We approach airport security without a care in the world.

"Excuse me sir can you put that bag here!" says one of the many crack security experts partolling Manchester Airport.

My Dad places his bag on top of a magazine rack / ash tray like contraption expecting to get searched. This would make sense as he fits the stereotype of a terrorist - he has a beard.

"It's supposed to slip in an out of that!" she says pointing to the box that is about a third the size of his bag. He takes his sweater out and his jacket out. He squashes the bag and puts his foot on the top of it and pushes it into the box. "Hmmmm, OK, It's supposed to slide in an out easily. I'll let you off this time." she says.

He picks up the bag by the handle and brings the entire magazine rack / ash tray with him. I make a mental note of bagsy-ing a new 22 by 18 by 10 flight bag for my Dad's Christmas present.

We go through the gate and my bag gets pulled for a "random" search. It is about now I realise that however many times Fleet Street reporters manage to get explosives into airports, I probably shouldn't have packed my hair wax in my hand luggage the week after such substances were banned.

"Have you packed your bag yourself? Are you carrying anything for anyone else?" the security guard asks.

"It was packed by me and no one has interferred with it!" I say, lying through my teeth and trying to remember to forget that My Canadian Girlfried threw some unidentified muffins and Green and Blacks into the bag. If I mentioned this, it would raise alarms as she is foriegn.

I try to act all innocently as if I had never heard of any terrorist plot or any restrictions bringing anything onto a plane. She finds the gel, opens it and looks at me like Anne Robbinson looks at a contestant who has answered George Bernard Shaw instead of Oscar Wilde. But she adds more menace, in a sort of "you're trying to deliberately breach security and are worse than Osama." kind of way. My expression changes from carefree fake ignorance to one of slightly shocked guilt in a "OK you caught me but I'm going to pretend I didn't know it was illegal and have brought a hat anyway just in case you spotted it and took it off me and I couldn't wax my hair tomorrow." sort of way.

I consider protesting that it is in fact hair wax and not hair gel but decide that a place where the police have guns is not the right place to discuss the fine differences between a wax and a gel.

I skulk away wondering what I will do without my gel. It will be another hour or so before we reach London and get to Paddington Mega-Mall / Station.