My initial reaction was schadenfreude - thank feck that's not me - as she traipsed off lugging her admittedly huge suitcase to purge herself of her overpacking sins with the Euro56 penance.

Then a chill ran down my spine (probably the cold capitalistic breath of Michael O'Leary on my neck) as I heaved my own suitcase onto the scales. It was a normalsized suitcase; but it wasn't exactly light.

"You're two kilos overweight, " droned the check-in woman, her deadpan expression sending out a crystalclear message to anyone thinking of pleading for mercy. It said: "Don't go there".

I didn't. Even if I had failed to read the signal, I had no time. As usual I had arrived at the last minute. I raced off, paid the fine and checked in again - at the last minute.

By the time I embarked on another flight recently, I had learned my lesson. No, of course I didn't manage to pack 10 days' worth of clothes and other stuff into the draconian 15kg Ryanair weight limit for hold luggage. Don't be ridiculous! Maybe I could if I were going to a nudist colony in the height of summer but not to a ski resort in the depths of winter.

Little did I know what stress would be caused by a pair of ski boots I bought a few years back in what was my worst financial decision yet.

You see, ski boots weigh 6kg.

Not a crushing burden. Not much carbon imprint there.

Yet the tiny Ryanair luggage makes packing them an absolute head-wrecker.

Either I dump a good piece of kit, pay a ludicrous "overweight" fee of Euro96 (6kg times Euro8 each way) or somehow cram all my skiing and living gear into 9kg, which just ain't going to work without risking hypothermia.

I eventually got them in but left behind skiwear that I missed later on as I shivered on a snow-capped mountain at minus five degrees.

I'm so glad I never bought skis: sports equipment costs Euro22.50 per item, one way, if pre-booked, or Euro30 at the airport with Ryanair. And the same again on the way back.

Ouch! That's nearly as painful than tumbling down a black slope.

At the queue for the nervewracking return flight checkin (anything bought on your trip will cost you dear), we all engaged in a strange communal bonding ritual now common in airports all over Europe. All classes and creeds shed inhibitions, rip open their luggage, and publicly start flinging their undies and other personal paraphernalia about as they nervously prepare for weigh-in.

First they remove liquids from hand luggage and stuff them into suitcases to comply with new security regulations.

Then they realise that this makes their main luggage even heavier and frenziedly rummage even deeper into embarrassing personal effects to lighten the load.

The scenarios get ever more ludicrous. On our flight, one guy was forced (by his girlfriend, not Ryanair) to wear her fleece jacket over his and then fill the pockets with knick-knacks taken from her overweight suitcase. On another a party of students, returning penniless from a climbing expedition, had no option but to take their heavy mountaineering gear out of their luggage and wear it over their clothes on the flight home.

For my recent flight, checkin took well over an hour, partly due to the luggagerummaging rigmarole which meant that those at the back of the queue barely made it to the desk at the crucial cut-off point before departure time.

We legged it to the boarding gate laden down with overpacked hand luggage. If it had been weighed, the flight would definitely have been delayed as everyone went through a new rigmarole of pulling their bags asunder for stuff to wear, or cram into pockets and up jumpers.

Asked whether hand luggage is weighed, a Ryanair spokeswoman said it might be if the check-in person feels it is overweight. However, she admitted there is nothing to stop people from wearing extra clothing or stuffing things in their pockets, as long as they don't hold up security checking procedures.

"If people want to wear their ski clothing, it's up to them, " she said.

It is probably inevitable for airlines to charge for excess luggage. But the Euro8 per kilo levied by both Ryanair and Aer Lingus charge seems messy, time-wasting and bloody expensive.

Aer Lingus, like many other airlines, eases the pain with its more reasonable 20kg main suitcase limit but it almost spoils its advantage by restricting cabin baggage to a pretty minimal 6kg compared to Ryanair's 10kg. This means that Ryanair passengers are more likely to be found on their hands and knees frantically switching luggage prior to check-in.

But where does this Euro8 per kilo come from? Let's say a fairly typical passenger weighs 70 kilos and pays Euro50 for a flight. That works out at 71 cent per kilo. That person requires spatially-inefficient seating, and the services of air stewards, toilets, waiting areas etc. Surely he costs more per kilo to transport than a bit of luggage packed into an unheated hold? So how come a kilo of extra luggage costs Euro8 whereas a passenger can be transported for 11 times less? If a 70kg passenger paid an equivalent sum per kilo of his own weight, he would pay Euro560 for his ticket.

Why not have a more realistic weight target? Why not charge less per kilo overweight - say Euro1 or Euro2 - which can be paid in advance. Or even charge slightly more per item of luggage?

The bottom line is that it is far cheaper to take an extra suitcase than to be even 1kg overweight.

Ryanair charges Euro4.50 per case compared to the Euro4 fee that Aer Lingus brought in last week (both are for online bookings - otherwise you pay Euro10 and Euro8 respectively).

So perhaps the hefty excess baggage regime is actually a fiendishly clever plot to make passengers not only embrace the new, controversial but relatively benign Euro4.50 per suitcase fee, but to take two suitcases per trip, thereby boosting the airlines' bottom lines.

Or maybe there's something in Michael O'Leary's schoolboyish sense of humour that enjoys forcing butch blokes to wear their girlfriends' clothes, having ould wans all over Europe frantically waving their spare knickers about in public, or seeing groups of sweltering people stuffed into seats in full mountaineering regalia.