I don't normally feel aggrieved when I'm queuing for immigration checks at airports. International travel, especially these days, is all about queuing. You just have to get on with it and count yourself lucky you can travel at all.
But I think because it was Anzac Day back home when
I arrived in the early hours of the morning at London's Stansted Airport that I felt very grumpy about being in the "aliens" queue.
As the EU passport-holders' line moved with speed and efficiency, and our "others" line crept along at glacial pace, I wanted to proclaim loudly that our nations had a shared history that shouldn't be disregarded. That many within New Zealand and the UK had a shared bloodline - that we'd fought alongside one another in innumerable wars; that our country had recently been charged with the care and protection of the young royals and their baby, for heaven's sake. Surely distance or geographical proximity shouldn't dictate how close countries can be.
But I didn't. I stood in silence like a good bovine airline passenger and thanked the Customs official when he stamped my passport. I know new treaties and alliances need to be formed as the world changes. But I just wish embracing the new didn't mean doing away with the old.
