Something to Declare

Heat magazine editor Sam Delaney explains his strange behaviour when catching a plane. Illustration by Spencer Wilson / Synergy Art

New Year, new me? Unlikely. I stopped modifying my behaviour when I was 16. It’s a shame really and reflects badly on my life – not least when I come within a half-mile radius of an airport and I start to do strange and juvenile stuff, like the following:

POLISHING MY SHOES: Ordinarily, I’m happy to shamble around in rubbishy old shoes until such a time that they become so scuffed and dirty that they aren’t really shoes at all but just matted knots of crud and leather that have entwined themselves about my feet. But when I’m in an airport I always head straight for the shoe-polishing machine. Why? Because it is fun and makes my feet feel all tingly. It’s definitely the second-best gadget available at the airport (after that thing that spins your suitcase in clingfilm).

EAT TOBLERONE: They give you a free one with your magazine sometimes! I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

DRINK BLOODY MARY: The beverage favoured by smoothies, bon viveurs and aristocrats. It’s disgusting, but it makes me feel grown up.

DRINK ANY FORM OF ALCOHOL BEFORE 1PM: The ordinary laws of drunkenness are suspended as soon as you hit 30,000 feet.

CARRY A BRIGHTLY COLOURED RIBBON: You know, to tie to my bag so I don’t mistake it for another similar-looking bag on the carousel. Which I may accidentally pick up and take home, only to discover it is filled with drugs/ money/a severed head and subsequently become embroiled in an elaborate cat-and-mouse game with the bag’s real owners who are ruthless and sadistic villains. Sounds scary, right? Perhaps now you understand the need for my ribbon then.

STEAL: You know those honesty boxes they have at WHSmith, where you’re supposed to just drop the price of your newspaper in rather than bothering to queue and pay at the till? I never bother putting the full price of the paper into them. I just bung a couple of pennies in there and leg it. So what, I’m on my holidays – if I can’t thieve now when can I?

PRETEND TO BE FAMOUS: As the sliding doors open and you stride out into the arrivals lounge, confronted by a sea of expectant faces, sometimes you can’t help but fantasise that you are Posh Spice arriving back in LA from her two-week skiing break. Even if you’ve just landed at Luton having been in Glasgow for two days visiting a relative with gout!