I can just about cope with the news that Singapore has put double beds in its spanking new superjumbo’s first class. And that both Jet and Emirates have private suites for their most valued customers. And that every other airline apart from Ryanjet and Easyair seems to be putting in proper flat beds for its pampered premium passengers. That’s all just fine. Well, it isn’t, but I can bear it. If you’re paying £5,000 to get from A to B, I’m happy for you to stretch out a bit while you do it. Relatively.

What I can’t stomach are the not-so-little extras that seem to have become de rigueur in the race to get the posh passengers’ dollars. It’s becoming simply ridiculous.

Hotel-style check-in

Last Friday, just too late for this correspondent to traipse along and admire, Virgin opened its new hotel-style check-in at Heathrow. If you’d rather not know how swish it is, tough – I’m going to tell you.

A limo collects you from your door (by “you”, I mean “them, the swanky business travellers”, not “you” as in “us, hoi polloi”). The driver takes your check-in details (if it’s not too much trouble, milady). You sweep into check-in where a host or hostess welcomes you with a nice cuddle or the like, then ushers you through a dedicated security channel and away.

The whole makes-me-want-to-vomit-with-jealousy process will take less than 10 minutes, leaving you, sorry, them, plenty of time in the lounge, sorry, Clubhouse, to enjoy any or all of the following: an invigorating scrub at the Cowshed spa; a “sophisticated cocktail”; a sauna; a game of pool; a stroll through the soothing roof garden; a few minutes of congratulatory naked self-hugging at how great life has panned out to be.

Meanwhile, the rest of us have queued forever at check-in (unless we checked in online, in which case we have queued forever at the bag drop), then queued for another ever at security, then played musical cheese-grater chairs with other cattle in departures, then queued for yet another ever to get on the plane.

Gold-leaf lounges

When BA moves into Terminal Five next year, it’s promising an end to queuing for “us” and unparalleled la-di-da-ness for “them”. Look away now if you don’t want to fly into a green-eyed rage while I pluck out some of the key features of the T5 lounges... the “Gold Bar”, for first-classers only, will be covered in gold leaf and lit by a Swarovski chandelier. It’s okay, though, business-class people – your “Silver Bars” are the same, without the gold leaf (which sounds a bit tasteless anyway). There are free Elemis spa treatments, including four types of rather unpleasant-sounding “flying facials”, six infinity bathrooms and free sex for everybody. Probably.

Qatar Airways has got bellboys in Doha. And secretaries. And – oh, hang on, this is just silly – a fleet of luxury vehicles waiting on the runway to whisk you/them away to its “premium terminal”, for goodness’ sake. So no contact whatsoever with those filthy economy flyers. What a relief.

Chefs in the sky

Then there’s the food. Next time you’re struggling to decide between chicken or beef in economy, spare a thought for those poor souls flying first class with Emirates. They’ve got seven courses to get through, each beset with gastronomic dilemmas. Should they go for the sevruga caviar or the foie gras? The poached salmon or the lamb loin fillet? The cheese soufflé or the chocolate mousse? The grand cru or the premier cru, the malt or the bourbon, the Horlicks or the Ovaltine? Nightmare. Thank goodness the business-class guys only have six courses to worry about.

Up front on BMI, they have chefs. On the plane. While it’s flying. With chefs’ whites and everything. Preparing meals individually in the little galley kitchen, and suggesting good wines to go with each course. How simply spiffing.

Flipping flat beds

Not even 10 years ago, seats in business class were still seats. It used to be all about how far they reclined. Now, even a full flat bed only barely cuts the mustard. It must have a 27-point massage system, heating, cooling, and head, neck, back, bottom and little-toe adjustment buttons. It must be accompanied by mood lighting, silk sheets, down pillows and duvets handmade from the eyelashes of poor little baby alpacas, left freezing and eyelashless on the barren slopes of the Andes. So you, sorry, they (I keep doing that) can wake up feeling rested and fluffy and maybe like doing some skipping.

Hoi polloi

Meanwhile, back in the cheap seats, it’s still the same old seat. With a quarter-inch recline into the face of the guy trying to eat his meal behind you. The movies are better, but the general lot of the economy-class flyer has deteriorated. There are cutbacks on food and drink (I got a mere sandwich on a recent BA flight back from Delhi, which was apparently an anomaly, but aren’t they measly with the booze these days?). There are restrictions on hand luggage (if it’s all Al-Qaeda’s fault, how come there’s talk of the business guys being allowed more bags in the cabin again?). And there’s a couldn’t-give-a-monkey’s attitude at the airports (because BAA makes more money from shops than security channels).

American Airlines, the one company that tried to alleviate the misery of a 31in seat pitch on a long-haul flight, got a lot of coverage when it ripped out several rows and guaranteed 34in of space. But it sneaked them all back again this year because it just wasn’t working.

Why? Because we’re idiots. We want to pay bottom dollar for everything, including our holidays. And you get what you pay for. It’s our fault that Ryanair has taken over Europe, and that traditional airlines have slashed services in order to compete on price. So you can get to Pisa for 99p but you’re only allowed one bag and you’ll have to pay for your drink, and the plane hasn’t been cleaned after each flight, and it’s a bundle to get the best seats, and there aren’t any because you’re all cattle.

Because nobody else seems to be doing anything about this, I have come up with a plan. Here’s what should happen. We should all fly with sensible airlines that don’t treat their customers like self-loading cargo – or used not to and promise not to in the future if we fly with them. And we should pay 10% more than we have been, so it’s going to cost £110 to get to Pisa, not £100. And certainly not 99p. That way we can have 10% more legroom. Or 8% and a nice bar.

It’s not a lot to ask, not when all those other people have limos and Jacuzzis and 14-course banquets. But we would be happy. A shame, then, that it’s never going to happen.