped out the days… and they are absolutely determined to enjoy every single minute of it from the time they leave home. And honestly, I think that they started off well… It was nine hours of noise, mess and relentless requests for snacks and drinks. There was airsickness, probably more down to the cola and sweets than the turbulence, and a few tears from the nervous flyer who had tried to find courage in the wine. By the end, the cabin looked like a battlefield: rubbish everywhere, crumbs ground deep into the carpet, and a crew so thoroughly drained it felt as though every last ounce of energy had been wrung from them.

But, I have to say, there was something quite lovely about it too.

Getting to be a part of their holiday. Adding a little bit of magic in our own little way. Being the reason someone smiled, even if all it took was an extra snack or a double vodka. It’s not hard, really. Although… it is quite exhausting. And I won’t lie - by the time I dragged my wheelie bag down the jet bridge, no less than 15,000 steps later, there was a quiet sense of relief that it was over. Even more so knowing the flight home would be light.

What I didn’t realise, of course, was that at that exact moment, someone back at base was deciding which flight to cancel because an aircraft had gone tech… and that within the hour, all of our Easter plans would be pulled out from under us.

I’d barely peeled off my tights when the notification from crew scheduling came through. And you know that feeling, don’t you? That little knot in your stomach when you see it - because nothing ever changes for the better. There’s always a moment of confusion first. Trying to work out what it means, what happens next, how it affects you personally. And yes, I know - some of you will be thinking there are worse places to be stuck. And you’d be right. But I have to say, that wasn’t my first thought.

Because while Florida does have its merits, and usually I’d be quite happy to stay a bit longer… I had plans back home that I really would have liked to have made. As the WhatsApp group whirred into life, it became clear everyone else was doing the same, too - working out what it meant for them.

For Keira, it meant missing a brunch that had been planned for ages.

For John he was going to miss his dear mother’s birthday, after a yearlong health battle, and

he’d really wanted to be there.

For Gina, it meant a dash to the mall in her gym kit - because that was all she’d packed.

For Fin, well, he was quite happy as it meant he was being bumped off his next flight.

And for me… it meant I would be missing Easter Sunday with the family.

And I have to say, when that sank in, I did feel quite sad. Because those moments don’t come around all that often anymore. We all live miles apart, everyone’s busy… and although the children are getting older, they still enjoy an Easter egg hunt with all the cousins and aunts and uncles they rarely see. And I would have liked to have been there for that. The food - cooked by the family’s best, which is definitely not me. A glass of wine with Uncle Colin afterwards. It all sounds so simple and normal, doesn’t it? But this job does have a habit of throwing a bit of a spanner in the works when it comes to those moments.

But… life’s too short to let things you can’t change get you down, isn’t it? And, as always, we did what crew seem to do best. After a bit of a debrief and a few messages back and forth, we pulled it together and made a plan. And actually… it turned out to be rather nice.

An extra night’s allowance.

A bit of sun - which definitely wasn’t happening back home.

Some food, plenty of drinks… and eventually, a quiet flight home the next day.

It did get me thinking, though… What on earth happened to our passengers?

They didn’t appear on our flight the next day, so they must have been rerouted somehow. But you can’t help thinking how unsettling that must have been. These were full families, heading off for Easter holidays - sunshine, Disney, the trip of a lifetime. The kind of thing people save for, plan for, organise down to the smallest detail. And then suddenly, everything changes. Just like it did for us.

Because you can never completely rely on it, no matter how much you plan. Aviation is a bit of a fickle industry like that, so easily affected by things outside of anyone’s control. I do hope they all made it home smoothly though, and that their holiday still ended on the happy note it started.

As for me… I FaceTimed the family from the beach, cocktail in hand. They all assured me they’d rather be where I was. I smiled, raised a little cheers to Uncle Colin, and watched the kids tucking into their chocolate. And I kept my sunglasses on. Because, if I’d taken them off, they might just have seen how sad my eyes were. And then, when they’d hung up and the moment had passed… Well… I ordered a bucket of margarita, and I made the most of it.

What else was there to do?

An afternoon on the beach, drowning our apparent sorrows, while the younger ones documented every second of it on their socials. Oh, I saw them - the declarations of joy from crew who had been thoroughly miserable just hours before. But they weren’t lying, because we really had turned it around. More cocktails arrived, soaked up with nachos and chicken wings, and as the sun set, we all seemed to settle into that shared mindset we’d been edging towards all day… There were worse places to be stuck.

And there are people having far worse days than us.

And some, it seemed, were determined to make the very most of it. By the next day, Galley FM was already in full swing - word was that one of the first officers had been spotted escorting young Keira into an Uber late that night. I’d already turned in by then, so for now I’m filing it firmly under rumour - pending proof. Still… you can’t help but wonder. Maybe it was the start of something lovely. One of those quiet, unexpected sliding doors moments - something that only happened because of a cancelled flight and an unplanned extra night. The kind of story that never would’ve existed if everything had gone according to plan.

So, we got home a day late, slotted back into our lives, with new memories made and new friendships formed… another Easter behind us, and a whole summer ahead. And I do feel a bit more ready for it now.

That busy flight, that little dose of chaos - it’s reignited something that had been resting for a while. That excitement for the unexpected, because life would be a bit boring if everything went to plan all the time, wouldn’t it?

So, until next month, I’ll leave you with a little motto to take forward with you into May…

Make the most of it - even when it doesn’t go to plan.

Or, perhaps this one is better:

If it doesn’t go to plan… order the margarita and carry on.

Whichever you choose, I wish you a merry and magical month ahead - and I hope you find yourself exactly where you want to be… or at the very least, somewhere that you can make the most of.

