Thierry Puzelat, 2010 Update
So this is how it goes. The alarm goes off early, somewhere between 3:45am and 4am. The exact time depends on the flight, which itself depends on the airline; whether we actually take off on time depends on other things of course, from volcanic ash to cabin crew strikes, both of which have blighted my wine-related travel during 2010. The drive to the airport is trouble-free; it might take 45 minutes at other times of the day, but the sky is pitch-black and the roads are still empty, and I make it there comfortably within 30 minutes. I come to a halt in a secure parking area (an exorbitant daily fee) and then take the bus down to the airport terminal. I’m staying for a few days, so I have a bag to check in; I diligently queue in order to do so before making my way to security upstairs.
There I revel in the spectacle of the security check, and observe a middle-aged gentleman in front of me mourn the loss of a full 70cl bottle of Johnnie Walker that he has just had confiscated; it is surprising how many people still seem unaware of the restrictions on taking fluids on board flights departing the UK. Other people seem amazed that the security checks might require them to remove coats, or belts, or shoes, despite the eternally-looping instruction video that plays on a dozen screens overhead, an audio-visual manual on How to Get Through Security that a child of five could understand.
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