THE security at Beziers Airport stunned me. At a rough count, since investing in a property in France back in 2002, I must have made some 36 flights there and back.

On each occasion I took my wash-bag, complete with shaving apparatus - razor and blades. On a couple of occasions I have had after-shave or shaving foam confiscated for being too large but the razor and blades passed unmolested as they checked the wash-bag.

Not this time, however. The lady opened my bag and looked at me reproachfully. She told me I was unable to take the blades. I expressed exasperation and then suggested that I returned through the gate to my car some 30 yards away, and put the offending items in the vehicle.

Security agreed - Beziers is a very small airport - and I returned to the departure lounge where Ellie informed me that she was amazed I had not had a similar problem on the previous 35 flights. I could see the logic but why now?

I opted not to debate the point as we had just experienced our first taste of assisted passage through the airport. Ellie's hip has so limited her ability to walk, I opted for this and what an excellent, well- executed service it is, particularly at Luton airport, where the staff were not only helpful but very friendly.

We departed the plane by lift and we were ferried to the terminal, and then helped along to the passport control, whereupon I took over pushing the wheelchair. It was the same on the return.

After that relatively small hiccup with the razor, we looked forward to our long weekend in England, for which each of us had brought rain-proofs, unaware that the overdue summer would come to the UK last weekend.

A meal out in the evening with a friend, a trip to Thorpe Park with two slightly underwhelmed grandsons followed on the Friday. I was amazed how many school buses there were disgorging 14 and 15- year-old girls into the car park, and was even more staggered by the manner of their dress. In most cases they left little to the imagination, as the saying goes, but I left imaginings over 15 year old girls behind me some 53-54 years ago.

I found their wardrobe tastes all rather sad but I imagine paedophiles would rated it wonderful. Ironically, that evening we spent a convivial evening with a few pints of real ale and old friends at the Sarratt pub. One of them told us that at the school where she teaches they offered an evening seminar for parents, informing them how paedophiles work on children on the internet. It is a growing threat.There are 350 children at her school: 22 parents turned up!

On a healthier but no less uncomfortable subject, I went with the boys on the Tidal Wave ride at Thorpe Park. We plunged down and while I saw the signs that we would get wet, I did not realise how wet. As we headed to the platform after the dousing, I felt cold water seeping round my nether regions. It was extremely uncomfortable but in relating the anecdote that night, I pre-emptied any retorts by saying many years ago, I may have experienced warm water there, but I am not old enough yet to experience the same sensation.

I went shopping in the Harlequin on the Saturday morning, and noted that still more stores have closed, before we met an old pal for a lovely, leisurely lunch and what they used to describe in olden days as "good fellowship" which caught the mood better than "wicked time", which they tend to say nowadays.

In fact we return every time to find new words in vogue in the UK such as preceding everything with "Basically" and that was followed by "to be fair" and now "actually, do you know what ?" seems to open many sentences.

On the Saturday afternoon, daughters from Dubai , Sarratt, Watford, Brackley and Barcelona were converging on Aldenham along with all eight grandchildren, for daughter Sophie's 40th birthday party.

It proved to be a success although the choice of music left me marooned. One of our girl's partners summed it up perfectly to my mind: "Lazy music." I liked that.

We took our two Dubai-based grand-daughters out for lunch on the Sunday, then I took them to Beaconscott model village, returning for some swings and play at a local pub.

That night we had a curry with two of our girls and the next morning I was at the Watford Observer, checking over the photos gathered for our third publication on Watford in the 20th century, due out in October.

A lot packed into a short spell, before we returned to Luton Airport and were taken to our seats ahead of the rest of the passengers.

After landing in Beziers, we paid what I thought was a very reasonable charge of 34 euros for five days of car parking, and headed for the mountains and home in the Tarn in the evening sunshine.

Car parking, flights, placing the dogs in kennels and car-hire rendered it an expensive weekend of around 550 euros before we even headed out for the first meal, but we certainly enjoyed it.

There was one moment that made me smile and I saved it for Ellie as we drove home.

"Remember when we were in the Luton departure lounge after we had passed through security and I went off to look for a Mars bar or some such," I asked.

"Well I was directed to Boots and found some sweets but you will never guess what they were selling for passengers to take straight on the plane."

She made a couple of guesses, gave up and I told her: " Razor blades!"

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Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here