There are moments in life when the universe throws you a curveball, and you’re left questioning your choices, sanity, and the laws of physics. One such moment occurred recently on my New Year’s Day flight from Stansted Airport to Dubrovnik. It involved an overweight bag, a surprising turn of events, and the kind of luck you usually only read about in bad fiction.

Stansted Airport was heaving, a microcosm of post-festive chaos. People sleeping on the floor, families huddled together in exhaustion, and a distinct lack of seating. We managed to nab two seats in what was described as an “additional seating area,” a euphemism for “we’ve crammed a few chairs near the toilets.”

Winter sun and skiing seemed to be the dominant themes on the departure boards. And yet, wasn’t the UK in the throes of a financial crisis? Clearly, Brits were prioritizing their vitamin D levels and après-ski over their energy bills.

But my tale truly begins before the check-in desk.

You see, there are certain foods from the UK that I sorely miss in Croatia. Branston pickle, salad cream, Double Decker chocolate – the culinary trifecta of a homesick expat. So, I hatched a plan: take an extra suitcase and fill it to bursting with these gastronomic treasures. Little did I know, this seemingly innocent idea would lead a ridiculous.

By the time I zipped up my suitcase, it was bursting at the seams.

“This feels overweight,” I muttered to my wife. “You’ll be fine,” she said with the kind of optimism that should have been a red flag. Spoiler alert: I was not fine.

Dragging the suitcase to the airport was an Olympic sport in itself. The handle snapped under the strain, and I’m fairly certain the wheels left scorch marks on the floor. When we reached the self-service bag drop, I heaved it onto the scales. Seventeen kilos. Our limit? Ten kilos.

Cue a sinking feeling that rivalled the Titanic.

Now, anyone who’s flown with a certain Irish budget airline knows their penchant for penalizing passengers with overweight luggage. I braced myself for financial ruin. The screen flashed up the surcharge: £83!

Suddenly, my jar of Branston pickle had the street value of gold.

I attempted to pay, only for the machine to reject my card. A flurry of panic ensued. A staff member approached, her face a mixture of pity and mild amusement. “Oh, you’re on the Dubrovnik flight,” she said. “We’re doing a special training exercise today. All passengers on your flight need to go to check-in desk 82.”

Off we went, my broken suitcase in tow.

The queue at desk 82 was reminiscent of a Premier League stadium on match day. We shuffled forward inch by inch, the minutes ticking away. By the time we reached the desk, I was ready to abandon my overweight bag, and to be honest I would have done if my wife hadn’t convinced me to be patient.

The check-in agent greeted us with a smile. “Passport and boarding cards, please.” I handed them over, my credit card poised for action. She weighed the bag: seventeen kilos. I winced, waiting for the inevitable demand for payment. Instead, she said something that will stay with me forever: “It’s your lucky day. As part of our training exercise, all excess baggage fees for the Dubrovnik flight are waived.”

I blinked.

Surely, I had misheard. “Waived?” I repeated. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Happy New Year!”

Out of all the flights departing Stansted that day, ours had been chosen as the guinea pig for this bizarre but delightful experiment. My overweight bag of British delicacies was allowed on board, free of charge. It was a New Year’s miracle.

Photo - Mark Thomas 

As we boarded the plane, I couldn’t help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction. My Branston pickle and I were going home, triumphant and unscathed. The year had started on a high note, and for once, the universe had been on my side.

So, here’s to 2025: a year of small victories, unexpected kindness, and, hopefully, no more broken suitcase handles.

Read more Englishman in Dubrovnik…well, if you really want to

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About the author

Mark Thomas (aka Englez u Dubrovniku) is the editor of The Dubrovnik Times. He was born and educated in the UK and moved to live in Dubrovnik in 1998. He works across a whole range of media, from a daily radio show to TV and in print. Thomas is fluent in Croatian and this column is available in Croatia on the website – Dubrovnik Vjesnik