Heathrow horrors…

There’s nothing quite like a Great British send off than having an overweight miserable customs official rooting through your bag and making you feel like a terrorist for not putting your mascara in a see through plastic bag. I still don’t understand this rule… They don’t bother with it in other parts of the world. It’s not like, after she carefully swabbed my Dove deodorant stick and ran a full scan over my eye liner complete with sniffer dogs, she handed me it all back in a bomb proof bag. No. She just put it in a sandwich bag and hoped that would be strong enough to stop me causing fatal wounds on the plane with my fuchsia pink nail polish.

I don’t understand the excess baggage rule either. They make you take things out of your suitcase and watch as you try desperately to shove it all either on your body or in your hand luggage, when it’s all just going on the same plane anyway. It’s not like having an extra large Toblerone in your pants will stop the plane going down any more than having it in your suitcase will, right? Maybe I just don’t understand all this because I’ve never been told but really…. Makes no sense to me.

Anyway I finally made it onto the aircraft having removed most items of my clothing at the request of another grumpy swine convinced my Kindle might have drugs in it and I’m finally on my way to America. The land of no rules.