Travelling with a cello has never been easy. I remember all too clearly the feeling when, as a poor student unable to afford a second seat for the cello, I would watch some hulking airline porter carry off my precious cargo to put it into the hold. With tears in my voice, I would explain that this was an irreplaceable antique; all too often, though, I had the uneasy feeling that the moment the man was out of sight, he would take the greatest pleasure in seeing whether this delicate item would bounce when dropped from a height of 30ft. In fact, I was lucky in that my instrument — unlike many others — never got smashed; but the extremes of temperature and humidity to which it was subjected in the hold had a terrible effect on its general health, often affecting the sound for months on end.

Later, as my income rose, the number of my annual trips increased and the value of my instruments sky-rocketed, I decided that it would be irresponsible to check in the cello, and started to buy an extra seat. That, I thought, would be the end of my problems — but not a bit of it. For starters, purchasing the cello’s ticket is ridiculously complicated. Then, check-in often takes half an hour (much to the delight of the passengers behind me in the queue); and the security check can be a nightmare, with officials going suddenly deaf as I beg them not to let the cello bump down the rollers as it emerges from the X-ray machine. (It's at this point, too, that I generally have to go through one of the hardest trials in a cellist's life: putting up with the jokes. The lines: “Can't get that under your chin, eh?”; “Ever wish you'd taken up the flute?”; and — shared with violinists — “On the fiddle, are you?” lost their charm years ago.) The only petty revenges I can extract — such as indignantly demanding a kosher meal for the cello — are but minor consolations.

So embarking for the airport has never exactly filled my heart with joy; but at least I have for the past 20-plus years set out with the certain expectation of getting the cello on board. Now, however, we are told that this is likely to change. The airport authorities are advising us that, in future, neither cellos for which seats have been bought, nor violins, violas, etc, which hitherto have been acceptable as hand luggage, are to be allowed on to flights.

The Musicians’ Union says that these measures are already having a “devastating impact” on musicians and that several of their members “are reporting significant lost earnings”. A friend was this week assured that her cello ticket would be honoured; but when she got to Heathrow she was told she would be bumped off the flight unless she put the cello in the hold.

These are dangerous times, and obviously new measures are called for; but they have to be thought through. Why are instruments suddenly so perilous? An instrument case isn’t exactly an inconspicuous hiding place, after all. And then there's the sheer unreality of the threat: like so many of my colleagues, I have been travelling the world with my curvy companion for almost 30 years now; surely there has to be some easily proven difference allowed between experienced musicians — most of whom would, I'm sure, be all too happy to show off their instrumental prowess at the airport — and people whose history suggests a possible link with extremism? (Last I heard, Osama bin Laden’s performances of the Bach suites were receiving terrible reviews.) The present restrictions would mean the end of professional live performances in many places. Pianists and singers and, perhaps, some wind-players, would be unaffected; but string-players — soloists and members of ensembles — could be confined from now on to local careers.

One possibility would be for artists visiting major cities to share from a collection of instruments; but that could never work. One’s relationship with one’s instrument is like a marriage; and though it might be interesting in some ways to try out other people’s partners on tour, it is far from satisfactory. It is just not possible to produce high-quality performances on an unsuitable instrument; it feels like singing with someone else's voice. And there are actually surprisingly few top-class instruments; outside the major centres, there are frequently none to be found.

I hope that the travel authorities abandon the blind-panic sort of policy that has already forced great ensembles, such as the Orchestra of St Luke’s, to cancel their foreign tours. We need a sensible decision — one that, while defusing the present menace, allows the rest of us to carry on with our lives. Some may feel that restoring travel to musicians is a minor issue; but for many, many people, music really matters. It is the only language that transcends linguistic and cultural differences and can communicate with people everywhere — never more essential than now.

Out of tune with air travel

• Government restrictions prevent anything larger than a laptop-size bag from being carried on to an aircraft, with no exceptions.
• Travel insurance does not cover instruments put in the hold of a plane, because of the high risk of damage.
• The BBC Symphony Orchestra recently drove its instruments to Switzerland instead of flying them.