What a palaver at Gatwick Airport, "The Airport You'll Get If You're Not Willing To Pay".

We've had all the usual security searches given the "heightened level of awareness" (read: BAA panic attack) in the wake of recent events. God help the security staff having to frisk all the chavs here for metal objects - is it any bloody wonder the flight to Mallorca's four hours delayed...

Not that I have any problem with all the security, it's completely fine by me. If you're not intending to blow up the aircraft, you shouldn't be too bothered about a bit of a drop in hand luggage capacity and an inability to carry toothpaste on board with you. In fact, I think I prefer the little laptop bag I have with me to the unwieldy rucksack I'd have been lugging around otherwise.

Indeed I can find only one fault with air travel at Gatwick Airport, and that's all the other passengers. I am about to sound extraordinaly elitist but can we, please, have an airport with some sort of pre-qualifying? Perhaps a verbal reasoning test over the phone when booking, or a special episode of "Test The Nation" on BBC1 which determines the airport you use for the next year. We could have Gatwick Grammar and Gatwick Comprehensive.

The reason I say this is simply the sheer mass of dolts wandering this airport. I've never seen anything like it: a seeping wound of the vacant pouring into the departure lounge. Look at the destinations: Mallorca, Las Palmas, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Corfu. You can see in every second or third person's eyes a look of, "I'm here because over the next week or two I fully intend to not stop drinking."

This is backed up by the tannoy announcements. The poor sod making the last calls for passengers has routinely, in the hour or so I've sat here, been faced with upwards of 15 or 20 names to read out! Where the hell have all these people got to? What's so tricky about getting to the damned plane?

It is horrifying to place the engineering marvel of human accomplishment that is the aircraft itself, capable of flying thousands of miles, up against the evolutionary catastrophe that is the ordinary human passenger, unable to locate said aircraft in a confined environment with clear directions.

My one piece of hold luggage has been tucked away in the bowels of the airport, probably never to see the light of day again and certainly never to experience Canada. Its last hurrah before entering the void was when it weighed in at just under 18kg, a full 5kg under the limit, which I think we both considered a triumph.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go to the toilet, then go to Toronto.

(I've been trying not to indulge in the macabre but if those happen to be my very last printed words - ignore these - make sure they get published somewhere, they're not bad.)