It’s usually at this point in the term that people start discussing their holiday plans. There’s never been a better time for it as we seem to be living through a very damp apocalypse here in York, and with nothing but more rain expected in the immediate future, the prospect of some sun could be great.
The kind of escape people book tells you a lot; there are the French chateau troop, whose fathers’ generally own the 18th century pile they stay in; those that go away and work saving malnourished orphans in Outer Mongolia, and are nearly always that over-eager PPE student petitioning for something outside the library; or the prospect of the hideous ‘lash’ (can be substituted for ‘gash’) tours that parade their idiocy round the fine cultural hotspots Malaga and certain pockets of Greece have to offer, in which case please see the majority of male sports clubs in York.
Really, what I need to do is dress up like a businessman, stride my way through security, scowling ferociously over my moustache at the expense of my time, and pin-suit my way back into smoky delights
Of course, if you’re a smoker, going on holiday can fulfil a more important purpose: simultaneous to frying your skin to a shade more usually seen on Donatella Versace, you can also stock up on that most essential of products.
Within the E.U. you’re allowed to bring back 800 cigarettes, or 40 packs. Outside the E.U. it’s a paltry 200 cigarettes. Obviously, buying cigarettes in Europe isn’t that much cheaper than here, but it does have the added bonus of a more controlled market, which means you’re less likely to wake up alone, with a banging headache, and wonder why your mouth tastes as though a cat defecated in it. Nonetheless, the further afield you go, the cheaper the smoker becomes.
The problems come when trying to get them home. I’m lucky enough to be going away this summer, and I plan to take as many packs back as I can lay my nicotine stained fingers upon. Without asking my friends to be my willing drug mules through security, I’ve been considering the best way to get through customs.
Firstly, obviously, there’s really no point in attempting to put them in the hold. The thought of some souped-up drug hound sticking his nose anywhere near my belongings and then having them firmly detained I fear might be too heartbreaking. I could break up the bricks (ten packs for the uninitiated among you) and then hide them on my body. However, seeing as I don’t weigh 20 stone (and therefore should require two seats on the plane) and would probably find it hard to secrete let alone 20 packs on my body, I somehow don’t think stacking 40 upwards packs over my figure is going to be an overly successful operation. And would probably result in my exclusion in one of those dark, scary little rooms always present in airports located in the more ‘interesting’ corners of the globe. Really, what I need to do is dress up like a businessman, stride my way through security, scowling ferociously over my moustache at the expense of my time, and pin-suit my way back into smoky delights. Of course, the fact I don’t own a suit might be a slight flaw in an otherwise brilliant plan.
My only past experience of airport infringement came during a European flight shortly after 9/11. During the course of the flight not only did I discover that my battered coat pockets contained more BB pellets than I could safely dispose of down the back of the seat, but I was also carrying a collection of 9” nails, which had worked their way through my pockets and were now comfortably lining the interior of my jacket. Wasn’t a great flight, if I’m honest.
What does your holiday say about you? Well, even if unemployment post graduation does beckon, however lucrative, I don’t think drug smuggling is a viable career option.