Thursday, August 10, 2006

Oh.

So when I rather cynically talked about "attempting" to board my plane to London, I was unwittingly foreshadowing the events of last night, events that will no doubt make my EasyJet flight (or should I say my UtterFuckingPainInTheAirportPoliceProbedArseJet flight) an unmitigated trauma.

And here was I in a flap about not having a place to stay tomorrow night when after all, it turns out that I will no doubt be obliged to pass the entire night at Stansted airport. This is so indescribably pants that I can barely bring myself to discuss it.

While reading up about the agony that awaits, I noticed this strange new security procedure:
  • For those travelling with an infant: baby food, milk (the contents of each bottle must be tasted by the accompanying passenger)
When women are forced to drink their own breast milk, isn't this a time when people need to stop and say to themselves "the terrorists have won"?

And is there not a more dignified means of testing for nitroglycerine that doesn't involve hardcore fetish indulgence? It is disappointing to note that the science of safety and security has advanced very little since murderous Royal courts employed official tasters.

- Did you pack this child's lunch yourself, madam?
- Well, um, Catherine de Medici may have made one of the tuna sandwiches, but y'know, should be fine...

With airports filled with cocaine-snorting dogs, I suppose it was only a matter of time before the airport security industry descended into uncivilised chaos.

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