So, having braved the ignomy of the check-in from hell, it is now time to wobble off in the direction of passport control and then security.
Passport control is simplistically a queue for idiots. 'Grockles' - or holidaymakers as they are sometimes known, join the biggest queue. I'm not sure if they think there's some free stuff and therefore, that's why there is a queue, but if they do, all they can expect is a 'long wait'.
Security is quite another kettle of fish. To start with, Mr and Mrs Ugly don't understand the concept of a metal detector. It would probably be better named 'Mental Detector'.
Please remove all metallic objects before attempting to pass through the detector - says the message, in a myriad of languages.
"I can't take this off" says Mr Tattoo, pointing at his watch, whilst looking like a piece of Blu-tac that's fallen into a slot machine.
Rather unsuprisingly, the alarms go off and so piece by piece, he walks backwards and forwards removing one item at a time until he finally passes the metal detector - to be strip searched by a security guard looking to see if he has tried to smuggle one brain cell through.
Meanwhile, the other half of this ludicrous 'double-act' is standing there, like a dumbstruck baboon, marvelling at his stupidity whilst the smaller contingent of the Ape-Tribe from hell are busy shoving pencils up each others noses.
Her smug grin soon disappears when she realises that she too has to take off the 'Terrys All Gold' she bought at the duty-free.
Some time later, it's my turn to pass through and the guards are perturbed by the fact that I have everything metallic in my jacket pocket, my laptop is out and ready for inspection.
"Can you come with me please Sir" asks Hitler Junior.
I comply and then he wants to know why I am wriggling as he attempts to search me.
"Stop fucking tickling me then" I observe.
Many years ago, I took the mini-Goths on holiday which was their first time dealing with airport rules. As I was used to travelling regularly, I had a routine which, my mini-Goths observed and followed.
Everything went onto the conveyor belt to go through the X-ray machine. Dilligently, the minature ones copied what I did and finally, put their bags of 'Pick and Mix' sweets on the belt.
"It's ok son" said the security guard "you can keep hold of this bag"
"Thanks" replied mini-Goth, sweetly "It's ok you know, there's no drugs in this one!"