I forgot, in my previous post to tell you about my experience at the airport on the way back.

I must have a dodgy-looking demeanor, as this has happened to me before with my video camera. I was stopped at the customs check and all my luggage was looked into in great detail. The people are very nice and ask permission to check your stuff, I’ve never seen anyone refuse permission and I’m not about to go all militant and make a stand.

So, what do they find? Liquid semtex? The makings of a simple but effective scatter-bomb? A nuclear device….(too much 24!) No, it’s my make-up! This is the first time I have ever taken make-up to France. I seemed to get it out of Stansted with no problem, but along with bottles of fluids etc, make-up is now a banned substance. Like I’m about to hold up the air-hostess with my lipstick….(’Sorry love, that’s not my colour!’)

So, the customs man frog-marches me (no pun intended) to the check in, where I have to pay to have my hand-luggage put in the hold! So much for saving money! He was in no mood to have a smile or a joke, he’d obviously done this a few times already!

I know, they are only doing their jobs but I was pretty mad by the time we got to the waiting area.

And then you get the really keen, gotta-get-the-best-seat fliers. They are usually middle-aged and you can spot them a mile off…..every time there is a bing or a bong from the tannoy system,they are on their feet, ready to dash to the boarding card girls. They always sit at the front and are slightly irritated when told to ‘remain seated’ blah,blah ,blah. When called to go through, they hassle and push and stand far too close, breathing down your necks until you have been ushered through. They are a million times worse now that priority for families and small children has been stopped. These are the sort of people that would have disguised themselves as women on the Titanic to get a place on the lifeboats!

Once past the boarding card girls, the fun begins….anyone would think they were on a mile sprint as they hot-foot it to the staircase at the foot of the plane. And they always win! You can feel the smugness as you walk onto the plane and they are sitting at aisle 6…(as we all know, you can’t sit in aisles 1 to 5.) They’re sitting there with their Sudoku books and sandwiches and eye-masks and inflatable pillows, as if they have been there for hours. (Maybe they are on a round trip and never actually got off!)

And they always win because they are unfettered by small children and family. Why does little Johnny have to have a tantrum right now? Why does Chloe have to fall over just as we get on the tarmac? Why does the wind take the boarding cards from my sweaty hand right at this moment? Can’t Grandma wait until we’re airborne to use the loo?

It’s such a great, satisfying feeling though at Stansted, when you see them around the carousel, still waiting for their suitcases to arrive from the depths of the luggage-handlers world. Bruhahaha!

 There is some justice in this world after all!

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