In the merry month of May, from my home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam, nearly broken hearted,
Saluted father dear, kissed my darlin’ mother,
Drank a pint of beer, my grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn, and leave where I was born,
I cut a stout blackthorn, to banish ghost and goblin,
In a brand new pair of brogues, I rattled o’er the bogs,
And frightened all the dogs, on the rocky road to Dublin.

Well, it wasn’t May, it was early October, but I did leave home this morning and set off for Dublin, where I’m booked to give a presentation. And so far it has been a bit of a rocky road. I never frightened the dogs, but the Irish youth in the song didn’t have to negotiate airport security.

There’s an “orange” alert on today, which may or may not mean that some terror attack or other is more likely, but definitely means that security procedures at the airport need to single me out, pat me down and ask me questions about every little object in my carry-on.

The security check is, as far as I can tell, a precise example of “waving a dead chicken”.

The “dead chicken” activity often occurs in companies, or even whole societies, when something is done for no reason other than it be seen to be done. It’s a rain dance or a goat sacrifice to guarantee a better harvest. We all have to participate in the ritual.

Security procedures have ruined the flying experience in many US airports. In some large airports, like Los Angeles for example, it’s a disaster. Queues snake around outside the terminal and people get annoyed in large numbers. The system simply wasn’t designed to have this extra function added. But, hey, “you gotta wave the dead chicken”.

Some experts suggested using much more subtle and effective techniques to recognize the bad guys, like looking out for suspicious behaviour. But the US powers-that-be weren’t interested. Dead chickens rule, OK?

And you know what will happen if we eliminate the dead chicken procedure? At some point, eventually, there will be another terrorist attack and some one will stand up and proclaim that it would never have happened, if we’d been waving dead chickens.

Anyway, when you deal with the poorly paid chicken wavers (apparently they get paid as much as burger-flippers at McDonalds) be polite, be very polite and don’t ever suggest that you’re in a hurry to get on a plane.

Red rag, bull – get it?

“It’s far more important that we wave this dead chicken, than that you get on your plane.”

“Quite so, dead chicken, very important.”

I just made it onto the plane, on the rocky road to Dublin.