9pm

“Your point being?” I asked as the petty man waved the weapon around.

“It is a sword” he reiterated as if that answered any part of my singular question.

“I am well aware of that, sonny, and I purchased it for that very reason.” He really was trying my patience and I could see myself getting into one of my moods at any moment.

“Why have you attempted to smuggle a sword onto an aeroplane?” he asked.

“I have not” I said firmly.

“You have already admitted that this is your trunk and that this sword – which was found in your trunk – belongs to you. How can you now deny that you tried to smuggle said sword on board?” he asked, scratching his hair and dislodging a good few strands. An action he’ll regret one day.

“Because I placed it in my luggage quite openly. You obviously haven’t read your dictionary this morning. “Smuggle” is a verb which means to import or export secretly and illegally, especially to avoid paying duties or to evade enforcement of laws. I have done none of those things. I merely placed a sword in my trunk and left it there for a busy body to find and ask lots of silly questions.” Yes, I was definitely on the verge of getting into one of my moods.

“Ok, let’s backtrack for a moment, why have you gone a sword in your trunk?”

“It is a fascinating sword – an original prop used in Story S by various Saxon warriors and it is signed on the shaft by Peter Purves.”

The security men squinted at the fifteen year old signature upon the dull metallic blade.

“That’s all very interesting, sir, but I’m afraid you can’t take it on the plane. We’ll keep it here until you collect it.”

“That is a pathetically stupid decision, sonny, but I will respect your uniform and accept your contemptuously childish proposition” I said magnanimously.

“Now, what do we have here?” asked his colleague. He had rummaged a little deeper into my trunk and found the prop with which I represented the Patrick Troughton era.

“Looks a bit kinky to me” said the first man.

“Very pervy” agreed the one holding the suit.

“I fail to see your point” I told them honestly. “It was worn by a soldier in Story ZZ and the futuristic design employed during that epic production symbolises the artistic diversity of the Patrick Troughton production blocks. It is signed on the left b-u-t-t-o-c-k by Wendy Padbury and on the right by Frazer Hines. He joked that I should sign between their signatures but I found that rather offensive and wouldn’t let him sign any of my other memorabilia. Now, may we pass through your little cordon – there is the beginning of unrest in the queue. There will be tutting before too long and soon you may be looking at friction.”

“Not so fast, what is in this suspiciously old cocoa tin?”

“Old cocoa” I said wittily. I pointed to Richard Franklyn’s signature and assured him it merely represented the cosy warmth of the Jon Pertwee production blocks. I often used the cocoa tin prop when I delivered my lecture entitled ‘Pathetic Sentimentality and its Role in the Painful Death of Sensible Drama’.

The guard opened the tin and had a sniff.

“Pooh” he said as he came up for air. “That is definitely past its use by date.”

Ian Devine’s b-u-t-t-o-c-k-s audibly slapped together in an involuntary clench at the mere idea of drinking THE tin of cocoa which had featured so heavily in Story EEE. My own a-n-u-s contracted and there was some noticeable crackling as the unguent reacted violently with the nylon mix of my underclothings.

"We would sooner die than drink from Richard Franklyn's cocoa tin" said Ian Devine bravely. I applauded the sentiment but would perhaps not have gone so far. A few broken bones or a painful illness, yes, but I wouldn't deprive the world of me for a mere tin of cocoa, Franklyn or no Franklyn.

“Ok, explain this” said the guard as he held up a school girl uniform.

“Mr Guard” said Ian Devine, leaping to my rescue, “Dennis Brent obviously is taking that to symbolise the Tom Baker era of “Doctor Who” as it demonstrates the subtle – and highly offensive – s-e-x-u-a-l undertones which were common at that time.”

“Well said, Ian Devine” I commended.

“And this scarf?” asked the second guard.

“Ah” I stuttered. “I must’ve accidentally packed two Tom Baker items by mistake" I said quickly. I felt sure they would believe me.

“Then you must send one back to Brent Towers or risk disrupting the symmetry of your packing” chimed Ian Devine. “I shall take care of it – give me the uniform and I will take it to the post office.”

“No no” I said too loudly, I realise that now. “Take the scarf – the uniform will me more... um… interesting.”

“But the uniform is only signed by Tom Chadbon while the scarf is autographed by Ian Marter” protested Ian Devine.

“The scarf will be… erm… cheaper to post” I said weakly. Luckily I had found the avaricious chink in Ian Devine’s armour and he agreed to send the scarf home and leave me with the uniform.

“I think I’m beginning to get the idea” sighed the guard. “I suppose this stick of celery signifies Peter Davison?”

“That is correct. I deliver a fascinating thirty seven minutes on how there were several sticks of celery – from the fictional standpoint – and yet none of them actual exist in real space time.”

The guard’s eyes glazed over with concentration while his colleague rummaged round for yet more things with which to inconvenience me.

“A cat badge – you can’t take that on the plane as the pin might be used in a hijack – some medical equipment, a magazine about moose…”

“Elks” I corrected but decided to be quiet once he told me in no uncertain terms to shut up.

“Now then – this looks a bit dodgy – can you explain what it is?”

“I can” I began.

“Because it looks to me rather like a nuclear warhead.”