Feeling at home in Stansted...

In London Stansted's store room there are my travel size shampoo, my gel, my body milk and my deodorant, all of them almost full, almost new (more than 10 euros). Next to them, there are bottles of eau de cologne, tooth paste and all kind of liquids or cosmetics belonging to other astonished passengers. I wonder what they do with all that afterwards. I guess they do not sell it, but maybe Stansted's staff just wrap it and give my cosmetic set as Boot's Christmas present. -"May I know why I cannot carry those with me into the plane?" "- I can't tell you exactly why, ask the security staff." Security stuff. That's how the shop where they would sell all my things could be called.

That answer is not a valid one at 4 am, after having spent a wonderful 4-hours period on the airport's floor (with a hundred people more - somehow reconforting).

The rest of cosmetics that I was allowed to keep (they were smaller than 250 cl or so) had to be put in a stupid plastic bag, which I just could get queueing again at the check-in point. No, I need an explanation for all this obsessive procedure.

And then took my shoes off. And then, when I thought that they would want us to go into a little room where a woman would shave our legs (it would have been as puzzling as the thing with the shampoos), I was happy to see that finally I was free to go to my gate and start my sleep where I left it.

This morning I had again the feeling of wanting to move into the woods, where there are no terrorists, no alleged terrorists and no absurd security measures that remind me of the Bush world in which we live.

But changing topic and tone, London was cool, a great city when you can visit it once or twice a year. Intense days with lots of people I loved to meet. Ah, and no pictures at all :(

Typical Stansted's landscape at night. Any night