Much Love

Susan

Galley FM

April 2 nd 2026

Well, happy springtime everyone! And aren’t we all just a tiny bit thrilled to see the back of winter? I know I can’t complain too loudly, I do get the occasional splash of winter sunshine, but honestly even I was starting to wilt. Those long nights and frosty mornings were dragging on like the breakfast service, and don’t get me started on the relentless rain. I was beginning to consider building an ark.

But here we are at last, tiptoeing through the tulips again, with that lovely reawakened spring optimism nudging us forward. There is something about lighter evenings and the faint smell of cut grass that makes everything feel possible again, don’t you think?

For this month’s blog, once again I had to sit down and have a flick through my diary to remind myself what on earth I had actually been up to. The thing is, as crew we tend to treat each trip as its own self-contained universe. We meet our colleagues in the pre-flight briefing, and then we ‘form, storm and norm’, as they say, before stepping on board. We operate out, live a whole miniature lifetime downroute, and then operate back home again.

Back at base it’s the usual dash off the aircraft. Quick goodbyes to some, ‘see you soon’ to others, and occasionally a vague wave to someone whose name you have completely blanked on despite spending 48 hours together. By the time our head hits the pillow for that sacred post flight nap, the entire trip has already started to blur. Where were we? Who were we with? Did that actually happen or did I dream it somewhere over the Bay of Biscay?

And so I have to admit, I do rather enjoy writing this blog. It forces me to wake up the old grey matter and pin down memories that, in a few months’ time, I would probably be trying to place.

And in March, as I now remember, I took Mother away.

After firmly declaring, following last month’s debacle with the kids in South Africa, that I would never take anyone away ever again, along comes Mother’s Day on a weekend I happen to be rostered for a flight. The universe clearly has a sense of humour. Mother, of course, was not remotely discouraged by my hesitation. She has clocked up a respectable number of air miles in retirement and considers herself something of a professional passenger. And seeing as I am an only child with absolutely no siblings to gently pass her towards, I let her talk me into a tagging along on my one night New York. And I have to admit, it was rather lovely.

We strolled along the High Line to get coffee in Chelsea, shopped with the stamina of trained athletes, and wandered through the library and Bryant Park. Mother has been several times before, so there was no need for me to don the tour guide hat and start reeling off facts. We simply pottered at her pace, and it was easy. The only slight drawback was the hotel room, which can best be described as “cosy” if one is feeling generous. Sharing a bed with a seventy-five-year-old who snores with the force of a freight train is, I can confirm, mildly draining. But truly, I cannot complain. I am lucky to still have her. Not everyone gets to roll their eyes at their mother in Times Square when she makes you take the hundredth picture of her for her friends at home, do they? But, for all the sights and the bonding, do you know what her favourite part of the trip was? Meeting the crew in the Irish bar at the end of the day!

She was in her element. Absolute element. Perched there with a glass of wine in hand, soaking up the gossip like it was a West End performance staged purely for her benefit. And the crew did not hold back. Despite my dramatic facial expressions, my wide eyes, my subtle kicks under the table and my repeated reminders that my mother was present, one particular crew member seemed entirely committed to corrupting the old girl.

They launched headfirst into the most outrageous recent Galley FM stories I’ve heard in years, with zero filters applied, and I sat there in mild horror while Mother listened with undisguised delight.

Imagine watching your seventy-five-year-old mother lean in and ask for clarification when the girl explains that a uniformed pilot had been posting pictures of his appendage at various locations on and around the aircraft to an anonymous X account. According to the storyteller, he had been remarkably relaxed about identifying the airline, yet despite a full-scale internal investigation they had so far been unable to work out who he was.

So, apparently he is still out there, and I swear, by the look on Mother’s face, she went straight home and looked him up. Not that she would ever admit it to me. And frankly, I would rather she did not.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

But before I continue, I do need to clarify that Galley FM is not an actual radio station. It is our affectionate name for the rumour mill, or “crewmours” as we call them. It is the frequency we all tune into when the gossip starts flowing on the jumpseat. It is where the juiciest stories are aired and consumed with a very generous pinch of salt, and despite the conviction some story tellers have, nothing is verified. But, the crew member telling these stories apparently has a friend in the office at the other airline, and she was adamant that every word was true, telling them with the confidence of someone who had read the incident report.

And the next one she told went something like this:

At that same airline, which shall very firmly remain nameless, a male captain and a female first officer were allegedly having an affair. They had carefully requested the same flight and, somewhere enroute, decided to make rather enthusiastic use of their time together.

I will admit, at this point I assumed we were heading for a fairly standard “mile high club” revelation. Shocking enough. Awkward enough in front of mother.

But no.

Apparently these two were aiming for something a little more… advanced.

According to Galley FM, at some point an access request was inadvertently granted by the lady in question during what can only be described as a lapse in judgement. An unsuspecting crew member opened the cockpit door to discover the captain completely naked and tied up using the flight deck escape rope.

Yes. That rope. The sixty three foot knotted rope intended for evacuating through the window in an emergency. The rope that features prominently in safety drills and absolutely nowhere in the operations manual under “Recreational Uses.”

And yet there it was, allegedly wrapped around him like a Boa Constrictor. I mean. You truly could not make it up. Is it true? She swore it was. And if it is, I would give anything to have witnessed the management meeting that followed.

“We were just practising evacuation procedures.”

“It was a very hands on safety drill.”

“My shirt fell off.”

“The rope attacked me.”

If ever there were a moment to be a fly on the wall, that would absolutely be it. And Mother? Well, her “Well I never” had a distinctly theatrical quality to it. There was a faraway look in her eye that suggested she wasn’t nearly as scandalised as she was pretending to be. And I have to say, I am slightly concerned for Dad when she gets home. He may find himself subjected to a sudden and entirely unexplained interest in nautical knots.

