Before heading for the wilds of Luton Airport, I carefully read the instructions,
“no sharp objects, no explosives, no contraband, and pack the case yourself” – I would just love to know who, but me, is going to pack the case, being rather lacking in valets and maids you know.
I flew by Easy Jet, cheap and cheerful – and having checked that the handbag’s contents were blameless, and myself looked likeways blameless, arrived at Luton Airport.
Said goodbye to my bulging suitcase at the desk– the checkout girl, cheerful just as EasyJet promised, tried not to laugh, when she weighed it. It was pretty much on the limit.
Things went peachy; found the right gate, with the right plane, going to the preferred destination. I was a happy bunny, as I went through the security checks.
Until the security guy beamed in on me handbag – it’s just a handbag, black, blameless, and totally non- threatening.
Or so I thought.
But Mr Security didn’t think so – I watched in horror as he grabbed the blameless bag, and held it right up.
“Whose is this?” he bawled, and I had to own up. Me.
The guy took everything out – my pen, my notebook, my purse, my specs case….my mobile, all my things were laid out on the bench. Then he produced a little gadget, and scanned the lot. He even read my notebook with all my passwords in it!
“Going to Berlin are you my dear?”
“Yes, holiday!”
With an offensive handbag you know.
Mr Security repacked the bag – thank god he didn’t check my hand luggage; he would have found my bag of bottles and lotions, polyfilla and miracle cream.
Bloody Hell.
