Over the tannoy as I travelled through Liverpool’s John Lennon International Airport recently:
“Passenger announcement! Would passenger Smith, travelling to the Isle of Man, please report immediately to gate 20.”
Poor girl. Her lawyers had fought hard for her, but every legal avenue had reached a dead-end. The letter had set out the instructions:
“Having been convicted of disorderly conduct and duly sentenced to twelve strokes of the birch, you are to present yourself to the main reception desk at the courthouse in Douglas at 11am sharp on 3 August. Your flogging will be administered at some point during the day, and you will be free to leave by 5pm at the latest.”
Under the terms of the island’s judicial agreements with the UK authorities, her choice was stark: return to face her punishment, or be arrested and detained at home.
But those final steps to the boarding area at the airport? The airline staff would find her, moments before the flight closed, sitting and crying on a chair near the gate. Perhaps they’d recognise her from the press coverage; offer sympathetic words and hugs. And then they’d show her onto the plane, and condemn her to her fate.
Bureaucrats just love their red tape. How else could it possibly take six hours?
To make her feel more terrified? The loss of control, the dead building up, the uncertainty as to when it would happen… the forms to be filled in, the inspections before and after… Easily a few hours, without thinking of the time needed for the other girls bring flogged that day!
Ah, right … except for the “forms to be filled in” part, I was a bit unfair.