Well, {hic}, where do I go from there? After all of that, everything else from the month feels rather mundane and frankly unworthy of retelling now. Minor delays. Running out of chicken. The usual airborne dramas. Nothing quite competes with the phantom appendage poster or the rope bound captain.

So, this is probably a good place to end, and I shall leave you with those images, my little gift to you, and hope they have provided at least a smirk, if not a full laugh. As for me, I am now off to take Mother to the garden centre. We will be purchasing a cup of tea, a respectable slice of cake, and discussing nothing more risqué than Mrs Goodwin’s petunias. No doubt she will think this is a little dull after her New York gossip, but I do feel it is important to draw a line occasionally and gently reinstate our roles.

And besides, Galley FM has absolutely no place between the begonias and the bird feeders.

Much Love

Susan

Staff Travel Nightmare - A Cabin Crew Rant

Tuesday, March 3 rd 2026

Well, it’s a new month, and with that comes a fresh opportunity to reflect - to share my trials and tribulations and offer you a quick peek into my bonkers life as an international air hostess. While I’ll admit that I have always found it quite cathartic to spill my thoughts onto the page from time to time, the fact that you’re here to read and listen to them gives me a small but satisfying sense of validation… because really, what’s a good moan if no one’s listening?

So, what should I moan about this month? Where have I been? What did I do?...

Well, there was that short hop to Turkey and back at the start of February, but that was uneventful in the usual sense. No big drinkers, no diversions or restraints. In fact, I always think it’s quite a peculiar flight to work. A curious mix of people, some chasing an all-inclusive luxury holiday on a budget and others who are popping over for a little… aesthetic enhancement shall we say. I swear, on the flight home, half the cabin was still nursing stitches of some description, or hiding fresh hair transplants under baseball caps. And as for teeth, there were so many people grinning at me with their brand-new veneers, I felt like I was in a piano showroom at times… If I’m honest, it did make me wonder if I shouldn’t book myself in sometime in the not-too-distant future - pull up the old jowls, give the girls, and the eyelids a gentle lift… perhaps a little BBL while I’m there -I hear they’re all the rage, although I’m not entirely sure what it entails…

And while I know that probably makes me sound terribly vain, in my defence I have to say this: ageing in this job is tough. You’re constantly flying with crew half your age. Girls who look exactly like you did when you first joined, with all that youthful energy you had back then too. And while you feel the same age as them in your head… well, the outside just quietly gets on with betraying you. And then, just when you’re having a perfectly lovely chat, one of them asks what year you joined the airline, and you tell them… and then they casually inform you that was so long ago that they weren’t even born. Well, I always smile and offer a neutral little “ahhh,” as if I find their youth utterly endearing - but trust me, that smile is as fake as 26C’s brand-new gnashers.

But what can you say? How do you politely tell someone they’ve just made you feel as old as the hills and that you’ll be Googling retirement homes the moment you get home? You know they didn’t mean it, but even so…

Still, there’s nothing to be done about it. Ageing, as they say, is a gift denied to many, so I try to embrace it. And there is one undeniable perk of being in the job this long - one thing us jurassics have over the newbies - and that’s seniority. The glorious ability to bid for leave, and at some airlines even trips, and win the best dates and destinations simply because you’ve been around since the beginning of time. And then there’s staff travel too, another seniority ladder I have climbed. That glorious perk of a “free” flight for your loved ones - at a fraction of the cost, with the possibility of an upgrade if the aviation gods are smiling – as long as there are spare seats available. So, while the United Kingdom drowned its way through a second solid month of rain, what did I do? I whisked my children off to South Africa on safari. I took them to the sunshine. I fed them steak while I drank excellent wine by the bottle. I plastered it all over my socials to demonstrate, quite convincingly, how fabulous my life is. And when those spare seats started disappearing on the day we were due to leave, I didn’t panic. Not even a flicker.

Because my children were sitting right at the top of the standby list. The captain had already said they could have the jumpseats if it came to it, too. And as I watched the quiet panic ripple through those below them - other crew who’d brought loved ones along - I’ll admit it: for once, I was thrilled to be a Jurassic.

Honestly, give me a badge that said Tyrannosaurus Rex and I’d have worn it with pride.

That evening, we all piled onto the bus to the airport - crew and eight companions in total. I dropped my kids at the desk, told them the gate number, and swanned off completely worry- free.

You see, my children have been flying with me forever. They’re 18 and 19 now, perfectly capable of navigating an airport without me hovering over them. They know where to go, how to get snacks, and crucially, how to behave, provided they’re actually getting on the aircraft. And that was all that mattered.

And they were.

Well… they should have been.

Until a tonne of god-damned fruit bumped them off.

Can you believe it? We departed with twelve spare seats. Twelve. Enough for every companion to travel comfortably. And yet, we got slapped with a weight restriction, which meant those seats went empty. Because apparently, a lethal cocktail of altitude, heat, and the urgent need to transport that fruit that very day meant they couldn’t be filled.

The fruit was perishable, you see.

My children, less so.

And since companion tickets cost less than cargo, it turns out the fruit won.

So, there we were, standing at the aircraft door with the captain, while the duty manager calmly explained there was nothing he could do. And then - woof - the door shuts. And off I go to London, while my children are left behind, grounded by a crate of mangoes.

A humbling moment, that. Realising that even a Tyrannosaurus Rex can be taken down… by fresh produce.

So, what did I do? Well… what could I do?

Thankfully, one of the girls had her mum and dad with her, and they promised to look after my two. But we were pushing back before I could even log into Expedia and book them a hotel. And so began the most surreal three hours of my flying career - a cabin full of people asking for drinks and complaining about the most insignificant things as if I might possibly care.

