At this point, the only thing BA stands for in my mind is bloody awful.

Imagine, you are in Singapore airport waiting for the gate number for your flight to Lyon via London. Plot twist. London is Cancelled – if it sounds like the title of a B movie it is. Unfortunately I’m the star.

BA did transfer me to a Lufthansa flight through Frankfurt to Lyon, which got me there only three hours later. The worst part was that it deposited me squarely into the European travel debacle otherwise known as the rollout of the Schengen Entry/Exit System, now the stuff of legends and nightmares for any unsuspecting traveller to Europe in the Summer of 2026. In principle, it’s sensible: digitally register and track non EU nationals in the Schengen area. However, the rollout appears to have been designed by people who have never actually been in an airport where multiple flights arrive simultaneously, spewing out hundreds upon hundreds of passengers who all need to register. Had I arrived in the much quieter airport of Lyon I would’ve sailed through instead of standing in a long queue questioning my life choices.

Then came the frequent flyer sting. Lufthansa isn’t part of Oneworld, so several thousand airpoints simply evaporated. I’ve submitted the cancellation notice, booking references, ticket numbers and documentation. We don’t care – I’m paraphrasing the reply. BA was delighted to accept the rather considerable fare for Business Class, but when it came to delivering what was paid for – or even acknowledging the consequences of not doing so – they developed an admirable commitment to silence.

Perhaps they would redeem themselves with excellent in flight service on the return home: Lyon – London – Singapore – Sydney – Wellington. If trying check in on the malfunctioning App is any indication, then no.

Where shall I start? Why not with the configuration of the seats. I’d like to meet the visionary who thought alternate facing seats was the future of business travel. This might be fine, indeed cosy, for a couple travelling together, but as a solo traveller you get to spend 14 hours face to face with a stranger, sleeping top to toe as if its a teenage slumber party. When in lie flat (ha!) mode, the person in 10 A, armed with ropes and crampons, has to clamber over the legs of the person in 11B to go to exit their seat. On the aisle side there’s no privacy screen – it’s like you’re sleeping on the street.

Admittedly there’s a filmy screen, but it has a mind of its own and descends at will. Its, not yours.

The entertainment system requires the determined finger jabbing normally associated with trying to run an unfamiliar microwave. Eventually it responds, at which point you are faced with deciding to watch re-runs of Friends, movies that you saw at the cinema last year, or something that you wouldn’t choose to watch unless forced at gunpoint.

But surely the warmth and efficiency of the service makes up for all of this?

Typically, experienced cabin crew are the calm, efficient, hospitable professionals who make long-haul flying kind of enjoyable. BA’s senior crew, on the other hand, gave the distinct impression they’d each spent the last 150 years dealing with the travelling public and were counting the minutes until retirement and a sun lounger in Marbella. Every interaction carries the undertone of “can’t be arsed.” The service had all the warmth and satisfaction of a cup of weak tea accompanied by a soggy digestive biscuit —basically serviceable, but profoundly disappointing.