Oh, I love a holiday! Just me, my sun cream, and... Wait. Do you hear that? Oh no. Oh dear. I’m strutting into Heathrow, it’s Terminal Five, Feeling so glamorous, feeling alive! My suitcase goes onto the X-ray machine, I’m the picture of elegance, cool and serene. But wait—what’s that noise echoing through the hall? A vibrating racket that’s shocking us all! It’s coming from inside my very own case, And all of the color just drains from my face! Oh, there’s a buzz in the bag! A hum in the queue! A terrible rumble, whatever shall I do?! I try to act proper, a good British lady, But everyone’s staring, the situation’s shady! It’s whirring, it’s purring, it’s shaking the floor, And the Border Force officer’s guarding the door! He pulls me aside, he’s an absolute wall, No sense of humor, no pity at all. He points at the luggage, "Miss, what is that sound?" My stomach does backflips right into the ground. "Oh, that?!" I squeak out, in a terrible state, "It's my electric toothbrush! The motor is great!" Bzz-BZZ-bzz! The humming changes gear as he tips it about! "It’s an aggressive beard trimmer!" I suddenly shout. "For my imaginary Uncle... Paul! He’s very hairy!" Oh, there’s a buzz in the bag! A hum in the queue! A terrible rumble, whatever shall I do?! I try to act proper, a good British lady, But everyone’s staring, the situation’s shady! It’s rattling the zippers, it’s shaking the floor, I don't think I can lie to this man anymore! "Security protocols," he says with a frown. "Open up the zipper, lay the contents down." The queue is entirely filled with businessmen, A vicar, a nun, and a judge out of ten! I try to whisper the truth, but my voice gives a crack, "It’s my evening entertainment and it's stuffed in the back!" Ziiiiiiiiiip. Oh, the humanity! Right there on the stainless steel, spinning with flair, Violently buzzing in the open air! Against my sensible knickers from Marks & Spencer's, Defying all logic, and manners, and censors! He doesn't even blink. He doesn't even smile. He just reaches out his gloved finger... Click. The silence is deafening. It really starts to linger. He hands it right back. The terminal is dead. I zip up the case with a face glowing red. I take my walk of shame down to Gate Forty-Three... Next time I fly, it's just a paperback for me! Duty-free, anyone?
