She keeps it going right up until the man flings my knickers across the aisle to his friend

ELEVEN in the morning, Customs area, Stansted airport — and no amount of wishful thinking is going to turn my over-stuffed canvas holdall into “a second small carry-on bag, no bigger than 35cm x 20cm x 20cm, which will allow a bottle of wine or equivalent to be carried”.

No amount of positive visualisation — or breath-holding or prayer — is going to make my daughter’s sports-bag shrink to 10kg, either; we’ve taken Ryanair’s recent relaxation of cabin-luggage restrictions too far. I know it, my daughter knows it and the Customs lady definitely knows it.

“They won’t let you on the plane with that,” the Customs lady says, banging my canvas holdall into a tray where it lies with its pattern of small black love hearts, looking criminal.