As if they expected me to worry that their screen had frozen, or that there was no butter on their tray.

I smiled, of course. Delivered my finest Oscar-worthy performance. But did I care? No sir, I did not. Because I had just effectively deserted my children on another continent, and while I was up front pretending to give a toss, I wasn’t even allowed to lock myself in crew rest long enough to get Wi-Fi and call them. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever exercised such monumental self-control in all my years of flying.

And then, finally, I got online. Finally, I managed to message them.

And back came a photo: all eight companions, sitting around a restaurant table, grinning like idiots and clearly having the time of their lives.

And just like that - it was all okay.

I got home, had them on the flight the very next day. They each came back with six new friends for life, and I came back with a hard-earned lesson: always have a backup plan.

Though, in my defence, in twenty years I’ve never needed one. Flights can go full - especially when we absorb another airline’s cancellations - but the jumpseats were the backup I’d always relied on. I thought being top of the list was as safe as it got. Turns out fruit ranks even higher than me, Susan the dinosaur, though. Who knew!

I think it’ll be a while before I risk staff travel again. I may need time to rebuild my confidence in that particular department - which is a shame really, because it usually is fine.

Well, the rest of the month was rather dull in comparison. I flew to New York on Valentine’s Day and witnessed an in-flight proposal, which was quite lovely, until he dropped the ring and it went rolling all the way into the galley and under a cart where all the dirt settles.

Ruined the moment just a little bit if I’m honest, as we fished it out and ran it under the galley tap.

I popped to Dubai for a quick catch-up with a friend, stocked up on Oud and got my diamonds polished at the Souk, and I did a one night Bangalore where I pampered myself and never left the room. All in all, it was an okay month. Even the stress of staff travel was helped along by the rather large amount of wine I’d brought back with me…

And now we head into March. Soon, those cumbersome winter coats can be ditched, the de-icer can be left in the car. No more frozen windscreens or frozen crew at 6 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. I’m holding out hope for blue skies and lighter mornings… and daffodils very soon. It’s been a long, wet winter here in the UK, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’ll be glad to see the back of it.

Well, that’s all for now. I’d better be getting off to bed. It’s a 5 a.m. standby for this old girl tomorrow, and if I don’t get my eight hours in, well… I may just be identifying as the Tyrannosaurus Rex I mentioned earlier on whatever flight they call me out for...

So, for my sake, and for my passengers…

Nighty night,

and Much Love

Susan

Snow causes chaos for Cabin Crew too!

The Diary/Rant of a Cabin Crew Member

3 rd February, 2026

Greetings all, and congratulations on making it through the first month of this new year! And how are we all finding 2026 so far?

It’s been a calm kind of month for me, thank the lord, after the chaos of December that was. Well, calm in the way that my roster was a little less jam packed, and astonishingly the rostergods even gifted me an extra day off here and there - something unheard of in busiermonths, a thing of myth and legend in this business.

So where exactly did I go? I ask myself as I write. It’s not unusual for me to forget where I’ve just been by the time I reach the car park back at base, so trying to recall the whole of last month is no mean feat, let me tell you… but perhaps I should start with the one trip that comes to mind first, the one where we got snowed in and cancelled. Yes, that one was a real treat, and I say that with more than a touch of mirth.

You see, cancellations are a part of the job, they happen, and we just go along with whatever that means for us personally. But tucked neatly under the umbrella term ‘cancellation’ is a whole spectrum of scenarios, some considerably more appealing than others. So, let’s begin with the best-case version. That will be the one where you wake up in a great destination, you’re there with a wonderful crew, and you open your phone to a message saying that your flight home is cancelled. You’re stood down, they say, and released to do as you will until at least the next day. Well, if that is how it happens, then way-hay! On goes the bikini and in comes the bloody Mary, why not! It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, as long as you are somewhere decent that extra day can be a real treat, and let’s not forget to mention that you get a whole extra day’s per diems too… to be spent on food, or as is my preference, enough cocktails and wine to pass the time merrily.

Then there’s the type of cancellation which isn’t quite so ideal. Perhaps you’re at home and, while you do get the day off, you’re quietly rolled onto another flight the following morning. Or worse still, you’re sent on the same flight the next day, your rest downroute reduced to the legal minimum and any plans you had for the trip disappearing in a dramatic puff of smoke.

Still, at least you had notice, and you hadn’t even left the house yet.

Or maybe you had. Maybe you get the call to turn around and go home again, or you make it all the way to check-in only to be sent straight back out the door. Not great, but still not the worst. Because the worst happens much further down the line and, quite frankly, in the words my children might use, it absolutely sucks.

This is the one where you get to the aircraft, you board all the passengers, and then you wait. You wait for the engineers to fix something, for the storm to pass, or, as was our case, for a break in the snow. You wait until you can’t wait any more. Until you’ve handed out every snack on board, poured what feels like a thousand cups of water, and answered the same question on repeat. ‘No Sir, no Madam, I do not know what time we’ll be leaving.’ And then, finally, your hours are used up and you have to get everyone off again. You gather your bags, ignore the more hateful comments from the few who decide this is personally your fault, climb back onto the bus and return to the hotel, having already done a full day’s work. The snow makes the journey painfully slow, and by the time you reach your room you’ve got ten hours to rest. Not even long enough for a snowball fight, or a drink at the bar. And just as you drift off, the dreaded wakeup call arrives and you’re back at it.

Back on the bus. Back through the airport. Back onto the same aircraft. Greeting the same passengers you served all day yesterday, while listening to complaints about the airline, the delay, the weather, and every other detail entirely outside of anyone’s control.

And we do feel for them, we really do, but some just take it too far. Because, here’s the thing, Barry. We’ve had a rubbish day too. We’ve missed things. We’ve had to rearrange childcare, dog care, and all of that palaver. Yet here we are again, still smiling, still serving you, still being professional.

