
I eventually flew out of Heathrow last night after a horrendous argument with the customs men over my Louis Vuitton carry on. They stopped me and asked me my carry on would fit into their stupid metal size-nazi box. 'Of course,' I told them insouciently and requested my PA to demonstrate.
The case more-or-less slipped into their box - well perhaps a litle less than more. 'No, it won't fit. You'll have to put it on cargo,' they insisted pointing to the handle which refused to squeeze in.
'Of course it will fit!' I told them sweetly. Positive attitude beaming from every pore of my being. Also I was wearing a madly intoxicating scent that evening and I hoped they were under my spell.
We've never seen one of those fit in,' a nearby subordinate agreed - resolutely unspellbound by my scent.
I rose to my full 5'5" (5'10" in heels actually) and glared. As a poker player I know when to fold and when to run. THis was not a time for folding. 'I have travelled with this case for seven years. We have been through thick and thin together darling. Delays, cancellations, we've been there for one another. I feel an unnatural closeness to my LVT and would NEVER put it in cargo. I'm sure your mother would agree. We, those of us who care about fine luggage can't let this happen.' I could see invoking his mother was making him waiver.
'Just make it go in!' I hissed at my Ladies Gentleman who took to the task with great alacrity (he loves these boy-scout moments of his job) forcing the case into the size-nazi box with his leg. Success!
Unfortunately once we'd forced it in, neither my Lady's Gentleman nor the chaps at customs could get it out and we had to lay the large contraption, all six feet of it, down on the floor. Dressed in my new mink, I was shoving one end, my PA and customs men were at the other, pulling for Queen and Country. Meanwhile who knows what fiends-of-ill-intent marched through to the other side.
'I was told at the store on Rodeo Drive that it was industry standard,' I insisted gamely as all three customs men rolled around the floor with my PA tugging at my case. By this stage The PA was in charge. I squirted the air with my scent Santa Maria Novella, which is made by the loveliest little nuns in Florence you ever saw. Anyway it is feverishly calming. And the poor chaps rolling on the floor needed a good dose of calm.
'I promise you it usually just slips in,' I assured them - though actually I've never been questioned before.
All of them were now red faced and madly sorry they'd ever questioned me. Passengers were stepping over them, the atmospheare was thick with desperation and rose scent. My job was to keep spirits high. Finally, after twenty minutes, four destroyed men, one who actually wept and was sent off by his senior and one slightly damaged LVT bag, my PA and I triumphantly swept into the VIP lounge where he prepared me the best Bloody Mary I have ever had. However this morning as I looked at my scratched handle, I felt really cross as I just bought the final piece in the LVT set and we look completely perfect at airports. When I told them at LVT on Bond Street all the staff were in tears. 'You poor little love,' they said. I was taken into a back room and shown new stock they had coming in. I had to buy a few new pieces just to cheer them up really.
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