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Airlines used to be in the business of selling plane tickets. It was a simple, relatively stress-free transaction, which your local travel agent often would do for you.
And, then, along came the likes of Ryanair, EasyJet, Wizz Air and Norwegian Air, charging extra for taking a bag into the cabin and even more for checking one into the hold – with more readies required for reserving a particular seat, opting for ‘priority’ or ‘speedy’ boarding, car hire, indigestible food and drink, hotel accommodation and so on.
Michael O’Leary, Ryanair’s feisty boss, even said he might start giving tickets away for free and just rely on what’s known in the trade as ‘auxiliary revenue’ to keep the company airborne. At one point, he suggested passengers might have to spend a few pennies to spend a penny. Cheeky rascal.
It’s time to fight back – and here’s how. I’ve just checked to see what it would cost to put a bag in an overhead locker for a Ryanair flight from London Gatwick to Alicante in Spain this summer – and it comes to £36.50, a price that could easily double by the time July comes round. That’s already an extra £146 for a family of four.
Mind you, EasyJet wants to charge more than that; £47.98 for a bag just 5cm bigger than the one allowed by Ryanair, on a flight from London Luton to Bodrum in Turkey.
And it’s a similar story with all the other so-called low-cost airlines, who lure you in with cheap fares and then open up their digital shopping centres, bombarding you with all manner of extra services.
But I have other ideas, inspired somewhat by the example of Laura Poole, 33, who, rather than paying Ryanair £30 to travel with her belongings from Bristol to Glasgow, took matters into her own hands, sending them in advance by post for the princely sum of £2.29, considerably less than a flat white at an airport Pret.
Of course, posting stuff abroad is more expensive and more complicated. There’s a risk you might never see your clothes again. Which is why I’m waddling off to London Gatwick looking as if my already sizeable girth has expanded to epic proportions.
I just hope my neighbours don’t catch sight of me squeezing into the back of an Uber with a sheepish look on my face. I can hear the mutterings coming from behind the plantation shutters. ‘He’s really let himself go now, poor love.’
But I couldn’t care less because I’m travelling with a full week’s worth of clothes and accessories – and paying absolutely nothing to do so.
This is thanks, primarily, to a cleverly designed long coat, which looks perfectly normal from the outside but conceals no fewer than 14 zipped pockets on the inside, plus two deep ones at the front.
Into this pocket-filled parka, I am placing the following: a pair of black trainers, five shirts, one pair of trousers, two T-shirts, two polo shirts, various socks, swimming trunks, six pairs of boxer underpants, shorts, a wash bag and a notebook.
In addition, I have purchased on Amazon what appears to be a flimsy piece of polyester with a zip, which, when stuffed with 10 pairs of socks and more underpants, becomes a bulky scarf that clasps around my neck.
I can’t claim it’s comfortable – and might look silly in high summer – but it does the job.
On my Ryanair flight to Dublin, I am allowed to take on board for free a small bag that fits under the seat in front of me.
For this purpose, I have acquired a new backpack, but not just any old backpack. This one comes with a pump that sucks out any surplus air – vacuum packed, in other words.
It’s still on the large side and I’m concerned that the Ryanair police might take a dim view – and, so, I deploy the old trick of buying a WHSmith shopping bag at the airport and decanting a few items from the backpack into it.
This will work a treat because the authorities assume you’ve bought everything at the airport. A duty free bag would be even more effective.
At Gatwick, I shuffle into the South Terminal feeling like I’m wearing the heaviest of duvets.
What’s more, in addition to my coat of many pockets I’m wearing several layers of clothes, including another T-shirt, thick sweater and gilet, the latter also stuffed with various goodies.
At security, my coat lands in a tray with a mighty thud and the cheery man on the other side of the conveyor belt says: ‘Is that gold in there, Sir?’ Well, sort of, I tell him.
Rather than wearing the coat, I could carry it now that I’ve successfully negotiated security but due to its weight, the easier option is to wear it, along with the rucksack strapped to my back, leaving both hands free, one clutching the WHSmith bag.
