Sunday night and I’m already in a growly mood at the prospect of going to the airport on Tuesday morning. I hate what we have to go through in the name of non-discriminatory security but I hate even more the fact that I haven’t the guts to fight it. Make a fuss, you won’t be going any place. And I do need to travel, to see my family and to work.

I have this dream, of a revolt by the great mass of decent law-abiding travellers. Old guys who wear their pants too high, old ladies in Velcro-closure shoes, reclaiming the right to carry more than 100 ml of Pepto Bismol air side. Yey! I’d be with them. I just need someone else to go first. 

I am not, by any rational criteria, a security risk. I have a clean police record, greying hair and quite often a bag containing Gruffalo books and jelly dinosaurs. Haven’t I earned the right to go to my boarding gate without being yelled at for not displaying the umbrella in my carry-on? I could go on. And on. And on. But I really can’t improve on Charles Krauthammer’s recent and most excellent blog on the subject so I’m going to link to that and be damned: http://www.nationalreview.com/articles/253550/don-t-touch-my-junk-charles-krauthammer

Back next weekend, folks.

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