V is for Victor (y)

When I first flew out to Karachi, it was by PanAm - near the end of that airline's control of the skies. At the airport (Heathrow) I met the husband of Mrs. V, Mr. V. His  "V" stood for Victor. He was a wiry man, very erudite and I discovered later he was a Man of Letters. He was to write a novel: "Sacred Crow."

Victor handed me a plastic bag of goodies to take back for his wife. He disappeared before I could finish objecting - I remembered warnings about receiving stuff while in the airport. I went looking for security in my conscientious desire to stick to the rules.

Security turned out to be a huge uniformed man.

"Excuse me, I was just given...." I proffered the bag. Inside were cold, cooked meats.

"Put it down!" he barked.

I dropped it. Three other very large security men appeared and they all surrounded the bag.

"Everybody stay clear!" he ordered.

He tried to peek inside. I stood to one side.

"Look inside, Dick," said the first man.

Dick looked at him. He was probably the newest of the bunch, realising that last in first out applied to unexploded bombs as well. He opened the bag gingerly with one finger.

"It's meat," he said.

The big man looked at me.

I shrugged. "It's meat," I repeated. "Cold meats." Just to clarify.

They all relaxed and smiled. I was handed back the bag grudgingly and took it on board with me.