Eva Bradley: Small comforts go long way on flights

When commercial air travel first took off, quite literally, it was about as glamorous as real life could be - dashing pilots who earned their stripes soaring to victory in the Battle of Britain, air hostesses with long legs and wide smiles, and trail-blazing technology bringing with it the promise of certain adventure in uncharted lands.

As I sit beside a fat man whose gut extends beyond the confines of his own seat and into mine, and observe the queue of tired and dismally ordinary humanity waiting for the toilet, I can't help but wonder just when the dream died.

Going on holiday rocks. Getting there definitely does not.

I am 24 hours into a series of flights and layovers that will see me land in Mumbai, India, in another four. Not bad considering I've travelled halfway around the planet and spent half that time reclining by the pool of an airport hotel.

Air travel is effective. But let's be honest, when you're Joe Public travelling in cattle class it is absolutely not glamorous.

Seldom is such an eclectic mix of bodies bundled together - old and young, rich and poor, and (as I can personally attest to at this moment), big and little.

With little in common but a destination, we must stoically share our close personal space and the bodily upsets always brought on by a sudden change in air pressure.

Some tackle the proximity and its attendant claustrophobia by shutting out the real world and entering another in the form of in-flight entertainment. Others (myself among them) dose themselves up to the eyeballs on sleeping tablets and free beer, and hope for the best.

An hour into the night flight, it is remarkable to observe how many creative ways people can choose to interpret the tight confines of an economy seat to maximise sleeping comfort. The dreamy dance of the sleeping traveller is only surpassed in entertainment value by observing those left awake climbing over them en route to the bathroom.

With such a disproportionate ratio of people to toilets, I've often wondered why the cabin crew seem so hell-bent on dispensing beer and tea.

Another curiosity is the wild enthusiasm that propels passengers to queue impatiently, and often prematurely, to get on to the plane, only to repeat the process in reverse a few hours later.

At the tail end of a long flight without any tail wind, I can understand the desire to get off this plane as quickly as possible. But given I am going to be spat out into the overheated third world and its slew of overcrowded buses and trains, I suspect I will soon be less quick to condemn a transport that shifts me at 1000km/h while I sip at my third Bloody Mary.