I’m prepared to be about as open-minded as a traveller comes.* Sure I might have some gripes about France and Russia, but I hope it’s interpreted as all in the name of a laugh and a bit of tongue and cheek cultural insight. I’ll drink like a vodka-pickled fish or revert to teetotalism… I’ll have shoes off, shoes on, kitchen shoes, bathroom shoes, communal guest slippers… cover my arms, legs or head… not whistle indoors, refrain from blowing my nose, eat entrails… be charming, cordial, charismatic, reckless, relaxed or reverential. Anywhere I lay my head is my home. I’ll respect any cultural, religious or political atmosphere, more or less. BUT I will not live in a state of fear. I refuse to be scared just because the rest of the UK finds it profitable to maintain a level of panic. Give me France or Russia any day, I’d prefer not to be mollycoddled by the dulcet tones of reminder announcements, wrapped in a CCTV security blanket – or have my bag searched before boarding a train again.

This is where this post is going, as I had all my possessions rifled through before getting on the Eurostar back to Paris again. I didn’t realise I wasn’t allowed to have a knife/fork/spoon camping combo-set on a train. As all the contents were taken from my bag, a swab test taken (lucky I washed my backpack since lugging around all that bomb-making apparatus), and then the guy decided to make light of the situation by observing that “Ah, you like baked beans.”

Now baked beans are a bit of an in-joke between Guillaume and me. When we were travelling around in Australia, our gas cooker broke, and so we would just heat a can of beans on the engine of our van during a day’s 500km drive. Not that this was any of that guy’s business. I half muttered, half giggled an answer, tripping over my embarrassed words and fretting that I would miss my train – when really I should have tersely replied “Yes, I like black socks too, I’m glad we are now acquainted.”

I just don’t understand. I had plenty of time to stab someone with my knife/fork/spoon combo during my 48hrs in London… why would I wait until the homeward-bound last moment on the Eurostar? I was quite looking forward to getting back to Paris, but maybe the prospect of crossing the Channel makes some other Brits a bit cagey. Who knows?

Now Australians REALLY have something to be scared about!

*…but I won’t do that. There are some limits to my tolerance. I won’t smoke tobacco, drink coca-cola or put recyclables in the normal bin (or baguettes in the recycling, as some of my neighbours regularly do…)