Back around the time Nui Xiji was writing verse, I worked as a performing arts and English teacher at a state high school. Of course I jest about the timescale, but it seems like several lifetimes ago. One of the highlights (amongst many) of that earlier career was a trip to Europe in the summer holidays in 1989/90 with a select band of students who were tasked with performing before a wide variety of audiences.

That is no easy feat for a bunch of 17 and 18 year old students and while they had all studied drama at school and had shown an aptitude for the subject, for most it was the first time overseas. We had spent the better part of a year fundraising and developing the kind of show that could be adapted to suit the circumstances, a mixture of mime, movement, short play extracts, improvisation and monologues. It was quite eclectic and interesting to watch, not overly long, as I wanted to leave the punters hankering for more when the curtain dropped.

On our European leg of the trip, we had flown into Charles de Gaulle in Paris, ready to meet the coach for the short journey to the hotel. I was in charge of some extra baggage, including a small bag containing a parachute, an object that we used as part of the show. After a sleepless flight from LA, I wandered through customs and arriving the other side, realising that the bag was still on the carousel. This being in the blessed days before September 11, I was able to swan through the customs area unopposed and retrieve the bag. But on attempting to go through for a second time, a sharp-eyed officer asked me to show her the bag and its contents.

It occurred to me at that point that I might be in trouble. For who comes through customs on an international flight carrying only a small bag and a parachute. I was ushered into a small side room. The officer could not speak English so I had to proceed in my poorly remembered French.

"Je suis professeur dramatique," I said gingerly (I should have said "de theatre" but my mind was a fog)

"Je dirige un voyage scolaire," I added hopefully. There was silence in the room.

"J'ai oublié ça." I pointed to the offending bag.

That seemed sufficient and I was released. I noticed my interrogator was smiling as I made my way through the gate.

I think that today I would have been spending at least 24 hours in a police cell as officers tried to break down my story.