Thanksgiving is always a huge deal in the US and this year was no different, except for the fact that the media were full of dire warnings about the inconveniences travellers would face at the airports due to the new regulations imposed by the Transportation Security Administration in the US, and the new body-scanning techniques and the euphemistically named ‘pat-down’, which is not so much a pat-down as a feel-up.
Thanksgiving is always a huge deal in the US and this year was no different, except for the fact that the media were full of dire warnings about the inconveniences travellers would face at the airports due to the new regulations imposed by the Transportation Security Administration in the US, and the new body-scanning techniques and the euphemistically named ‘pat-down’, which is not so much a pat-down as a feel-up. Watching a news programme, I was treated to the sight of a lady whose breast implant had been poked so violently that it became dislodged and slid down to her diaphragm. Then I listened to a poor soul whose colostomy bag had sprung a leak due to a severe going-over. Rather than face the indignity of the pat-down when flying back to London last week, I decided in advance to choose the body scan, but I needn’t have worried. At JFK there were no new x-ray machines or indeed pat-downs, just a laconic TSA employee who politely waved me through the metal detector, then asked if I was Joan Collins. As I had stripped myself down to bare minimum — no shoes, hat, sweater, jewellery or sunglasses — I was surprised he recognised me. Not so polite were some of my fellow travellers — one, after removing his belt, flourished it like a lariat and nearly garrotted me. But our flight to Heathrow was excellent, landing on time in spite of doomsday prophecies about England being completely frozen over.
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