Remember Remember by Alan Wade

the bloody plane,” he whispered.
    “Oh sorry,” she replied, but still continued with her thoughts whispering, “why did they ask those questions about edged weapons and even tin openers and tweezers. I suppose that you could spend 2 hours on the flight trying to open the cockpit door with a tin opener without the staff on either side of the door noticing,” she giggled, “and then say, Oh I’m sorry about this, I had too much to drink and thought this door was a tin of Spam, got a little peckish you know, but I promise I won’t do it again, naughty terrorist.”
    He stopped for a moment, looked her directly in the eye and with a smile on his face said, “Seriously Jacky will you now change the subject.”
    “I’m sorry,” she responded genuinely.
    “Good,” he smiled, “now let’s go through passport control.”
    The usual routine now took place as passports were checked and unseen people watched, but these were only holiday makers on their way to Turkey.
    His mobile phone was put in a tray along with his cigar pouch and money belt and then he was asked to walk through the scanner which as always bleeped.
    He thought, “It’s the metal bits inside somewhere which hold old wounds together, I wonder if the screws get rusty.”
    His Panama hat was ordered to be removed and a young man set about a body search.
    “But most of them are incompetent,” he thought, “the mouth is never explored, nor down the back and there are simple places to hide things, such as the lining of the hat, not to mention more intimate places which might be used. Haven’t they heard of crutching? But this was holiday traffic and at six pound per hour who in security cares? I hope some do, I’m sure some don’t,” he thought.
    “The departure lounge was a little better, the shops seemed more upmarket, whatever that meant, and the general appearance was one that implied at least one cleaner emptied and swept.
    The flight was called, the announcement asked for only those people in rows 20 to 38 to go to the gate and asked the rest for restraint, but Brits like to queue and don’t listen. However they got there in the end in a seat with leg room where they were then instructed in how to open the emergency exit.
    Alan mused to himself, “Nice to know that as the plane ploughs into some Turkish mountain my job is to fuck about with some levers and locks and not pray for Gods forgiveness. Still, can’t be morbid can we, air flight’s are very safe; so why do I think I need the toilet again.”
    “Come on,” he thought, “you’re a brave bloke, you’re well trained, you know what to do, how to stay in control and kill, so why do you still get the jitters in a plane. Perhaps it’s because you’re just one of a couple of hundred others who are all trapped in a metal tube sitting on a few thousand gallons of high octane fuel with absolutely no control over events.”
    He was awakened from his thoughts by a stewardess who asked if they wanted tea or coffee and then charged them for it. “I must be getting old; they even charge for a cup of tea now; nothing is free, perhaps if I want a pee there’ll be a coin slot in the door,” he mumbled to himself.
    The flight was uneventful, First Officer Max somebody or other told them of progress and he thought, “It’s nice to know there’s someone at the front still awake, but he stuttered a bit when telling us of our destination, Dalaman Turkey. Perhaps he thought we were going to Malaga.”
    When the plane began it’s decent into Dalaman, someone announced that the Turks wanted ten pounds sterling to enter their country and Alan grumbled, “That must be a sign of poor times, why the hell can’t we pay them in their money to enter their country, can you imagine the Americans saying we need your lira or whatever to come into the USA. Bloody cheek and something I need to take up with the travel agency. What the hell do you do if you’re told you can’t enter until you’ve paid