Here is what you must do. You must have five children that look like trolls, and feed them on sugar and crisps. You must have these children with a man who looks like a slightly bigger troll. You must have long, lank hair and tiny, mean little button eyes. And you must make sure that you furnish all five of your children with crisps and chocolate in the check-in queue at Glasgow Airport, and you must send the eldest of your vile progeny to wait in the other queue, in case it goes faster.
When your eldest brat gets to the front of the queue, they must shout MAM HERE COME HERE LOOK I'M AT THE FRONT. Then you must gather your brood about you, bellow at your husband, and all change queues, shouting EXCUSE ME and wiping your DIRTY CHOCOLATE COVERED MITTS ON MY FUCKING PALE BLUE VELVET COAT. Then you must not apologise, but instead make sure one of your brats treads on my foot and then 'accidentally' kicks the ankle I sprained badly yesterday.
I am very much looking forward to being on the same flight as you.
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