|our prideful hand luggage|
Our fall comes at airport screening - as it has for so many before! The h-g's son, whom we are visiting in Dubai has asked us to bring some of our home grown honey so we have packed up a kilo for him. And yes, it really is just honey, not hash or meth or crack. Airport security, however, declares it to be a "liquid, fluid of gel" and therefore as dangerous as drugs or explosives, and immediately confiscates it.
The h-g doesn't cope well and expresses his frustration (I know, this is usually my job, right?) He wants to go back and check in his bag. Uh uh, you have to physically leave the country before you can come back. The choice is eat it there (not even that fat little Winnie the Pooh could eat a kilo of honey at one sitting) or it will be binned. The lunacy of this is that if we had ten 100 gram pots of honey dutifully sealed in a clear plastic bag it would have passed with no notice.
The incident reminds me I need means to amend rule 5 to include "don't get pissed off at airport security"
It takes at least two glasses of Veuve Cliquot in the Emirates lounge before the h-g calms down.
And so we depart......a coupe of days sweating it out in Dubai to catch up with the boy and his gorgeous wife, a couple of days in Frankfurt - why not? we've never been there before and it has an enormous Euro sign! I'm not sure which star stands for Greece - probably none of them seeing it was late in, but quite possibly first out. Perhaps we'll find out, as that's where we are headed after a couple of weeks in Croatia - land of my Grandad.
|Frankfurt also has lots sausages - and potatoes - and cabbage.|