And there you are, your life apparently ruined by us, not by the snow that stranded us all and which no one could do anything about. And I am a hamster hair away from opening the door behind me and throwing you out of it.

So, Barry, take your glass of water and please return to your seat before I completely lose my shit and say or do something I may later regret!

And meanwhile, the wings are being de-iced, the snow is still falling, and the ever-too-jolly captain comes on to say we may be delayed for a while. Again. Barry looks at me as if it’s entirely my fault that it’s snowing again and that we can’t just take off in a blizzard. And, well, I stare him down right back. Yes, we’ve been here before, and yes, yesterday’s delays-on-delays eventually meant the flight went out of hours and had to be cancelled, but for the love of my sanity, I have to believe that today will be different.

Because if I have to listen to you whinging all day again and then go through it all over tomorrow, Barry, I’m really not sure I’ll be accountable for my actions!

Oof, sorry, a bit of a rant there, I do apologise. I didn’t realise I was holding in so much rage, hehe, but that little man was insufferable, I tell you! Everyone else, I must say, was actually quite understanding, but there does always seem to be a Barry on every flight.

So, that was what happened to me, and I have to admit I did send a few choice words to ops about perhaps not leaving it until the last possible minute to cancel in future - especially when we literally watched all the other airlines cancel much sooner than us. Their passengers weren’t on board for eight hours. Their crew probably made it back to the hotel before the bar was even shut and had a good night’s sleep, if they’d come to the airport at all. But not us. No siree!

But I must move on. I do apologise again! It isn’t something that happens often, and this really was the worst-case scenario, but I guess at least the flight took off safely when we eventually got going. It did bump me off my next trip, which was a welcome treat, and also meant I got to see Mother on her birthday, so perhaps it all happened for a reason. Perhaps tolerating Barry was a small price to pay.

Thankfully, the rest of the month was quite straightforward. A quick visit to Washington, which really was beautiful under a fresh blanket of snow. I braved the cold to pop round and see Donald, but he wasn’t at home, so I settled for a quick selfie outside his White House and had some time for reflection with my old friend Abraham Lincoln down at the monument. I had my usual General Tso’s chicken from the Chinese across the road and enjoyed a wonderful rest and pamper back at the hotel.

The flight was perfectly empty, which apparently isn’t good for business, the captain tried to tell me. But while it probably isn’t, I can’t help relishing the usual post-Christmas slump, where every passenger gets a row of seats to themselves and you can squeeze in a two- hour nap on a six-hour flight. Yes, the flight probably won’t be helping the airline’s balance sheet much, but I’m sure we’ll soon be hurtling towards Easter and filling those seats quicker than you can say ‘Doors to manual and cross-dress.’

A quick trip to Africa for some warmth, a Star beer and a plate of Jollof, a few days of leave, and that was me done. It really wasn’t too bad, I must say. And now we head into February, with only one more month before the cold starts to settle and Spring raises her head. I must admit, I will be glad when I no longer have to de-ice my car in the early mornings or wrestle a winter coat into my carry-on. But then I do love the seasons, and while I don’t see much snow here on the south coast of England, I always feel lucky to see it when I’m away, just as I feel lucky to see the sunshine when the days are so short and grey at home.

It’s one of the best things about the job, breaking up the mundanity of the British winter, but I am always glad to come home. And now, as I sit in my pyjamas with the log fire burning and my dogs sleeping around me, I am in no rush for it to be over just yet. Perhaps if I didn’t do this job I might feel differently, but thankfully I chose what really is the best job in the world, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Well, from me that is all, and I’ll leave you here with a wish for a joyous month ahead. Enjoy the end of what really is our hibernation, enjoy the short days and cosy evenings for the peace that they bring. Rest up and re energise fellow crew amongst you, because soon enough we’ll be back to packed rosters and full flights. Savour the quiet while it lasts, and get ready - because this year is only just taking off…

Much Love,

Susan

How do Cabin Crew prepare for flying over the Christmas period?!

The Diary of a Cabin Crew Member

6th January 2026

Did you have a good Christmas? I truly hope that you did, and that you’re planning great and glorious things for the year ahead! I had a lovely time myself, a day full of family, food, and the usual festive chaos. But I can’t help admitting that I’m also a tiny bit relieved it’s all over.

That I feel the same way around this time most years, in fact, and I’ve started to wonder whether that feeling has less to do with the day itself and everything to do with the fact that I fly… and the sheer stress that one single roster manages to put on our entire flying family from the moment we submit our December bids.

It is, without exaggeration, two full months of tension, mince pies, and emotional turbulence. By the end of it I was wrung out like an old dishcloth and hitting the gin on a nightly basis. And not just the gin. Oh no, I worked my way through the Baileys, the Disaronno, the prosecco… honestly, if it had a cap I could twist off or a cork I could pop, I was drinking it. Anything to dull the edge of the whole darned ordeal.

The truth is, I barely remember a life before flying. It’s like a blank patch of static between adolescence and joining the airlines. I’m sure those years were enjoyable ones, but seeing as I’ve been living this bonkers lifestyle for over twenty years now, running endlessly on the aviation hamster wheel and living from roster to roster, I simply can’t remember much of it. In this life, I never know what day of the week it is, where my next hot meal will come from, or which country I’ll be eating it in… and I must admit I give little thought to before or indeed after each flight. But one thing I do remember from before, is that Christmas, back then, was simply ‘done.’ No strategy. No negotiations. And no bidding wars. I spent the day with my siblings buried in wrapping paper, overindulging on mum’s turkey dinner. Gran always got drunk on the sherry, and grandad, despite all his grand promises, never made it past the first line of the Queen’s speech before falling asleep. It was magical. It was exactly like the television adverts. And there was never any chance I would miss it. Until I became crew… and suddenly nothing was guaranteed ever again.

