I was detained by a group of armed police at Cairo International Airport after a dispute with a taxi driver got out of hand.

I had paid for the taxi fare at my hotel in downtown Cairo and watched the concierge pay the driver and instruct him where to take me. On arriving at the airport, the driver turned around and demanded payment.

Already running late, I explained repeatedly that I'd already paid and knew that he had been paid, then got out of the cab and grabbed my bags from the trunk. While I was doing so he called over some pedestrians and talked to them while gesticulating at me wildly. One of them approached and said "he's saying you haven't paid him."

By the time I had my bags out of the car, three policemen had approached and repeated the driver's complaint. I told them I had already paid, explained that I was running late and walked confidently into the terminal.

When I entered the building and looked up at the departure screens, two things happened. The first was that I realise the driver had taken me to the wrong terminal. The second was that a firm hand grabbed one of my shoulders and spun me around.

"Passport," said a policeman whose uniform made him look like a war hero rather than an airport security chap. "Look, I'm running late and I don't have time for this," said the proud Englishman in me. "It wasn't a question. Give me your passport," came the retort.

I was marched into a small back office with two hands on my shoulders and sat down behind at a table surrounded by four or five chain-smoking policemen. The war hero came in, put his gun down theatrically, lit a cigarette and sat on the table. "You're in a lot of trouble," he smiled.

In an uncharacteristic moment of clear-headedness, I handed him the calling card of the hotel and pleaded with him to call them to confirm my story, acutely aware that if the hotel concierge was in cahoots with the taxi driver, I could be there indefinitely.

After a short but aggressive sounding conversation, the war hero put down the phone, stubbed out his cigarette and turned to me. "I'm very sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Mortimer. Let's go."

With around 30 minute to my flight, I explained I was in the wrong terminal and thought there was no way I would make it. I was bundled into a police transit van and driven at high speed, to the other terminal, where I was marched to the front of every queue and escorted to the door of the plane.

Lessons learned: a.) always get a receipt for payment b.) don't be a dick when you're stopped by police, especially in an airport and c.) don't get angry; think of a sensible solution to the problem you're faced with and implement it.

But still...I hope they gave the taxi driver a sound hiding.