Don't know about everybody else - though I do strongly suspect that I won't be alone - but I am convinced that the contents of one's handbag should always remain private - hidden from all prying eyes, including your own.

So I wasn't a happy bunny when the security officer at the airport (another fine recruit furnished by B*st*rds Only Need Apply Agency) picked on my handbag. It's not as if it looks an instrument of mass destruction. For a start, it only measures abut 10" x 8" X 1" to ensure it beats budget airline cabin baggage restrictions. But it packed enough security alert power to make the screening conveyor belt judder to a halt, set off klaxons and get two men in uniform very excited.

So then began the scene that makes air travel such a delight. First the man plucked out 100 classic books, courtesy of my Nintendo DS. Then a library of songs, courtesy of my ipod. Then my mobile phone. Then a memory stick. Getting frustrated, he dug deeper and brandished my lipstick, lip liner and a mirror in the direction of his colleague, who still shook his head. A packet of tissues, my purse, my passport, several crumpled tissues, a half-opened packet of Halls MenthoEucalyptus - yes, the fumes could probably blind the pilot - a purse of Nintendo games, a purse of English coins, several crumpled bits of paper, a small notebook and a pen were tossed into one of the trays, then he passed the handbag back through the security.

Klaxons again. A small crowd of idlers gathered to see whether a rabbit equipped with a machete would emerge from my handbag. He rummaged again - discovered a small inner pocket. Looked triumphant, until he held up a tampax. His mate hurriedly shook his head again, to my relief. Then just as I was about to fear for the zip and buckle on my handbag, he held up ...

... a hair grip. A bloody hair grip. And I have to confess - in a moment of deep embarrassment and frustration - that I very, very nearly lost all self-control and only managed by a hair's breadth not to demonstrate, using B*st*rd as a model, how a hair grip can indeed induce deep pain. Particularly as the young blonde woman after me was allowed to sail through with enough luggage to sink a battleship, plus two lethal pink stilettos, with nothing more than a grin and a bit of chat up from B*st*rd.