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What The Mom forgets is that Scotland voted no in the referendum and is still part of the UK. While this saddens rather a lot of people I know (and with David Cameron having won that last election again, I can see how this is even sadder now) it also means that when flying up north the security situation is much less strict. And anyhow, even if Scotland had decided to break ties with the UK, everyone would still be in the EU (for now, again, see David Cameron, head fool) so the security would still be minimal.

The real problem is the airline. Squeezy Jet (or Sleazy Jet) all the way. It’s a sad truth but it’s the cheapest way to get up to Glasgow from down here. I would’ve taken the train had I been leaving from London, but from Bristol it was an extra two hours and my patience is not that good.

So with Squeezy Jet, your ticket gets you a seat. That’s it. Nothing more and probably something less. You get a seat and you don’t get to choose it (that costs more). You’re allowed to bring one carry-on bag and that’s it. It of course has to fit their strict measurements and weight restrictions, so the idea of lugging a bunch of spices up seemed impossible to say the least.

And as we were going to stay on Bute, a smallish island off the West Coast, I had no idea what the grocery situation would be like. I knew there was a grocery store, but what it contained was anyone’s guess.

Having lived in London for many years, and all my friends still living there, you get used to a certain level of availability in even your local shop, which is generally run by people new to the country and so actually contains things you might want to eat. My old Turkish shop on the corner had more than the local Sainsbury’s – if you wanted, say, bulger wheat, polenta, cardamon, rye crackers, eggs, and beer at 7pm on a Sunday, not a problem. They’d have all that and more. Bute, however, I suspected would not be so well stocked.

And the idea of buying large amounts of what I already had and could not take back seemed wasteful.

So I tried to think of a way to take spices up with me. I considered small plastic baggies, but thought that could easily take a turn: they might come undone during travel and then everything I owned would smell like cumin and chilli spices. Not ideal.

I trolled the travel aisle of the local drug store, looking for small containers. It’s a small drug store and didn’t have much. I could’ve gone to the larger one, but there was no time. Because as usual, I’d left things to the last minute.

Then I saw a pill container. Monday through Sunday, one little box for all of your pills. Perfect!! Honestly, I was so pleased with myself that I emailed The Mom right away. Her reply took the wind out of my sails pretty fast.

“You what? Surely that won’t end well. How in God’s name did you ever come up with such a hair-brained idea? No, never mind, don’t answer that I have a very good idea how this has happened.”

I was crestfallen. Here I thought I was being quite clever.

But, I was not deterred. I still needed to get spices up to Bute, so I filled them up with sea salt, pepper, cumin, chilli flakes, and then with extra space, I added cinnamon and rosemary. Because you never know.

When I got up there, I gleefully showed my friends who all thought it was very clever of me. That or they know me well enough to see when I’m quite taken with an idea and to humour my level of excitement.

I might just do it again when I go home for my summer visit. Except instead of filling it with spices, I’ll go and get a bunch of fancy salts that L’il Sis and Crazy D don’t have. Which will not only prove to The Mom I am a genius, but also that I can tease my brother and sister at the same time.

Winning.

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