Excess Baggage

The utter humiliation of having to unpack and redistribute our excess baggage at check in, was only ameliorated by our access to “previous day check in facility” and was not therefore witnessed by a 747 full of HP’s wrestling with their bum bags and shell suits. Horrors; that my entire bikini collection may have been on display and ridicule to the entire population of Basildon gawping in amazement as to why anyone would ever need 27 bikinis, 8 pairs of identical skinny jeans and 10 pairs of matching sunglasses…….albeit principally from Primani!

No I was not going to set up a stall and hawk them on the beach simply my intention was to give them to my loyal friends in a communist country where Lycra is still an invention of wonder and amazement, ancient mobile phones fetch a princely sum on the black market and Top Shop is a designer label equivalent in status to Christian Dior.However our lame excuses as to the remarkable over estimation of our baggage allowance fell on the deaf ears of the sympathetically challenged aspiring Trolley-dolly behind the counter, clearly still in traumatic recovery from her recent personality by-pass and a graduate with honours from the Saddam Hussein charm school, her displeasure was further amplified when her supervisor intervened and suggested we purchase a striking new holdall for the princely sum of 10 notes and thus re-distribute our heavier items at no extra cost. We had documentation that we had booked before the allowance was reduced and although a good 15 kilos over limit she had a more sympathetic ear when I assured her only 50% of it would be returning as I leave behind the diverse and explicit shopping list from my Cuban friends. Not to mention three pairs of fluffy bunny ears, check. Three identical Che Guevara T-shirts, check (coals to Newcastle comes to mind!!!) and three inflatable union jack air guitars, check...well it was a wedding and someone had to organise the stag do!!!!

What is it with this uniform that it is a license to be miserable and unpleasant to happy holidaymakers? I don’t doubt the reality that we had already pre-allocated seats in row 1, would have disempowered her and diminished her authority to relegate us to the rear of the aircraft and subsequent tail end trauma for ten hours. So as Chechzilla (therein lies a clue!!!) breathed fire, we decanted boots, bottles and bras in order to reduce the weights from 30kg down to a mere 23; apparently ‘elf and safety now prohibit the lifting of such excessive volumes. Since when did those strapping steroid enhanced baggage handlers become such wusses? Apparently April 2009……. and jolly lucky I wasn’t travelling with my Louis Vuitton steamer wardrobe trunk, goodness me, whatever does Joan Collins do when she flies with Thomson?

These check-in cheerleaders are generally one and the same who allocate seats and later meet and greet at the gate but this Chechzilla had met her match. Having already tolerated the Spanish inquisition as to the weight of our hand luggage (which fortunately resided in the hotel room throughout the endurance of this sad little episode) we had assured her it was no more than a small tote bag, We are visualising a neat little Longchamps Le Pliage here…….NO NO Noooooo, minor porky lost in imagination, I had the presence of mind to calculate that Chechzilla on duty at 10pm, would not be present for the morning shift and a new fresh team would be there to pass through our commodious carry on bags (now overflowing with shoes and sandals).

Having no spare luggage labels I was convinced our fetching new carryall would stray en-route, its contents lost forever so, as a precaution, I did feel it necessary to wear 2 jackets, virtually the entire contents of my jewellery roll and cowboy boots through security to the departures lounge just in case we were weighed again. Thus “Bling-ed” to excess I hit the “Jackpot” going through the metal detectors, all the lights flashed, alarms sounded and for a minute I thought I was back in Vegas!!! But the security guy probably just assumed I was Katie Price’s sister and with a quick frisk and wave of his magic wand off I went.

Fortunately all was well and there are now some very happy Pimped up bunnies in Cuba.