Bairbre Power

Flying is stressful, which is why I sometimes crave the comfort of an Aer Lingus Tayto sambo. But now they’re gone!

Ihave a routine drill when it comes to flying and number one is to know where to find the passport. It now has its very own drawer, along with the travel plugs — something I introduced after a hair-raising day of panic searching for my passport before we left on a family holiday.

Prayers and promises of cash to St Anthony worked a treat and he came up trumps as he always did for my late mum, a Cork woman with a fondness for lighting candles to the Portuguese Franciscan in St Teresa’s Church on Clarendon Street before coffee in Bewley’s.

The missing passport emerged in the second inside pocket of a handbag. I always loved the old green passport covers which we so proudly produced on our travels — a badge of honour — but now they are wine. So I’ve covered mine in a scarlet leather cover so I can spot it everywhere. Especially in handbags.

My shoulders are aching as I type this because I’ve just completed six flights in eight days. My four-wheel cabin size case was packed snugly, but it was the carrying up and down endless steps in the London Underground that did the damage. I love how, in the States, they have all these extra accessories to make your travel experience through airports more enjoyable. They have the biggest neck cushions with music leads so that you can chill out and I have gone back more than once to my phone to check out the mushroom pillow that you basically collapse your face into to sleep.

In New York last September, I fancied the look of a plastic tray that clips on to the handle of your suitcase and creates a little shelf you use as a temporary office for iPad/phone and Kindle, or to relax with a picnic, complete with miniature bottle of wine when you’re stuck in your seat at the departure gate and your flight has been delayed. Again.

Pushing my suitcase along the endless corridors between the Paddington Express and Terminal Two at Heathrow last Monday night, I tried to ignore the fiery pain running across my shoulders by daydreaming about the perfect suitcase I want to design. So far the prototype involves a horizontal handle where I merely direct the case with the touch of a finger. The case glides along courtesy of a battery pack which clips off when you are going through security. I may not be good at maths — which means physics, and engineering will be a stretch — but I’ve a habit of ‘inventing’ little gadgets and gizmos to make daily life a little easier for us all. But then the inevitable happens: I have a brain wave, fall asleep and it’s all a bit fuzzy the next day...

I’m still looking for an investor in my handbag with a built-in light concept, but after desperately trying to secure an appointment with the physio after a back-breaking London Fashion Week, I guess the perfect suitcase is where I should direct my attention first. The real selling point would be the function that allows it to hoist itself up into the air, above my head (5ft 5in) and deliver itself into the overhead compartment with minimum hassle.

I’m all for surviving airports with the minimum of stress. You know yourself how grumpy and gritty-eyed you get after leaving the house at 4.30am for the red-eye flight before hitting delays at security — and it’s always the people you least expect who set the scanners off. I can tell you now, ladies: whatever about the oversized bottles of foundation and tanning lotion you forgot to decant into miniature bottles, those scanners will always find the pair of eyebrow tweezers you’ve squirrelled away at the bottom of the case.

I was shuffling along in my Tesco bamboo socks (they feel so good when you’re travelling) when I spotted a well groomed ‘suit’ with a black designer case and a very red face. He was not a happy camper when the security lads moved in on his rather generous-sized bottle of aftershave. Whatever about his can of deodorant being confiscated, he was not being parted from the oud-based fragrance which cost well over €200. “That was a present from my girlfriend,” he boomed and as the security guard offered his ‘more than my job’s worth’ face, Mr Suit defiantly reached forward and gave himself an extra long squirt of the aftershave before they were parted.

I’ve my set routes at Dublin Airport and I always go straight to Butlers for a mocha — with skinny milk to balance out the chocolate! It’s so hard to ‘eat clean’ when you are on the move in airports because so many of the offerings are bread-based or battered. I haven’t brought my muesli/yoghurt/ fruit breakfast box on board with me ever since it leaked in my bag and I was picking pomegranate seeds out of my possessions for hours. It’s funny how, when you’re travelling, you crave things you might not bother with at home. I’ve never been tempted by oysters or steak before flying and all I wanted the other night was tea, toast and an omelette. My made-toorder omelette experiences at Dublin’s Terminal One have been hit-and-miss and unfortunately the last one was more Frisbee than classic French. My friend Carmel says the secret to a great omelette lies with Delia Smith, who whisks her egg whites first and then folds them into the beaten yolks...

Anyway, sitting at Heathrow on Monday night, I suddenly got a craving and my brain sent a message to my stomach which duly jumped in anticipation. In Dublin, they call it a ‘goo’ and I had a goo for a Tayto sandwich.

I’ve seen returned emigrants reduced almost to tears on Aer Lingus flights as they get their teeth around them but, sadly, when I got settled on the plane, they were not on the menu.

Eeek! Gone!

I considered a DIY job and while you can still buy Tayto, they just don’t taste right squashed in between two halves of an Irish scone. On the flight, I got on with drawing my dream suitcase.

After landing, I bought batch bread and a bag of Tayto...