Unfortunately, I won’t be enjoying it because I am in transit at Charles de Gaulle to Rabat, Morocco, for a couple of days.

Getting here wasn’t easy though. When I saw the queue backed up at the Air France check-in at Changi, my heart dropped. The two passengers in front were taking too long. Something was up. As a frequent flyer, your nose picks up scents like these.

Turned out the ground staff at Changi had just been advised there had been an aircraft change – from 300+ seats to 200+ seats – and therefore they couldn’t take all passengers, especially those on business class.

The choice was – downgrade yourself and get a 450 Euro voucher for future flights or a 150 Euro refund on your ticket or they’d try and put you on another flight.

The family next to me was offered a flight to Paris via Helsinki, another via Istanbul.

I took the downgrade because I didn’t want to miss the connecting flight to Rabat. It’s a flight I cannot miss because special arrangements have been made to issue a visa on arrival at Rabat and I dread to think what would happen if I didn’t arrive as planned.

It’s interesting in situations like these to see how people handle it. A French man was obviously irate because he was a Platinum or some other kind of rare metal member and had been downgraded.

He said to the staff issuing the voucher, “I will take this voucher, put it in an envelop, send it to IMF – Dominique (Strauss-) Kahn is a friend of mine – and ask him how can a French airline treat its customers this way.

“I paid $2,000 for this ticket and they offer me a $150 refund? That’s an insult. They are so inconsistent. And I don’t want the voucher because I will never fly Air France again.”

When it was my turn, I thought long and hard about names to drop but couldn’t think of any that’d help me on this occasion. I am not sure Dominique Kahn would be of much help anyway – he’s probably got more important things to worry about – like his future, even though there’s been a twist to the case, as you may have all read.

While the staff was processing my voucher, a very angry English man came up to the counter and shouted at her. “How long do I have to wait to pay this excess baggage? I’ve been waiting 90 minutes, you people are going to make me miss my flight.”

And he started waving his arms around angrily. The staff, Joyce, said to him, “I am sorry, sir, I am serving this customer.”

He shouted, “I don’t care.” And he repeated his tirade about waiting and missing his flight. “Tell you what, you waive my excess baggage payment and let me on. Now,” he yelled.

Joyce meanwhile was looking frantically for support from her team but none dared to look her way. They were all practicing the I-don’t-want-to-know-it’s-her-job-let-her-handle-it approach.

She asked one or two of her colleagues to help but all said they were busy.

Mr Englishman, as tanned as he was, was meanwhile turning redder than a beetroot and yelling louder than a betelnut on speed.

“You tend to him first,” I said. She did. He calmed down. She apologized to me.

I had just witnessed teamwork crumbling at a time of stress. Have to say Joyce handled it well. She just muttered, “I had no support” but went on to perform her duties stoically in the line of fire.

It is a shame though that often, he who shouts loudest gets served first.

I hope that this afternoon when I land in Rabat, I won’t have to do too much shouting to be let into a country I’ve been longing to revisit since I first laid eyes on Marrakech all those years ago. I am positive though it will all be as glorious in Rabat as it is right now in Paris –  despite the protests which I am told are largely peaceful although I’ve been told not to stray too far from my hotel.

Keep you posted.