Yesterday went too soon

As none of you will have noticed, I am just back from an overseas holiday. A fine holiday it was, too – tucked away on the cusp of Europe and the Middle East, in a resort so posh that I hired a butler one day to bring me pina coladas and ice creams on demand. It was all jolly hockey sticks, much sunshine was absorbed, and everyone came home happy, although in my case, I came home far too soon. Isn’t that always the way with holidays?

The rapid passage of this decidedly welcome break has raised an historic bone of contention, however – the truly awful state of the nation’s airports. I posit this thesis because Glasgow Airport is proudly emblazoned in “Scotland with Style” banners, and it provides the first impression many people will have of our fait land. Yet in the brief time I was there, I was flanked by one crowd of boisterous neds after another, the urinals were all blocked up with piss, the shops were all shut, and the staff wore expressions so hangdog that I don’t think I could have shaken off their collective torpor if I’d vomited fruit pastilles over them and then spontaneously combusted. Actually, I probably shouldn’t mention combustion in the same paragraph as airports – certain people are quite twitchy about such linguistic juxtapositions. Hi to the web traffic monitoring officials at RAF Menwith Hill, who are probably logging onto this site two paragraphs in, but rest assured, lads, you haven’t missed much.

Contrast Glasgow’s fraught ambience with Antalya airport, on the southern coast of Turkey. Admittedly, I did pull a door handle off its loose hinges, and the tannoy announcer was almost indecipherable over the mumblings of sleepy passengers, but otherwise, Antalya provides an object lesson in how to transport large numbers of people quickly and effectively, without irritating them to the point of apoplexy. Efficient and friendly security staff rapidly screened everyone at the main entrance, before an enthusiastic check-in assistant processed our bags at one of the 12 desks dedicated to our flight, and then after a brief additional security check, we were free to walk around a huge, circular departure lounge with each gate conveniently placed around the edges of the circle, rather than hidden away beyond six miles of blank corridors and travelators (I’m looking at you, Heathrow). There was good food available in the 24-hour restaurants (unlike Luton Airport, which effectively closes down after 8.30pm), the buses dropped people off right outside the terminal (no anti-terrorist barriers here to cause confusion and inconvenience), and our flight took off on time because there are three runways (count ‘em! Three!) to channel planes in and out with minimal queuing.

It was, quite honestly, embarrassing to be British in such a situation. And nor is it only Turkey that shames our air transport hubs. Consider the architectural grandeur of Schiphol in Amsterdam, the metronomic efficiency of Tokyo’s Narita and Haneda airports, or the sheer magnificence of Changi in Singapore, which has been voted the world’s best airport this year after finishing as runner-up in the 2012 World Airport Awards. It really does make you wonder what the tourists flocking to Glasgow next year for the XX Commonwealth Games will make of our country, when they first arrive. If I was them, I’d turn around and go straight back to wherever I came from. When I say there’s no place like home, I don’t necessarily mean it as a compliment, especially in terms of our tired and basic airports. And don't even get me started on "Glasgow" Prestwick...