If you know me then you know I hate children. Never had them, never wanted them, trouble is they always like me! I have been asked three times to be a godparent. Really? Are you sure? Yep they were, so three times I am a godmother to three godsons. I looked up what a godparent should do… spiritual guidance is what a godparent offers. Brilliant… so each boy was given for their christening present a silver hip flask engraved with “For your spiritual guidance. Love Auntie Astley”. Job done. 
 
Put me in a place with a mass of kids and I freeze, I hate it. When I rule the world a pub could advertise NO CHILDREN and be able to enforce it. So I was somewhat stressed the other morning around 4.30am when in Heathrow airport a school party arrived. I hoped they would be on a different flight. My hope was shattered they were on the same flight and surrounded me on the plane. However, luck did sort of shine on me, when they all fell asleep just after take off as they had been up so early they were shattered. Job done.
 
My next problem was my passport. I recently renewed and received a biometric passport which means I can go through the self service passport control. Well I could if the ******* thing worked.I arrived at Barcelona and went straight to the self service, I put my bag in front of me, made sure I was standing in the correct position, I looked at camera-thingy, put passport in scanner-type-thingy and nothing happened. I was then manhandled by a Spanish official looking chappie, who was convinced I was standing and staring in the wrong place, shoved my passport back in scanner-type-thingy only to get the same result.“Bog off”said the machine. He pointed me back to the manual passport queue just behind the first group of school kids and just before the second lot arrived. My mate Carol who had sailed through self service, was pissing herself on the other side of the barrier as I was *******surrounded by the buggers. Before I could say “shut up you noisy bunch of *******kids”I was manhandled by yet another Spanish official looking chappie who demanded I was in the wrong queue. I was dragged back – protesting loudly – to the self service. Here again I put my bag in front of me, I made sure I was standing in correct position, I looked at camera-thingy, put passport in scanner-type-thingy and nothing happened. Again theSpanishofficial looking chappie, was convinced I was standing and staring in the wrong place, shoved my passport back in scanner-type-thingy only to get the same result.“Bog off”said the machine again and I was sent back to the queue to find myself behind the whole *******school party. Finally, the original Spanish official looking chappie spotted me and fast tracked me through the queue.
 
I had a lovely holiday until back at passport control in Heathrow. When I realised I was heading toward to the self service I stopped and started walking back out to join “passports to manual“ queue. Before I could change queue, I was stopped by a British official looking chappie who demanded to know what I was doing. I was then frog-marched to the self service when I did all the above things as before and finished with “Bog offfrom the machine. The British official looking chappie grabbed my passport, manhandled it before giving in and telling me to join the family queue because it’s shorter. I had gone from being surrounded by ******* school kids to screaming babies and a toddler who insisted on trying to talk to me. I would have liked to say as, the machine does, BOG OFF but its parents where in ear shot. Finally I arrived at the manual passport control chappie who was extremely nice and said… “Oh you are right, it doesn’t work does it?”…