Last weekend, I took a short trip to icecreammecca to catch up with friends and family. Wur crew (our pet name for the classy team that are Ryanair cabin personnel) were late for once and it was after midnight when I arrived at my house. Saturday there was lunch with aunties and cousins and sisters at Mrs. Formans. I remembered a red flock wallpapered pub where my grandad would take a glass or so with his cronies. How it has changed.
On Sunday, I hoped to surprise my friend wifiewhogoesforlunch for her birthday. She had decided to go for a jaunt, but her sneaky brother, arbiteroftaste picked me up in his cool car and chased through the Scottish countryside to catch up with them. We had a nice walk at Bracklinn Falls and then we went back to their house. Her husband, blokewhogoesfishing cooked us a lovely Sunday dinner. That's where the shepherd's pie comes in. I had bought one of Tesco's finest to have for dinner on Sunday. What to do with the shepherd's pie?
Sunday evening was spent studying the various sites and advice about what one may take in cabin baggage. Yoghurt, 100 mls only in your clear plastic bag with your toothpaste and haemorrhoid cream. Jam, same. Salsa, no. Peanut butter, no. Salad dressing, no. But not a word about shepherd's pie. Gravy is expressly forbidden. I wondered how much gravy is in finest shepherd's pie. I decided to risk it.
On Monday, I had Lunch with horseysis, highheelsis and legallyniece in Bar Sygn and then it was off to the airport. I prepared myself for the shepherd's pie security screening. After an airport coffee with wifiewhogoesforlunch, I made my way airside. I travel without belts and jewellery and all the other stuff that slows things down at security, so I am normally through fairly fast. I was looking forward to providing some entertainment for the other travellers with my shepherd's pie. I imagined their puzzled faces at the sight of a shepherd's pie in the confiscated items bin. I saw their pitying smiles as I explained the lack of internet guidance on mince and mashed potato dishes. I visualised them at their destinations telling how somewifie tried to take shepherd's pie on a plane.
It was my turn. I unzipped my shiny new purple suitcase and took out my laptop. The shepherd's pie was safe in the other compartment with the bacon and cheese. I stepped through the archway. No beep. We had almost made it, my shepherd's pie and me. Then my bright purple case was moved from the conveyor belt to the table where they put items for hand searching. I was all set to lose my shepherd's pie. I waited as non English speakers were divested of their shaving foam and shampoo.
The lady with the latex gloves turned to her colleague. "What's in this one?" she asked, indicating the lovely shiny purple case. He shrugged. "Is this yours?" she asked in an almost threatening tone. I nodded. My mind was scanning the empty fridge in porkandcabbageland looking for an alternative dinner. "I am just going to test the outside" she said. She took a cotton wool swab and wiped over the shiny purple polycarbonate. She put the cotton wool swab in a device which confirmed the non-explosive nature of the polycarbonate. My shepherd's pie had passed the test.
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