Stripping for George W

By the time my slowternet connection publishes this it’ll probably be out of date. Tony *pause* B will probably have resigned and some keen eager beaver MP made Prime Minister will gamble public safety in favour of media brownie points by returning airport security to its normal levels. But just in case it isn’t, and he doesn’t, or they don’t, here it is…

After all the furore of the media coverage of London airports struggling to cope with heightened security I wasn’t expecting an easy check-in at Gatwick flying out. I expected former night-club bouncers in police uniforms carrying AK-47’s in order to make me feel safe in my free and gun-free society. I expected extra staff scrutinising every piece of luggage I had with me, making sure there was not even a droplet of water left in my freshly-washed socks for fear it might be a terrorist plot. Instead I was faced with a man in a luminous jacket carrying a little see-thru bag. What did he do to safeguard everyone’s safety? He asked if people were carrying liquids, and if they were he asked them to hand them over or pack them in a suitcase. That’s okay then. I’m sure the terrorists would answer “Yes…I mean no!” in a Python-esque way.
The girl at check-in didn’t even double check! Instead we were expected to own up in a typically British way – we were supposed to read the very long sign detailing what could and could not be carried on, and then follow it’s instructions. Excellent.

Having established everyone’s safety thus far, the team of x-rayers really went to town. Standing in Gatwick, everyone was forced to approach security as if about to play a Gamelan – in socks – and then remove their belts. This would be fine anywhere but England. In england we have a tendency towards baggy trousers. Never have I seen so many men desperately holding up their trousers by keeping their hands firmly in the pockets. You could see the worry and stress on their faces as they were frisked by security, not because of the fear of being found out and imprisoned, but because there’s only a limited amount of time before their Mr Grumpy pants are being shown to all around! So now we all like sweaty police-fearing terrorists as we strip to keep George W happy, all the time eyeing up passengers around us to see if they’ll crack and admit their plot under the stress of our gaze. I feel safer already!

Now I know it’s all for our safety. I know it’s better to have a few minutes of inconvenience rather than “being blown up by a bomb” as one lady tactfully put it in front of us in the queue. But is all of this to keep George W happy in the knowledge that we’re safe, or is it to keep him happy in the knowledge we all live in fear?

Incidentally, on the return trip from Iceland there was only one tiny sign about the banned liquids, no questions about them from check-in, and I could have taken my scrummy Icelandic fizzy orange on if I hadn’t thrown it away before checking in! And to think, I abandoned my book by Mark Thomas on the Arms Trade at home in order to avoid any undue scrutiny on the way out…