There’s a litre of water plus big bottles of shampoo, sun lotion and mouthwash sloshing around next to the clothes and laptop in my green wheelie case, which has just disappeared into the mouth of the scanner at London City airport. I had even recklessly bunged in my makeup bag.
After years of being conditioned to travel with micro toiletries, my heart is beating faster. I’m waiting for a klaxon to go off and my unholy trinity of family-size Pantene, Soltan and Listerine, plus assorted cosmetics, to be unceremoniously dumped in one of the sin bins that have been stationed by security lanes since the mid-2000s.
