An encounter with Jobsworth.

Got back yesterday afternoon from a week in England spent trying - ineffectually - to sort out some problems Candy has been having. Having successfully negotiated security at Stansted, I was approaching the gate when I was summoned by Jobsworth to fit my carry-on bag into the container used by RyanAir to check that your bag doesn’t exceed the dimensions allowed by the airline. It was a tight squeeze. ‘It’s too big. You’ll have to pay £20,’ he exclaimed triumphantly. 

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘Let me take some stuff out.’

  Having taken out my manbag, and hidden it under my jacket, struggled to put on a sweater of Pat’s which was several sizes too small for me, and removed a magazine from an outside pocket the case fitted. As soon as I got to the gate, I took off the sweater and put it and the rest of the stuff back in the bag. Needless to say the bag still fitted comfortably in the overhead locker. O the relief to get away from England. To quote Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria quartet:

‘Hail Albion drear

Fond home of cant

Pursewarden sends thee greetings scant.

Thy notions he’s turned back to front,

Abhorring cant, adoring ----’