Hand luggage only for the journey home...
...for fear of a rogue gendarme stuffing my bag with explosives, to be detected by a pup with sinus problems. In the wonderfully deadpan account of the New York Times' Matthew Saltmarsh:"According to accounts by the police, the suitcase was chosen at random after its owner checked it in, and the explosives were inserted by bomb squad gendarmes. A sniffer dog successfully identified the bag,a dark blue suitcase, but a second dog failed to do so, and before anyone noticed the bag had disappeared down a conveyer belt...At a time when the threat of terrorism is very much on the minds of the police in Europe, the incident was a blow for the French."
And those cheese eating surrender monkeys have already let Richard Reid slip through the net.
Anyways, with a mere fortnight before our return to the motherland, I started wondering what I miss about il Regno Unito.
1) Grass. Yes I know it is always greener on the other side, but in Venice there is none. Not even a derisory, turd infested attempt at a verge.
2) Mexican food.
3) The daily deluge of junk mail from Alveston Place, Leamington Spa.
4) Fuller's Jack Frost, especially by the fire in the Garibaldi.
5) Full access to football results. The Sunday Times even publishes the Northeastern Christian Fellowship Division Two results, which are difficult to find even on the internet. As for trying to get league tables for the conference feeder leagues...
6) Radio. Here the only English language stations are a thing where you phone into a monk for scriptural advice, and the US armed forces radio. Makes me long for Wogan, never mind Wossey.
7) Tomato ketchup.
For the sake of balance, there are some things I do not miss:
1) David Blunkett
2) Anybody who has, or may have, or may have even considered, sleeping with David Blunkett.
3) Chris Kamara yelling his match report. Every bloody week.
4) An uncritical respect for English clubs in Europe. We can't live on former Manker glories forever.
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