My fear of flying really took off somewhere between Moscow and Kiev 10 years ago. The air hostess, who had just served her baffled customers beakers of what looked and tasted like diluted blood, then disappeared not quite far enough behind a curtain at the front of the plane wielding a large spanner. Grunting and struggling sounds accompanied the occasional glimpse of a sweaty elbow from behind the curtain.

Water leaking from the ceiling of the plane cabin, fantastic amounts of turbulence and yet more blood water compounded this anxiety on the subsequent flights to St Petersburg and back to Moscow. Somewhere in the middle of this, it occurred to me that jokes about Aeroflot were more than anti-communist propaganda.

Back in London and thoroughly shaken, I didn't get on a plane again for about five years. I've only done two flights since then, neither without trauma. My last flight - coming home from Venice - was delayed for about 45 minutes because of fog. I decided that this was a sure sign that the plane, the sky and everything in between were doomed and I tried to get my luggage back from the baffled Italian check-in official.

I caused quite a scene in Venice airport - crying, shouting, spilling coffee. I got to the point of trying to make my partner Stuart ring up Eurorail and get us home by train before I ran out of steam and calmed down somewhat with the help of the flying phobics' equivalent of an edifying text (Taking the Fear out of Flying, by Maurice Yaffé).

Stuart was remarkably stalwart throughout this and somewhat galled that when we finally got on the plane I sat with hypnotised calm through turbulence on the way home while he had been reduced to gibbering jumpiness by my histrionics.

Just the thought of getting onto an aeroplane is enough to make me literally shudder with dread. That moment when you are crammed knee to knee with hundreds of other people and the door closes and you can't get out. The utter conviction that it will be your plane that crashes. The zillion odd noises that presage doom. The impossibility of believing that you will survive the flight.

I've never flown for work because, to me, getting on to a plane means that I have to prepare to die and, since being turned down by the Marines, I've never had a job I'd die for. Or kill for, actually - but that's another story. This has meant years of long, tedious rail, boat and car journeys, an over-familiarity with France and, once, a spectacularly rough five-hour crossing from Jersey during which all I could see from the upper deck windows was choppy seas and vomiting Bergerac fans.

So it was with more horror than enthusiasm that I approached the day-long Aviatours Fear of Flying course at Manchester airport.

The experience began with an advertisement for flying - Virgin trains. No air conditioning for the two and a half hour peak-hour journey between London and Manchester on one of the hottest days of July. By way of compensation, harassed buffet staff handed out warm tonic water. A more satisfying payback would be to have Richard Branson strapped to a seat of one of his trains and forced to travel back and forth all day, allowing passengers the satisfaction of giving his beard a thwap as they struggle to the loos.

At least the night before I thought I was going to die was a memorable one. I stayed at the coolly beautiful Malmaison Hotel. It is the way hotels "should" be. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. But maybe that was just the turn my thoughts were taking.

The morning session of the course was impressive. British Airways captain Richard Poad and senior first officer Richard Parkinson took us through the principles of flight, the training of pilots and the construction of aeroplanes.

Did you know that the wings are all one structure, rather than being stuck, Airfix kit fashion, onto the side of the fuselage? And that a plane can fly 160 miles (or half an hour) even if all its engines fail? And that although many planes have three or four engines, they can all fly on just one? Why, by the end of the morning I was wondering why they bothered with engines at all. Both men inspired confidence. They clearly loved flying and knew a lot about it and - most impressive of all - despite having an audience whose sheer anxiety would have dried Jerry Seinfeld, they managed to make us laugh. And not just at British Airways' tail designs.

During the coffee break we huddled in jumpy, sometimes tearful, little groups and exchanged flying stories. Barbara - a lovely woman from Liverpool - had once sailed back from Africa to avoid flying. It took two and a half weeks. Another, equally charming woman, had only flown once - 24 years ago on her honeymoon to Jersey.

There was a wide range of ages, from a girl of about eight to pensioners and slightly more women than men. Some people had never flown (oh, how I envied them!) and others had either had nightmare flights or so many that they felt the odds were stacking up against them.

The pilots moved briskly through myths about flying. No, there is no such thing as a pocket of air you can just "drop" into. No, the "bings" of the cabin communication system are not a secret signal that we're all doomed.

Gradually I felt Jeremy Paxman's apparent maxim for interviews - "Why is this lying bastard lying to me?" -becoming less helpful. Though I could have lived without the standard attacks on press reporting of air incidents - of course journalists get things wrong - but are we really expected to believe that airlines will voluntarily tell us the whole truth about their industry? I'm scared, not an idiot.

