Airport security (no one is safe)

I am beginning to think it is me, it is not just random stuff.
It all started good, Saturday lunch, pancakes with Darcys and Sammy and then dashing of for Stanstead.
Stanstead can be a little hectic but when I was checking in, there was hardly anyone there and I felt at peace. May this story be an example of premature inner peace.
As I turned the corner, there was a sea of people waiting to go through security, all happy and eager to fly to their destination, why wouldn't they be...and so was I. For the first half an hour, I was not worried at all, just mildly annoyed by the woman with a hyperactive kid behind me. (A good tip for travelling with children, 5ml dose of Pyriton makes them sufficiently drowsy for few hours without any real harm.)
But then panic ensued. People whose planes were leaving in 20 minutes were seen before us, chaos rising among more common passengers, few verbal attacks on helpful chap that was sweating visibly, trying to organise those who were now in a real danger of missing a plane.
I was still at peace, just rather un amused that I will not get to browse duty free...
Only 3 lanes working, air thick with panic, the security was tight...
I would not have been surprised to see SAS soldiers alongside their vicious hounds...
But then at some point, a guy that was in front of me, that was on the same flight started to panic and torture the organising guy, and this started to make me think I might just get stranded, a thought that never ever entered my world of travel as I am so diligent at leaving on time.
We were cutting it thin by then and the mother with an annoying kid started to panic too.
In my mind I played all the episodes of 'Airport' and sudden horror descended upon me like a death. I looked at my boarding pass to check the time and caught the 'If you're late, we won't wait' which did little to calm me.
The kid was seriously annoying me by now. The guy in front of me managed to take advantage of some couple whose plane was leaving earlier and sneaking behind them under the elastic barrier. Friendly man with a screaming kid in front started to demand the organising man open another line using few chosen words. Organising man, apologising, sweating, close to diarrhoea now, running around trying to get people through on time for their flights...

At some point we come to the conveyor belt. I am thinking, go through, run, catch the wee train and be there just as they are contemplating closing the gate, I have even 15 minutes before the flight departs. OK, it is tight but it is manageable.
I go through and I wait for my bags and I see Orla Kiely travelling on the conveyor belt towards my arms, when all of a sudden, it turns 90 degrees and goes another way, away from me and into arms of security officer.
I learnt my lesson, I have no laptop or a penguin this time so I assume I am safe and this is just a misunderstanding.

They always ask politely "May I search your bag?" and I always wonder what happens when you say no. As this was not in my 15 minute plan, I start to hyperventilate and make it known to her that I have waited in the queue for the past 75 minutes and am now very late for my plane. She makes a joke about it. The mother and annoying kid pick their bags and the mother reassures me she will ask the plane to wait. I don't know if it was the joke, the mother, clearly mocking me, or the combination of both seductively laced with the dangerous 'out of control' feeling which did it, but I start crying, at first just slowly but then as the security singles my phone, i pod and camera for further tests, uncontrollably. Damn, damn my decision to wear more make up...is all I am going to say.
I am ashamed of this, my reputation of being able to argue my point obviously in tatters but I feel there is no point, they are allowed to examine you internally in the name of security and that would definitely delay me further.
The woman is going through my make up bag, which features multitudes of small, travel sized pots. I always travel prepared. Sudocrem, because one never knows when one will graze oneself or acquire a small insect bite. Diprobase, prescribed for the likes of me, allergic to everything by GP, Hair by Tigi bubblegum smell potion, eye cream, because I'm worth it, Nivea, because that cures everything and acts as a lubricant (although not well)...
After sniffing through it all (why employ dogs) I am released and catch a flight.


On the way back, Orla Kiely goes through without an episode but I sound an alarm and am yet again made an example of. The woman, clearly a lesbian, takes sick pleasure in groping me, and I am ashamed to admit, after a long stretch of unvoluntary celibacy, that when she was doing my boobs, I wasn't so upset anymore...

(photos to follow...)