David Fitzgerald: The handbag of doom and my courtroom 'weapon'

Short while ago, I had to appear in court.

For once this was not, I hasten to add, as a defendant or the accused… I will leave it there.

My wife and I rolled up at the Torbay and Newton Abbot Court at a reasonable time, and because I was wearing a tie, was immediately mistaken for a solicitor.

In the bad old days before I lost 3 1/2 stone, I was normally mistaken for a CID officer or Special Branch.

These days, a little slimmer… barrister, solicitor or at best a possible estate agent.

As is the norm these days when entering any sort of official building, there is a metal detector and security.

I emptied my pockets and explained I was wearing metal heels on my shoes, as I walk like a baboon and wreck any decent pair of shoes within weeks, and also had a metal belt buckle.

Within seconds I was clear to enter the building.

Then my wife submitted to a search—or rather, her handbag.

I praise any man who is willing to dive his hand into the sack of mystery which she carries around her shoulders.

She visits the gym at least four times a week and her record for a ‘dead lift’ is 105 kg, an ideal piece of training for picking up and carrying the handbag of doom.

On opening her holdall, the security officer immediately spotted six sachets of tomato ketchup, two of salt, one of pepper and a small packet of tartar sauce.

This apparently was not a threat to court security, but the ‘emergency corkscrew’ was.

It was fished out and held up as an example of ‘not’ what to bring into a courtroom and was immediately confiscated.

A two-page report was then drawn up and delivered with an explanation that the corkscrew would be sent to the police and, if not claimed within 14 days, would be destroyed.

We were not too fussed about this as I must admit that I think the corkscrew was taken home by accident from a bottomless brunch in Portsmouth last year.

Anyway, it has served its purpose since then and, quite frankly, I admire anyone who carries an ‘emergency corkscrew’ or indeed anyone who can go to a bottomless brunch and not have a ‘brunch-less’ bottom after an hour.

You never know when you will need the contents of my wife’s handbag as only recently, we were at an event when a non-screw cap bottle of wine was being handed round and immediately my wife started to rummage through the leather-bound emporium.

There were dishwasher tablets, a toy from McDonald’s that was at least three years old and a vintage Players No. 6 coupon which had once belonged to my mother but, sadly, the corkscrew had been left at home.

I stepped forward and offered a trick that I had learnt as a Cub Scout in the 1970s.

Removing my shoe, I placed the bottle, punt end into the shoe, and gently started to tap the heel against the wall.

The percussion gradually eases the cork out of the bottle and with a good set of teeth is thus easily removed.

Try it; my old Cub Scout leader ‘Akela’ Miss Hargreaves taught us many things, but this was by far the most useful.

Anyway, back to the arrest of my wife for entering a courtroom with an offensive weapon.

Apparently, this is not the first time it has happened as she was stopped going into the Imperial War Museum in London with a similar item.

‘You can’t bring that in ‘ere,’ said the security guard.

She looked at the tiny metal object in the security guard’s hand and said, ‘I can’t bring a weapon ‘into’ the Imperial War Museum.

A corkscrew with a 1 and a half inch blade and I’m stood under a 15 inch naval gun!’

I have been guilty of this myself as on a flight to Cyprus some 15 years ago, I was stood at Exeter Airport and was asked to scan my bag (hand luggage).

Immediately alarm bells starting to ring and the bag was emptied.

Right at the bottom was a Leatherman utility tool with knife and added attachments to get Boy Scouts out of horse’s hooves and a ‘neither’ metric nor imperial screwdriver set.

After a short lecture on security, I was sent on my way to Cyprus and to a hotel which thankfully did not have horses, Boy Scouts or needed minor repairs to any item held together with Phillips or cross-head ‘non-standard’ screws.

I am all for tight security, but at times there are those who apply the rigid rules who would not get a job anywhere else in society.

A great friend of mine was checking in at one of the London airports when he was stopped by the gate guard.

‘Empty your pockets please…’

He did as he was told and produced a set of car keys.

‘You can’t take those on board; they could be used as a weapon.’

He stood there in his pilot’s uniform and said, ‘I’m the pilot.

If I wanted to harm anyone all I have to do is push the stick forward… And I am hardly likely to ‘rush’ myself!’

Still, he had to hand the keys in and on his way back from central Europe had to claim them back to get his car out of the car park.

The flight took just under two hours; getting the car back… was slightly longer.

All of this brought back memories of getting into a nightclub in Exeter when I was about nineteen.

It was the birthday of an old school mate; I had bought him a present he was desperately in need of.

There were no prizes for guessing what it was as I wrapped it carefully and tightly, giving away immediately its unmistakable shape.

The club was called ‘Oakies’ and had a large false tree in the middle of the dance floor.

On entering, a bouncer came over to frisk me as I, firstly, held the present in one hand, switching it to the other when said bouncer wanted to go through my jacket pockets.

I was declared free of any weapons and went to the cloakroom to leave my coat.

Security even helped me off with my outer layer, holding the present to make things easier.

I then entered the weapon-free environment of the nightclub carrying a beautifully wrapped timber axe!

Later in the evening the present was unwrapped and my friend decided to pretend to chop down the fake tree.

The look on the bouncers’ face stayed with me for years… how the hell did he get an axe into the club????