T he afternoon session was somewhat less helpful. Although I think we all appreciated the deep breathing and relaxation techniques, the psychologist's approach was that our fear was based on an irrational perception of a perfectly safe situation.

When someone made the quite reasonable point that in fact things do sometimes go wrong on flights and so some of the fear is rational, the psychologist's response was, "We have this thing we call a non-sequitur..." I believe that it was only our collective cold clammy dread which stopped us rising en masse and clipping the good doctor sharply around the ear.

And then to the flight. This was both the best and worst part of the day. We filed crocodile style through the airport to the terminal and check in and the departure lounge. At this point, many people, myself included, were visibly upset. I had thought this would make the flight more difficult, but, in fact, it was comforting to be among people with similar fears. If you see someone crying, you are more inclined to comfort them than think about your own anxiety.

And a good deal of the encouragement on the course came from fellow phobics. One of our group got on the plane, then off, then on, then off again, finally deciding she really couldn't face it. This happens sometimes, apparently - though one out of 83 isn't a bad percentage - and often people who can't quite make the flight come back and succeed on a subsequent course.

The truly excellent thing about this day was that during the whole flight, from taxi-ing, through take off and at every strange noise or change in direction or adjustment in the wings, there was not only plenty of reassurance from the course helpers - skipping about the cabin looking delighted to be there - but also either Captain Poad or First Officer Parkinson's comforting voice over the intercom explaining exactly what was happening. They effectively narrated the flight for us, cutting off anxiety before it could really get a grip.

Although, as usual, I cried during take off and the ascent, that narration was precisely what I needed and helped a great deal. So much so that after a few minutes I was peering over the pilot's shoulder, out of the front of the cockpit window.

We flew from Manchester to well, frankly, Manchester for about an hour and the atmosphere on the plane was a heady cocktail of jubilation and raw fear.

We all cheered on landing, which is a difficult part of the flight for many people, though I have to say I'm dead keen on it and generally try to open the plane doors with my teeth as soon as the wheels hit the Tarmac.

And as we poured out ashen faced and teary eyed into the arrivals hall, we made a strange contrast to the other tanned, bored looking travellers coming home from their holidays. Making that flight was a big step for many of us. For some it will be the start of a more relaxed approach to the ordeal; for others confirmation that sea cruises are really the way to go.

As for me, triumphant, fearless, and with a Tufty Club-style "I've visited the flight deck" badge clutched in my sweaty palm, I decided never to fly again.

Only kidding.

Scaredy cats with no head for heights

Muhammad Ali was asked on television what he was most frightened of and replied: "Flying. that's the only thing that terrifies me."

Isaac Asimov hated air travel and said: "I never fly, from sheer cowardice."

Dennis Bergkamp, the Arsenal striker is afraid of flying. Some Arsenal fans believe this cost their team a Uefa Cup first-round tie in 1997. Bergkamp refused to fly to play in the away leg in Salonika, Greece. Arsenal lost the game 1-0 and could only draw the return match at Highbury 1-1.

Science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury refuses to fly or drive a car: "I'm not afraid of flying - I'm just afraid of falling."

Ex-Olympic shot putter Geoff Capes went to the 1976 Montreal Olympics by land and sea rather than flying.

Actor Tony Curtis had it written into his contracts that he would not have to fly.

J Paul Getty refused to fly after a trip through several tornadoes in 1942.

Stuntman Evel Knievel used to drive across the USA, claiming he didn't want to give anyone an opportunity to kill him before he killed himself.

André Previn, who disliked flying, is reported to have told a stewardess during a particularly turbulent flight while Muzak was being played over the sound system: "Look, I don't care if there's only one chance in a million that we go down. I don't want to die to Lawrence Welk."

Ronald Reagan was convinced he "held the plane up in the air by sheer willpower".

Marge Simpson from the Simpsons had to visit a psychiatrist to help overcome her fear of flying when the family won a free trip to any state of their choice. (Homer is afraid of sock puppets.)

Mr T from the A-Team: "I pity the fool who thinks BA Baracus will fly in any plane!"

...also, allegedly, singers Cher , Aretha Franklin and Michael Jackson, band leader Louis Prima , and Glenda Jackson MP .

But no longer...

Robert Smith, of The Cure, who used to insist on crossing the Atlantic by QE2. "I've lost my fear of flying, and heights also," he told Rolling Stone. "I think that that was really the fear of death that I couldn't get a grip on. I've lost the romantic notion that death is something to be respected, and brought myself to finally sort out the underlying fear. But my fear of spiders is still left over..."