OK, so we’d survived the night of all of us in one room. Just about.

And we’d had an incredible holiday in Austria (more in future posts).

But we really hit a low point with the security check on the way back. I mean, we’ve only been flying for twenty years…

We had managed to get a real handle on our baggage in that Andrew and Aileen had kept our buggy at theirs in Austria and he had been really kind and helped us with all our stuff into Innsbruck Airport.

Our child carrier backpack was deposited along with a couple of ridiculously heavy suitcases so we were left with two hand luggage bags and a changing bag for the children.

Simple.

Or so you would have thought.

We sauntered up to border security, chatting merrily to the nice Austrian lady.

“Have you packed your bags yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Any liquids? Electronics? Money? Belt? Organic material? Anything for the baby?”

“All in the boxes.”

Which of course they were. I’d deposited my remaining Euros, all €2.90 of them, my belt, my iPad and my phone into one box. My wife had carefully placed the hand luggage bags into other containers and we were good to go.

We probably should have known it wasn’t going to be completely smooth when they made her take Harry out of his baby sling – that’d been fine at Gatwick –  but we were too clueless to realise that.

My wife went through the scanner with Harry and I held Sophie’s hand tightly as she trotted in front of me completely unfazed by the radiation passing through our bodies. We were just gathering our things when a gruff male security guard came over to my wife clutching Harry’s changing bag.

“Is this yours? Open it please.”

A bit flustered, she opened it up and he swiftly pulled out the offending items: an apple; an empty baby bottle which we should have declared as baby food; a fruity yoghurt pouch we intended to give Harry on the plane. Embarrassed, she talked him through what was there and gave him the bag to rescan through security.

While this was going on, I was trying to a) put my belt back on, b) collect up my random coinage and c) prevent Sophie from running riot in border control and I hadn’t noticed a gruff female security guard coming over to me holding out my hand luggage in front of her as if she couldn’t bear to even look at it.

“Is this yours? Step this way, sir.” Surprised, I followed her, tugging a frustrated Sophie along with me. “Open it,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Of course, in my bag I had Sophie’s water cup, completely full of water which we’d forgotten to either give her or throw away before going through security. There was also my wife’s Kindle in there, some suspicious looking white powder (Aptamil baby milk for Harry I swear) and Sophie’s toddler iPad which was going to be our lifesaver on the plane.

So much for having declared everything.

With a queue of impatient people waiting behind us, the security guards took away our offending material, tested it to prove we were telling the truth and then re-scanned all our things once again. This time we were clear but in total it took about half an hour to get through.

How ridiculous.

Perhaps going on holiday with two kids is not as simple as we’d first imagined.