Planes, Glaswegians and Passport Control

I've never had a problem with flying, in fact like most journeys I find the travelling and the method of travel to be part of the enjoyment. I had always suspected this was just childlike excitement when I went on holiday with my parents but, as I discovered when I went to the Canary Islands, I still enjoy travelling with the same childlike fascination. Who knows, maybe I just need to grow up.

So it's fair to say that when my boss laughed when I told him I was flying with British Airways, I was a little taken aback. When he then went on to explain that he cast himself as an "ABBA" (Anyone But British Airways) I began feeling slightly dubious about the journey.

Things begin at Heathrow airport, at the infamous terminal five which has caused so much controversy. To be perfectly honest, it probably wasn't worth all the hassle. The area where you get rid of your bags & sign in can only be described as a colossal waste of space. The security checkpoint personnel were friendly but again I think the whole system must have been designed by a baboon as I quite honestly think my blind autistic niece could have designed a better layout.

My main problem is the area where your hand luggage is scanned for bombs or other hazardous materials. For instance, why do they feel the need to point out on the sign that you are not allowed to carry nuclear materials? Surely the only people trying to smuggle a nuclear device in their hand luggage are not going to be put off by a sign telling them they are not allowed? Am I missing something? Is there a new Blackberry that requires a plutonium battery?

In addition, you are expected to queue for half an hour in order to be presented with a conveyor belt whereby you have to place everything short of your epidermis into a grey tray ready for a very bored looking security guard to scan it while you get frisked coming out of the body scanner. The problem is you are expected to fill the tray in 30 seconds, and this includes having to remove any laptops from laptop cases. Why can you not be given the tray at the start of the queue so that you can empty your pockets etc into the tray while you queue so that when you reach the conveyor belt you do not have to hold everyone up while you remove everything.

Moving on to the flight itself, this was a pleasant surprise. After being paraded through the first-class section, I found my seat in the rear of the cattle class. It was much better than I remembered on family holidays, with a television in the back of the seat in front and an on demand entertainment service with a huge selection of films and television programmes covering a variety of genres.

Of course, it is not usually the entertainment or the airline which provide the letdown but is in fact your fellow passengers. Sat in front of me was a Glaswegian couple and to my left were two Glaswegian guys. The wife of the couple in front decided to put her chair back, but given the velocity and force in which the chair reclined I can only assume that the age-old question of "who ate all the pies" has now been answered.

The Glaswegian fellow to my left decided that instead of dealing with the matter in a calm collected manner, he would deal with the matter by jamming his knees into the back of the chair attempting to push it back upright. Not wanting to be outdone in the rudeness and vulgarity stakes, the husband in front decided to climb over the back of the chair and threatened to punch the other Glaswegian's lights out. Given that by the look of him the only way to accurately measure this man's age was with carbon dating, my money was on the chap to my left.

Unfortunately this clash of the titans was quickly put down by the air steward who, to his credit, managed to quieten the situation in a very calm and amenable manner.

The rest of the flight proceeded very well, I spent the majority of the time watching the entertainment which included The Men Who Stare at Goats, Couples Retreat, The Simpsons and my personal favourite; an episode of The Big Bang Theory.

Having completed the flight, the only remaining obstacle was the US immigration and Customs check at JFK. All I can say is, if any of you ever lose your passport and had the audacity to report it as lost, should you ever find it again for God's sake tell the UK passport office that it has been found. The alternative is being shown to a small waiting room guarded by a couple of chaps with M16 assault rifles. Apparently, having a passport that is listed as lost or stolen is frowned upon in the US and making the mistake of not informing the passport office that it has been found is considered a gross mistake. I wouldn't mind, but it's not like the Americans never make a mistake, just ask Fidel Castro.

So, having narrowly escaped a Glaswegian fistfight and an anal probe by the US Customs and immigration service, I hailed a taxi and prepared to make my way to Manhattan...