Not for the first time in one of our discussions, the word "stupid" was used to describe my view.
The subject was swine flu and air travel. I was trying to explain why the recent outbreak makes me happy I lack money for globe-trotting (no pun intended).
The hoo-ha over the flu, combined with carbon footprint guilt, the terrorism panic of recent years and ever-changing technology has killed any fondness I may have had for flying.
My anxiety starts well before I am anywhere near the plane.
Every time I travel I have to wrestle with an endangered species - my knitting projects.
While there is still a small number of young and old members of this varied and colourful population, growth appears to be a problem.
This is because, despite the wide habitat in which the population ranges, there have been few sightings of activity in recent years.
Airports, with their inevitable waits, were once a great place to catch up on a row or two, but nonsensical security concerns have ruined that.
After the initial post-September 11 enthusiasm for banning all manner of possible weapons on planes had died down, I was once assured by an Air New Zealand employee it would probably be OK to carry knitting with me on a domestic flight. I haven't yet.
I know it would be my luck to strike some over-zealous official who would be unmoved by my suggestion wooden knitting needles would snap long before they could hurt anybody.
He, and it would be a he, would not understand that any knitter worth their skeins would not behave in a manner which would risk their work unravelling (in my case this could have involved years of not knitting).
By the time I had reached my rant about the danger posed by the ballpoint pen, including pointing and shrieking hysterically at every fellow passenger I believed might be carrying such a dangerous implement, he would be reaching for the handcuffs, pepper spray or worse.
This vision does not prevent me agonising over the issue every time I travel and wondering if I should risk it.
The next problem is luggage. I do not possess a sensible rectangular-shaped bag with wheels.
Instead, my wheels are attached to a cumbersome sports-bag, chosen purely because it is red and not easily confused with the boring black chosen by most fellow travellers.
Its shape, and my throw-it-all-in-and-hope-the-zip-won't-burst style of packing, makes balancing on wheels difficult. Attempts to look cool and business-like as I stride purposefully through airports are thwarted as I am trailed by an oddly shaped red drunken sailor. (No disrespect to red drunken sailors.
I am sure they are just as lovable as my bag).)
I used to happily stand in a check-in queue gazing at the people around me and wondering about their lives, but now I am consumed with indecision. Should I and the red drunken sailor make complete fools of ourselves by trying to come to grips with the self check-in?
On those few occasions when I have chosen the self-check option, it has not saved any airline anything. Hovering staff have had to come to my aid as I juggled reading glasses, red drunken sailor and technophobia to no good purpose.
Boarding pass now achieved, one way or another, it's time for the cellphone concern. I am paranoid about my inherited cellphone causing an in-flight incident as it turns itself on and off at whim.
Accordingly, I remove its battery and spend at least a day trying to match up the various bits from the depths of my handbag post-flight. Never mind that it is so heavy it could push the plane's weight over the limit.
I was disappointed to discover, when trying to find out how old this unguided missile is, that it has SMS capability, but not SMS support.
I took that to mean that no Salaried Medical Specialist would come to my aid if I developed the flu at any time when I was carrying my cellphone.
To add to my dilemmas, now there is the decision on whether to wear a trendy face mask on board for the dubious infection protection it might provide. And what would I do should use of oxygen masks be required? Go for the two-mask option or whip the other one off?
Such concerns are bad enough, but the last straw was the fear of being picked up by an airport heat-sensing camera and quarantined as a possible flu carrier when I was merely in the throes of a hot flush.
It was my airing of that thought which prompted my companion's uncharitable remark. I would have argued with him, but reserved my energy because I thought I could feel a fever coming on.
- Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