For us, securing Christmas is like entering the Hunger Games wearing festive jumpers. It all begins way back in spring when we can bid for annual leave. A blessed few get the golden ticket and can leave the gamee early, but the rest of us? We get random days off in October or weekdays in November that are about as useful as a chocolate teapot. We sulk, we accept it, and we tell ourselves the game isn’t over. Because it isn’t, yet.

Then October rolls around. For my airline, that is when it really begins. It’s the month mum and dad start asking about your Christmas plans, the month the tubs of Quality Street appear in the shops, the month the children start vibrating with sugar-fuelled excitement. And for us, it’s the month we place our December bids.

We study the trip list. We interpret company offers like cryptic prophecies. And we scheme. Some of us think, ‘If I bid for Delhi on the 22nd, maybe I’ll land the 25th and 26th off.’ But then panic sets in because what if everyone has had exactly the same tactical genius at the same moment and we get outbid and end up with standby on Christmas eve? Some go for the direct approach and simply ask for the days. Others think, ‘Sod it, I don’t even like Christmas,’ and shoot their shot for a three-night Maldives layover, with visions of sipping cocktails on the beach while everyone else is eating overcooked carrots.

Whatever tactic we choose, we hit the submit button and we go back to pretending to live our normal lives, saying a silent prayer inside while we wait out the next few weeks.

And then comes Roster Day.

That sacred, dreaded, anxiety-inducing day when December rosters get published. When the scheduling team push the button... and run to their bunkers for shelter before the back lash begins, knowing they have ruined whole family’s plans because they were unable to grant everyone’s wishes. It’s the day when phones all over the world are refreshed approximately every three seconds. When wine is poured in industrial quantities, purely as a sedative and social media turns into a panic room.

And then it crash lands into your life. Your heart thumps. Your hand shakes. You mentally prepare for the best, the worst, and the truly horrifying prospect of standby, as you open your line to find that one number that matters.

The 25th.

And whatever is next to it.

Days off…

I got days off! I got days off! I poured myself another glass of wine and celebrated like I’d just won the lottery. And then, after a short lived euphoria, I looked at the rest of my roster and stopped mid-sip.

India.

Standby.

Nigeria

Where, precisely, was I meant to do my Christmas shopping? Where was I supposed to buy candles and stocking fillers? And Bob’s Christmas party - I was working that weekend, and every other weekend too. Yes, I had Christmas Day off, but what would be left of my Christmas spirit by then?

My poor, spoiled, flight attendant soul was crushed, and I joined the hundreds of crew begging for swaps, visions of the children’s faces Christmas morning when they opened their stockings to find some Masala tea and a tub of Jollof rice inside.

And so began December.

Swapping trips like a Wall Street trader with questionable habits, until finally - finally - I built myself an acceptable festive roster. A New York shopping trip, a Caribbean layover for the tan, and I kept the India because I needed a pedicure and a new set of nails.

I shopped.

I wrapped.

I attended the kids’ nativities in uniform before dashing up the motorway to make my flight.

I made it to Bob’s Christmas party straight from New York on no sleep and was sozzled on two glasses of fizz.

I cooked for eight on Christmas and hosted 15 for Boxing Day leftovers.

These days it’s mum who gets drunk on the sherry and dad who snores through the King’s speech, but I love that my kids will remember their grandparents in the same way that I remember mine. And I loved that we got to all be together for another year.

Word on the crew grapevine was that Christmas flying descended into chaos, that sickness levels were through the roof and everyone on standby was called in. But no surprises there. We are just numbers, after all. And if you had to choose between showing up for a crew-down flight and an economy turkey dinner, and spending the day with your children… well, let’s just say I’m grateful I didn’t have to make that call this year, and I’ll leave it at that.

I ended the season with a lovely New Year’s trip to Dubai. I took Bob with me as a reward for buying me the diamond earrings I had absolutely not hinted about for the previous three months. We toasted the New Year in with champagne, and I felt genuinely grateful that while I’d loved it all, the whole circus was over.

And on New Year’s Day, as I woke up in Dubai slightly fragile and unsure what year it was, I realised I didn’t actually care what this month’s roster held. It didn’t matter the way December’s did. Not even close. And sometimes I wonder whether life would be calmer if I joined the 9-to-5 world. If I floated into Christmas like normal people, instead of being catapulted into it from 35,000 feet.

Maybe it would be nice.

But then again… maybe it would be boring.

So here is to 2026.

To rosters full of beaches, sunsets, half-empty flights, and a miraculous pay rise. We can dream, after all. And here’s to May, when I get to do it all again, armed with one more year of seniority and false confidence that this might be the year I secure Christmas leave and skip the whole rollercoaster entirely.

Wherever you were, I hope you found your sparkle and made the most of whatever the roster gods handed you. And I wish for you all a happy, and more importantly, a healthy 2026.

Much love,

Susan

Beat jet lag like a pro!

Tips for airline crew on managing the WOCL (Window of Circadian Low), eating healthy, using hotel gyms, and staying energized across time zones.

Crossing multiple time zones is one of the perks of airline life - but it also comes with a heavy price: jet lag. For crew, it’s not just a one-off challenge. We often exist in limbo between time zones, never fully synced to the local clock, yet still at the mercy of the dreaded WOCL - Window of Circadian Low. This is the body’s natural slump, usually hitting in the early hours or mid-afternoon, when your internal clock says, sleep now or collapse. For airline crew, it can strike at the most inconvenient moments, during your precious days off, on layovers, or even mid-flight.

