Airport rides

So we arrived in Edinburgh yesterday. I'd given the kids a rundown of our itinerary and mentioned that we would have to pick up our luggage from the baggage carousel.

My daughter got all excited at the thought of a carousel. "If I were a suitcase, I could go on the carousel," she said.

Off we went to carousel number three. The luggage was already on its way round. I spotted one of our suitcases on the opposite side, making its way towards the luggage exit. I manoeuvred the trolley — it was one of those that felt like you were pushing it through wet concrete before it got going — as quickly as I could, towards our suitcase. I managed to pull the suitcase off the conveyor belt just as it was about to disappear through the rubber flaps.

I looked round and saw my daughter on the other side of the carousel, our huge black bag approaching her. She had also spotted the bag and was making her way towards it. With great difficulty, I turned the trolley and pushed it through the crowd, trying not to maim anyone on the way. If I could just get to her, I'd be able to help her. But my daughter was already hauling the bag, which was bigger than her, off the belt. A man helped her. When I got to her a second later, I thanked him and loaded the bag on top of the suitcase. Without invitation, the children clambered on to the bag and sat there expectantly.

"Gib Gas!" said my daughter. I hardly broke into a run, but there were no complaints that I was going too slowly. We passed through customs and carried on down the length of the arrivals hall, and had nearly made it to the courtesy phone — where I would call the car hire company to come and pick us up — when all of a sudden my son went flying (in Scottish: skiting) off to the right, followed by my daughter and then the big bag. All landed on the ground with a softish bump and peals of laughter. Amidst the hilarity, two officials in orange Day-Glo vests had approached and were now standing by my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, madam, but you can't let your children ride on the trolley. Health and safety."

I couldn't really argue with them. I was still laughing.

"It does say so on the handlebar," continued the lady.

I looked down at the handlebar. I lifted my left hand. There it was: a little sign of a child riding on a trolley — with a red line through it. Ah. I'd missed that.