I watch ‘Border Patrol’ on Discovery. Australian Customs officials scare the shit out of dumb tourists. Innocent questions end with broken ex-tourists at the departures desk. ‘Good day sir/ma’am, what is the nature of your trip to Australia?’ And that’s where it all unravels. But highly entertaining. Nobody wants to hear ‘Please come with us, we have some questions for you.’ Even if you’ve done nothing, the thought of a strangers lubricated finger always scares you.
I felt rather confident having made it through most of the check points, I could see light and traffic and a Starbucks, so I was close to ‘The UK’ and far from a glove in my ass! Next stop Edinburgh.
The security guard at Heathrow said the wine we bought in Johannesburg from duty free in a sealed plastic bag, was illegal, and not purchased in the EU. But we were only just arriving in the EU? Was my bottle of wine about to bring the EU to its already sore knees! The uniformed man at the x-ray machine would have us believe this. We could check it into our luggage… but only had 30 minutes to board the next plane. Good bye wine! I wasn’t willing to explain what ‘Duty Free’ meant. Besides, he had new blue rubber gloves on, and I was concerned about them becoming brown!
As I walked away conjuring the taste of Rupert & Rothchild Classique on my palate, I felt a a bad taste in my mouth. Arriving in a new country is not as much fun as it looks in the movies. All I saw was an inland security guard with dinner plans. I hope he enjoyed the soft berry notes of the Classique? And that his date gets to test his new gloves?