So, we’ve put together a few tips on how to combat jet lag effectively and keep your body and mind in check, because in our line of work, we need all the help we can get…

1. Respect the WOCL and nap cleverly.

Trying to bulldoze your way through the WOCL - your Window of Circadian Low - is a losing battle. This is the period, usually in the early hours of the morning, when your body is biologically programmed to be at its sleepiest. Fighting it head-on often ends with you slumped over a tray of half-eaten crew meals wondering what day it is. Instead, plan for it. Short, strategic naps of about 20-30 minutes during the WOCL, whether at home or on board, can give you that quick reset without dropping you into deep sleep. So, if you can’t fit in a three-hour break on your red-eye, then it’s the next best thing. We know it’s not always possible, you might be dishing out omelettes and croissants with the sunrise and no crew rest in sight - but if you can grab that nap then do it. Just… maybe don’t lock yourself in the aircraft lav and disappear mid-flight. Management tends to frown on that.

For landing days, our rules go like this:

 Home before 09:00 – Sleep until midday.

 Home after midday – Short nap only (no Netflix marathons in bed).

Find your sweet spot, but remember, you’ll get far better results by working with your WOCL instead of against it.

2. Hydrate Like It’s Your Job (Because It Kind of Is)

Dehydration amplifies jet lag’s worst symptoms - fatigue, headaches, irritability - so keep your fluids up before, during, and after your flight. Bring your Stanley cup or favourite refillable vessel, Sharpie your name on a bottle, and keep it close. Sip herbal tea, water with a slice of lemon, or anything non-caffeinated that gets the job done. The more you drink, the better your body can handle the time zone shuffle.

If you enjoy a nightcap, go in with your eyes open. Alcohol might help you drift off, but it also dehydrates you, disrupts your REM cycles, and makes the WOCL hit harder. If you indulge, own it. Accept the consequences, plan for extra water, and be ready to dig a little deeper for that flight home. But if you made memories, had a laugh, and enjoyed the night - well, you only live once, and we’re not here to judge.

3. Prioritize Healthy Food

Fuel your body with meals that support energy and recovery. Focus on:

 Lean proteins: chicken, fish, eggs, tofu

 Complex carbohydrates: whole grains, oats, sweet potatoes

 Fruits and vegetables: rich in vitamins and antioxidants

 Healthy fats: avocado, nuts, olive oil

Let’s be honest - the crew cart isn’t exactly the pinnacle of clean eating. Sure, those chicken goujons taste amazing at 5 a.m., but they won’t do your jet-lagged body any favours.

Choose wisely. If you’ve got time before your trip, bring your own healthy snacks or light meals to keep you fuelled.

When you’re downroute, try to eat in line with your destination’s local time, even if your body’s still convinced it’s midnight. This helps your internal clock adjust faster. Opt for lighter, nutrient-rich foods over heavy, greasy meals that only intensify fatigue. Fresh fruit, lean protein, and whole grains will give you more sustainable energy than anything deep-fried and beige.

4. Use Hotel Gyms - even for a Short Workout

One of the perks of crew life is that most of our layovers come with access to a hotel gym - so use it. Movement is one of the simplest and most effective ways to fight jet lag. Even 15–20 minutes of light cardio, stretching, or resistance training can get your blood flowing, loosen stiff muscles, and sharpen your focus.

You don’t need a full-blown workout - just enough to wake your body up and give your energy a reset. A gentle treadmill walk, a few bodyweight exercises, or a quick yoga session can work wonders. On the other hand, smashing out a half marathon straight after a long-haul? Probably not the smartest call. Save the heroics for a day when your body isn’t still asking what time zone you’re in.

5. Embrace light therapy

Plan naps and bedtime based on your destination’s schedule. Avoid collapsing at random, and try to sync with the local time zone as quickly as possible. Light exposure - especially morning sunlight - can accelerate your body clock adjustment and as such, natural sunlight is your best friend. Exposure to morning light helps shift your body clock when moving east, while evening light helps when heading west. On layovers, try to spend at least 30 minutes outside at strategic times to help your internal clock recalibrate.

6. Acceptance is Key

Even the most seasoned crew can feel off for a day or two. Don’t fight jet lag excessively, just try to work with it if you can. Schedule lighter duties when possible and give yourself time to recover on your days off. Small steps, like respecting the WOCL, staying hydrated, and moving your body, go a long way toward keeping your sanity intact.

Summary: Beating jet lag isn’t just about surviving the flight, it’s about optimizing your body and mind between take-offs. By respecting the WOCL, eating well, using hotel gyms, moderating alcohol, and syncing with local time zones, airline crew can tackle jet lag head-on and arrive ready for duty!

And if you really can’t sleep, we can highly recommend listening to The Red Eye to keep you company…

The Red Eye Crew give their top 7 things that flight attendants wish their passengers knew before boarding the plane.

1. We See Everything… Seriously.

Do you think we aren’t aware of some passengers naughty airline behaviour? Think you’re sneaking alcohol, vaping in the toilet, or quietly arguing with your seatmate? Think again. We’re trained to spot all of it - and we usually do. And one of our flight attendant secrets is that we all talk to each other. If we have to stop someone from consuming any more alcohol then we make sure all the galleys and crew are aware. We are saving you from feeling terrible, or possibly committing a crime by being drunk on board an aircraft! Or doing something crazy like getting naked, peeing on another passenger or trying to open the aircraft door. It’s illegal to consume your own alcohol onboard because we aren’t able to monitor consumption and prevent incidents.

