and again...

so, check in. I had cunningly found a desk which allowed me to weigh the baggage and both were just under the appropriate limits. Although the hand luggage was not weighed, the people in front of me were given hell for being a few kilos over...
Through the security gate and whilst my case is happy to fit in the Ryan Air guide the one at the gate was a how tall is your case competition. Mine failed, I am shaving off that top handle. I had seen other people being turned back, but again I was allowed to proceed. Then it was weighed. Ha ha! I was one step ahead! So I am sitting here at the gate, a few metres from a gaggle of khaki wearing imbiciles whom, in the street, you might mistake for adults. So as they sit there nudging each other as women walk by and make farting noises I sit here, waiting for my battery to passout from the excitement of having been in the vicinity of the bastard drafted off-spring of Benny Hill. Oh look! it's a cat falling into a toilet.... FFS!!!

Oh, I'm totally knackered and really not up for the every man for himself boarding style. How can this be good practice? Don't care how much it is, next time I'm flying with something which wasn't spawned from Darwinian principles.