Heathrow Airport, 3rd April. Morning, GMT.

---

The excitement and nerves of a long trip are somewhat overshadowed by the pressing need to get where I’m going, despite the best efforts of the UK transport industry. That’s unfair, but it makes good headlines to sell papers. In fact my bus from home left on time, my train was delayed by 20 minutes and the coach connection from Reading to the airport was held until the late-running train came in - a fair result, given that the train wouldn’t start at Weston Super Mare.

Once inside the airport, I entered the international facelessness of a major airport, with barking announcements, bland signs and a plethora of advertising. No, I don’t need a new bank account (who decided to target the ‘stressed traveller’ for that market?) and buying a ticket to win a Bentley would bring only a hollow award anyway, since I’d have to sell the car to afford the insurance. In parallel, I can’t see what drives people to treat airports as a kind of catwalk for the traveller. I’m sat opposite two girls from Essex in matching lime-green tracksuits and floppy sub-berets, who are clearly trying to outshine the 17yo Negro (or whatever this week’s PC term is) lad who is sporting sharp leather shoes and a white Saturday-Night-Fever suit. And an afro. Well, it’s a look… Peering down the departures board from Terminal 3, all these people are about to spend five hours on an aeroplane - c’mon, nobody looks good after that much white noise, unidentifiable food and peanuts.

---

Comments

[Cocal]

Heathrow...
Well I can imagine how you felt... I once spend 7 hours from 11:00 pm to 6:00 am in that so-depressing airport (believe me, at night is a different story...). never again please!!!