The reason I have so many stories about airline passengers behaving badly is because we see everything! It’s our job to keep the aircraft and it’s people safe so we see all the things you think you’ve gotten away with. Whether we report it to the police or not is down to us! But most of the time, when we see you sneaking into the bathroom together to join the mile high club, we look the other way…

On The Red Eye Podcast, we get more stories about passengers drinking alcohol and mixing it with medication then anything! Take a listen to our episodes Sky High Strip, Don’t You Know Who I Am?, and The San Franciscan Shoe Stealer if you don’t believe us!

2. We Notice, and Appreciate Polite Passengers

Whenever we are asked for our top air travel advice, the number one thing we say is “be friendly to your crew”! So if you want to know how to be a good passenger, then a smile, a “hello,” or a simple “thank you” goes a long way. Flight attendants are trained professionals responsible for your safety first, service second. A little kindness helps on a long day.

And if you get a really nice rapport going with your crew, we’re usually happy to sneak you extra snacks, extra drinks or maybe even a cheeky leg room seat or row with spare seats! We don’t tend to give the extra treats to those who are rude or ignore us. For those passengers, they get the basic service they paid for…

Heard by The Red Eye Crew: “It feels crazy to say this, but the passengers I remember most are the ones that treat me as a human, saying thank you or having a nice chat really makes my day! And I feel way more inclined to give them the VIP treatment!”

3. Boarding Isn’t the Time to Rearrange Your Entire Suitcase

You know when you get to the gate super early and are hanging around waiting to board - That is your time to organise your stuff!  Keep essentials (passport, charger, headphones) in hand - not buried under a weeks worth of underwear and spare shoes! Delays during boarding often come from people blocking the aisle while digging for socks or snacks. It’s good airplane etiquette to be kind and conscious of your fellow traveller. It actually makes more sense to board the back of the plane first but we know the frequent flyers would not be happy about that…

Flight Attendant tip: Place your bag in the overhead bin wheels-first to maximize space - just like the crew does. But our top boarding tip is to make sure any smaller bags and coats that can fit under your seat go under you seat. That way there’ll be room for everyone’s bags!

4. Your Carry-On Is Probably Too Big (and Too Heavy)

One of the top complaints we hear from cabin crew is that passengers bring on carry-on luggage that is way too heavy, and then they expect the crew to lift it over their heads into the overhead compartments!
Those "cabin-approved" roller bags? Not all are created equal. If you're struggling to lift it, so are we -and we’re not technically allowed to help due to injury risk. In fact, we’ve spoken to multiple flight attendants who have sustained an injury onboard the aircraft when lifting passenger baggage.

If you’re on a long haul flight, you probably have checked baggage anyway, so just go ahead and pack most of your things in that bag. You really don’t need much during the flight, perhaps your electronic devices, your medication, a change of clothes and necessary toiletries.

Flight Attendant Tip - Always pack light and remember: carry-on doesn’t mean "checked bag with wheels." You actually have to be able to carry it!

Heard by The Red Eye Crew: “I’m a healthy woman, I go to the gym, but one time a lady brought on a bag that was so heavy and she couldn’t lift it alone. I tried to help and when the bag was over my head, the passenger let go! That was my last ever flight. I was off injured for over a year and couldn’t return.

5. The Crew Might Be Running on No Sleep Too

The Cabin Crew lifestyle may seem glamourous to some. Long layovers in exotic countries whilst getting paid to stay in fancy hotels sounds like a dream! But in reality, Flight attendants often deal with long hours, delayed layovers, and jet lag just like passengers—only without the ability to fully switch off. There is nothing worse than getting a nice little hour of rest on the plane (we sometimes get a crew rest area with beds to take a nap), and then you’re brutally being woken up and having to serve breakfast within minutes of waking!

Working as a flight attendant isn’t as cushty as it used to be either. Particularly since the pandemic. Many airlines took cost cutting measures to weather the storm of travel restrictions, and they never gave them back. You may notice less crew serving you on your flight, and those crew now only get minimum rest required down route, meaning they are more tired, and over-worked then ever!

So, before you snap at someone over a Diet Coke, remember we're human too!

From The Red Eye Crew: “I once went 28 hours without proper sleep thanks to delays, a diversion and a noisy hotel room. When I was driving home, I kept falling asleep so pulled over a service station and accidentally had an 8 hour nap in the car!”

6. Please don’t argue if we say no…

You know those amazing inflatable cushions/hammocks/footrests that you get conned into buying online? Promising passengers a restful, super comfortable flight... They’re not always allowed, especially if they must be attached to the interior. They’ve not been approved by the airline, rigorously tested for safety and they could cause an issue in an emergency situation, and they could cause damage to the plane meaning lengthy delays for repairs. So, if it’s not specifically approved by the airline, for that specific aircraft, please don’t get mad at the cabin crew for doing their jobs! We just can’t risk you getting injured, and us being to blame for allowing a non-approved item!

7. Don’t put your children on the floor

Firstly, its gross down there. People drop food, put their dirty feet, and vomit on the floor with wanton disregard. With quick turnarounds, the aircraft doesn’t get a deep clean very often, so the floor is basically a hot bed of germs. The second reason is because if they fall asleep there, and move a little in their sleep, maybe stretch their tiny fingers above their head into the aisle, and then the cabin crew come down in the dark with our 200lb drinks cart…. It doesn’t bear thinking about!

We know it’s uncomfortable for your kids, we really do sympathise with you. A lot of us are parents too and know how much easier the flight is when everyone gets some sleep. But we would never forgive ourselves if they got hurt, and I don’t think you would either.

Final Boarding Call: Be the Passenger We All Want on Board

A little preparation, patience, and respect goes a long way. When passengers understand what life is like for flight attendants, and has some compassion for the passengers around them, flights run more smoothly - and we all get to our destinations a little happier!

Want more behind-the-scenes stories from the sky? Subscribe to The Red Eye wherever you get your podcasts - and hear what really happens at 38,000 feet.