FLYING once seemed downright glamorous.

Heavens, I recall donning a matching dress and coat the first time, assuming only the best dressed clients would make the airline cut.

Obviously the frequent flyers had long since opted for cosy casual wear which made folk like me feel they were in the wrong movie.

Anyway that was then. Now airports have contrived to make flying whatever the polar opposite of glamorous might be. You queue to go through security, then dump a ridiculous amount of gear in a tray. Should you have had any bits of you replaced, rely on the scanner to bleep, and someone to insist you also take your shoes off.

These are then dispensed in a separate tray which may or may not arrive in reasonable proximity to the rest of your belongings.

Meanwhile, since security is devoted to yesterday’s terror ploys, a bag must be filled with anything resembling liquid. Don’t let them tell you it’s OK if it’s under 100ml. Some jobsworth will be on hand to demand over-the-top compliance.

Although going along with all the above nonsense, my case was still stopped and searched and a second poly bag filled with deadly materials like a tiny holiday toothpaste tube and a miniature perfume dispenser. These terrorists disguised as white-haired women of a certain age must be halted and discouraged at all costs.

If they’re a shoe bomber, no sweat. Their shoes have been separated from them and are now travelling solo for the first stage of the journey. A pal of mine, who used to be an airport executive, once told me that every precaution was taken to eliminate whichever terror attempt had happened the last time and was therefore unlikely to be tried again.

On arrival at a French airport, yet another queue loomed as those of us ejected from the European Union are now quite literally “othered” at passport control.

Little point, as I did post-Brexit, renewing your passport early. It may still be burgundy and bendy, not stiffly blue, but it still asks “in the name of Her Majesty” to allow the bearer to pass freely “without let or hindrance”. Clearly the author had never encountered airport security.

Flying home, I thought to circumnavigate some of these indignities by placing every single cosmetic item from toilet and hand bag in the poly number. Guess what, the French equivalent security staff stuck them all back in my case. C’est intolerable!