Single Daft Female

After a long train journey from northern Spain to Paris, I sat back, stretched out my aching legs and kicked off my yellow Kickers. I hungrily scoffed Belgian waffles and guzzled a cold beer. What I really wanted though was a cup of tea followed by a curry, as I'd been away from Britain for 2 years and had got sick and tired of eating tortilla de patatas and watered down cheap red wine.

We went under the tunnel and there was no longer anything to see out of the window except water and fish (not really). We were suddenly in England, the landscape and houses looking so incredibly different to just 20 minutes before. I was so excited, I was back! A policeman was doing his rounds, checking people's passports. He stopped to glance at my passport, handed it back and asked me where I'd been and what I'd been doing. I beamed as I told him all about my 2 years away and the long train trip thus far. He smiled back and looked genuinely interested in my story and then went on his way.

Soon we got to Waterloo, I heaved my backpack and bag onto the platform. I didn't need a trolley and started on my merry way. Soon I noticed a couple (male & female), dressed in what looked like some kind of uniform walking parallel to me and glancing at me every so often. All of a sudden they grabbed me gently (if you can ever describe being grabbed as gentle) and shuffled me into a room just off the platform, all the while other travellers looking at me as though I was Charles Manson.

I hadn't planned on this welcome reception and started to worry about my friend who was waiting for me on the station concourse. The man, quite obviously a customs official started asking me what was in the bags even though he'd begun rifling through them already. He handled my things as though they were covered in horse manure or worse. I was starting to get slightly agitated and a tad hysterical. He opened a bottle of perfume I'd bought for my mother, sniffed it and began to ask me questions.

By this time, my friend had been brought into the room for moral support, except I was instructed not to look at my friend, nor the floor but at my inquisitor. He asked me the typical drugs related questions and insinuated that as I was a young female travelling on my own I would be susceptible to the lure of drug smuggling. At this point I lost my temper and said something to the effect of "for God's sake, I'm 33, I was teaching in northern Spain, not go-go dancing in Thailand!". I made the situation worse when I blurted "I don't do drugs, I only hung out in bars where there was lots of cocaine floating about in the atmosphere". My friend looked at me and shook his head, looking at me with pity in his eyes.

The lady customs officer was behind us vacuuming my yellow Kickers. If I hadn't been so upset I would have found the whole episode very funny indeed. She had collected a sample from my Kickers (I was hoping, bits of wool from my socks, sand or a spider or two). Unfortunately, she had found microscopic traces of cocaine and cannabis. Yeah, like I keep drugs in my shoes. I was beginning to get very angry. They also found traces in my purse and I sat there remembering something I read that every bank note contains traces of cocaine. The whole scenario was absurd - they had found no drugs apart from microscopic specks - this did not make me either a drug user or a smuggler (unless I was planning to supply fleas with illegal substances).

It took a turn for the worst when I was ushered or pushed into a room with another female officer while the other barred the door with her big fat body shaped as a St Andrew's cross. They said they were going to strip search me. "Oh great!" I said and then burst into tears. I'd had a 10 hour journey to London and didn't fancy anyone going near my sweaty parts, although that would have been some kind of revenge. I don't know what happened to change their minds, but they didn't search me intimately after all, they just patted me all over, made me sign something and sent me on my way.

I left with my friend feeling absolutely relieved. We celebrated in a nearby pub and then took the underground to north London, where we were going for a curry. A man opposite me looked rather the worse for wear and suddenly lurched forward. My friend lept up and moved out of the way - I, unfortunately, wasn't quick enough and the guy vomited all over my yellow Kickers. The curry we had later was delicious by the way.