Michael O’Leary, the boss of Ryanair, once told an interviewer that he was born “with bullshit on tap” – a rare case of his giving the media a story they already had. On the other hand, he was certainly telling the unvarnished truth then, in a way unusual among his publicity stunts. He has not actually brought in standing room only flights, charges for using the lavatories, or even charges for employees who charge their phones at work, all of which he has from time to time threatened to do. The underlying disdain for both passengers and employees is genuine, too. Sometimes it spills over into the real world, at the moment in the fiasco over his pilots’ holiday entitlement, which has left 18 million customers in an anxious limbo while they wait to find whether their flights booked over the next eight weeks will be cancelled. Around 400,000 of them will learn tonight if they have been unlucky; 80,000 will have to wait a day or more for replacement flights. It’s a mess. It’s also a natural consequence of the way that Ryanair does its very successful business.

Anyone who uses its website knows that every transaction, every click, is an attempt to win an advantage. Most customers believe they can come out ahead and the company is still usually cheaper than its competitors. “Our booking system is full of people who swore they would never fly with us again,” boasted Mr O’Leary yesterday. But cheapness has its price. The Ryanair model is part of a more general move towards a world where the customer has only themselves to blame. The cancellation and rescheduling of a flight has normally a chain of consequences – cars have been hired, hotel rooms booked – for which Mr O’Leary disclaims all responsibility. The present problems may be symptomatic of deeper troubles. The rerostering of pilots’ holidays suggests a workforce stretched too far. So do recent problems with punctuality. The low-cost airline risks becoming the airline of low expectations.