EVER since I agreed to fill in for Hilarie I’ve been in torment over what to do for my debut column?

My head has been churning through dozens of new ideas and rants much like it does Facebook statuses or Twitter ‘tweets’.

‘Nick didn’t know BMWs had indicators’... ‘Nick is looking for a cure for swimmer’s ear’, (turns out it’s antibiotics) or ‘Nick wonders if his neighbours deliberately park to leave a gap just slightly too small for his car?’, are but a few of the tangents we could veer off on and may well do if I ever get this gig again.

But since summertime is supposedly upon us, I think I’ll talk about airports and summer holidays.

Holidays are supposed to be relaxing but, since 9/11, airport security has become almost unbearable.

I’m just about old enough to have done a fair bit of independent travelling before that dreadful day and the contrast between now and then is pretty stark.

One time when I was flying in the USA from Farmington, New Mexico, to Denver, Colorado I arrived a touch late for my flight. After flashing my passport I was ushered directly to the plane, skipping security, where the pilot’s mate threw my bag into the hold. I got on the plane, they shut the door and it took off. That was in the halcyon days of 1998.

Move on to 2003, Heathrow airport. I arrived obscenely early for a flight to New York. The check-in desk number went up on the board a mere 3 ½ hours before boarding and I stepped forward to become the first person in the queue.

As I waited to be beckoned forward a scary looking airport security official wandered over to see me. “I’d like you to come for an extra security check after you’ve checked in,” he said.

He moved off and had a word with the check-in desk and I was summoned.

I presented my passport and was told: “I’m sorry sir, you won’t be making this flight today. It’s full.”

I looked round at the empty terminal in disbelief and to this day I remain convinced it was because I had a beard, obviously meaning I was a member of al-Qaeda.

Fast forward to my recent holiday to Menorca. Families, tots, pensioners, everyone ...we’re all made to feel like criminals as we wait to get on our cramped chartered flight to the Med. After a 20 minute wait for passport control, there’s another 30 minute wait to go through security. People are panicking because their toddler’s drinks aren’t in clear plastic bags. People are ditching baby food and deoderants, taking their belts and shoes off.

People are getting frustrated. It’s hot, it’s crowded, airport staff are rude.

But I’m prepared for all this and am travelling light. I make it through security without a single beep or a terse word from the airport overlords. I put my potentially explosive belt back on and see a little gap in the barriers to save me walking 10 yards the wrong way and nip through it.

A plain-clothed policeman sprints over: “Excuse me sir, follow me. Have you got your passport? What do you think you’re playing at?”.

I now get taken for a police control security check and subjected to the sanctamonious wisdom of the airport cop.

All this because lazy old me attempted to save a few steps while carrying my heavy bag because Jet2 now charge for checking a bag in.

What’s most galling is there is no point saying a word in mitigation as the humourless authorities will see that as resistance and promptly arrest you.

We have lost our freedom. Airports are the first places where civil liberties have been 100% eroded.

Don’t argue, you’ll find yourself in a holding cell in the bowels of the airport.

Even being assertive will land you with a telling off from the now unchallengable Gods that are airport workers.

And it doesn’t end there. Once you’re on the plane the rules get worse. Table up, seat back up, no headphones allowed during take off or landing. Why, I don’t know?

Air stewardesses, who until 2001 were there to improve your flight, are now primed with cans of mace and handcuffs just waiting for an excuse to beat the living daylights out of you.

And, of course, once you get to the sunny Med, you’d better not be a drunken Brit. The Guardia and the Carabinieri are well known for their fondness for playing smash the Pinata on inebriated tourists’ heads.

Enjoy your holiday, and make sure you don’t drink the water or eat any of that foreign muck.