I’m a candidate to star in any new version of Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Unlike Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, I sweat – and by the time I reach the departure gate I’m beginning to drip, but am happy to do so in the circumstances.
I’m saving around £40 and it will only take four to five trips to make up the £257, which was my initial outlay on the coat.
The coat itself is waterproof and comes with a hood. What’s pleasing is that it won’t just be deployed for plane journeys – because when there’s nothing in the pockets, it looks sharp, almost rapper cool – the sort of garment actor Timothee Chalamet might wear. It’s unique, too.
‘It took two years to come up with something that was both practical in terms of carrying the entire contents of a carry-on case and stylish enough to wear once all the pockets have been emptied,’ says Diana Yanes, boss of Wear to Fly, which makes the Fly On jackets in her design studio in Milan.
She launched the company in 2024 after travelling around Europe for work and growing weary of being charged for hand luggage.
Ms Yanes experimented with 30 different types of material and came up with nine prototypes before opting for the product she is now selling – at the moment only online, but she’s hoping shops will start ordering soon.
The parka jackets (‘more than a jacket; less than a big fee’ is the sales pitch) are made from recycled plastic bottles and ocean waste known as seaqual. They come in bottle green, navy blue, black and sandy brown.
‘The key thing is to distribute the weight and the bulk,’ says Ms Yanes. ‘If you do this, then it should be possible to do up the coat as normal.’
I’ve ordered an XL but should have gone for a XXL or even XXXL (the biggest are XXXXXL). By the time I’ve put my trainers in the bottom pockets and my shirts and trousers in the middle section, there’s no way I can do it up. But, at least, the weight is evenly distributed – though no one could say I look stylish.
Fortunately, I’m one of the first to board the plane. It takes a little longer than normal to walk down the aisle, and placing the coat in the overhead locker requires a certain amount of muscle power (imagine lifting a sack of potatoes) – but I’ve put far more into it than the friendly Irishman sitting next to me has stuffed into his carry-on. And he, unlike me, has paid for the privilege.
We get chatting. ‘I’m travelling garment heavy but fiscally light,’ I tell him. Which could be another marketing line for Ms Yanes.
‘Sounds good to me – I’ll check it out,’ he says. ‘I should have worn my fishing vest. That’s got big inside pockets, too.’
On landing in Dublin, I feel triumphant at not having to wait for a baggage carousel to crank into action. I wave goodbye to my Irish neighbour, hoping his bag appears soon – and am off.
It’s a relief to reach my hotel and ditch the coat, which I spread open on one side of the double bed and try to remember where I put various items. Practice will make perfect with this caper.
For example, for the flight back to London, I’ll put all the boxer shorts crunched up in the middle pocket and find a home for my washbag in the airless backpack. I might place the trainers higher up, almost at shoulder height.
Of course, it’s not just the price of carry-on and hold luggage that’s so dispiriting. The evolving rules about the size of permissible on-board bags are such that it’s only a matter of time before you’re caught out and whacked with a hefty, punitive charge.
Ryanair currently allows you to bring onboard, for no charge, a bag measuring 40cm high and 30cm wide; on EasyJet, it’s 45cm high and 36cm wide – but both these must be able to go under the seat in front of you. And that includes any wheels.
‘Bags exceeding this size will be charged a fee of £48-£55 to be placed in the hold,’ is the stern warning from the Easy Jet website. But it also adds: ‘Overcoats, umbrellas and airport duty-fee bags are permitted.’ No mention of WHSmith bags, although mine hasn’t raised any eyebrows.
I’m glad to have cottoned on to this wheeze. It’s a way of saving money and it’s not cheating. You’re playing by the rules and making them work in your favour for a change.
But I fear it can only be a matter of time before the no-frills airlines start charging for coats, especially ones that are almost full length and packed with a wardrobe’s worth of clothing.
Would they dare? Of course, they would. The rules of engagement with airlines are constantly changing. It’s a relentless battle but, for now, I’ve won a small victory – and that’s an exhilarating feeling.
