Keeping travel nice and boring

Tearful travellers and lost luggage gave way to terrified travellers leading to planes being unloaded because fellow passengers looked suspicious (they don't dress like you is what that generally means) so here's an antidote tale.

Last week we were scheduled to fly from Birmingham to Amsterdam leaving at 6.50am. Restrictions had been eased a bit so you could take in a small bag but nothing like drinks, other liquids or make-up.

Through airside beyond the stringent checking, those of us who feel lost without a lipstick could buy a new one AND a newspaper AND a book. Wow!

We went smoothly and easily through tight security, shoes and belts in hand and boarded spot on time. Despite a delay for one passenger who the pilot reported had been detained at the airport, so his luggage had to be removed from the plane, we took off just 25 minutes late and landed at Schipol airport on if not before expected time.

The return journey was just as easy. No unreasonable people at either airport (on the contrary actually) and despite busy Friday evening flights, no delays anywhere.

Not exactly trans-Atlantic I know. But for us, read millions more who fly regularly, safely and even in these worrying times, don't panic — and definitely don't cancel. So uneventful, it's boring really isn't it? But boring is just how we like our travel!

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We know cash is tight especially for health and police services and tough decisions have to be made. We feel deeply for those in charge who have to make such massive decisions.

So how the Home Office must have anguished over whether to spend £164,000 on extra equipment for over-stretched police forces or a new logo for the Serious Organised Crime Agency which most people can't understand.

Guess which won! Tough at the top, eh?

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Oh dear, dear, dear! And we thought we had at least one sport where tempers rarely flared, cheating never happened, where the whites were never whiter, the grass never greener (except between wickets) and where honesty and decency on the pitch still meant something.

Until this week. Now, the glorious game of cricket, the thwack of leather on willow (or whatever they use for bats and balls these days) has gone the way of other, lesser sporting activities. And all thanks to one suspect ball, one suspect (so far as the Pakistan team is concerned) Australian umpire and one corporate tantrum over tea.

While knowing how these things can escalate, maybe one more international incident. And that's definitely not cricket.

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I was admiring a super little sports car and was instantly approached by a dashing young man with a handful of leaflets. "I can tell you're interested," he enthused.

"Hmm! Do you think I could manage another sporty model then?" I asked.

"Oh more than one, I'd say. Our sleekest models should go to more mature women of character and experience," the charmer glibly lied. I know he's a salesman but hey, what a hero!

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Blair of the Met's views that our streets are so safe people can leave doors open, confirms what many have thought for ages. That he should be replaced by a trio of infinitely better candidates on a job share. Noddy, Big Ears and Mr Plod!

By Shirley Tart