Flying, some thoughts on

So, to cut a not very long story a little bit shorter. I’m sitting in Terminal 5 at Heathrow Airport. It’s dark outside, even though it’s only 4.30. I've always had a hatred for airport terminals, they are almost universally hideous buildings. This one is a little different though. Although negotiating your way from the underground station to departures is actually a little harder than it appears or needs to be. Everything inside is lit in a soft warm light, which makes everything seem very calm. It also means that when you look up, you’re surprised by how impressive the dimly lit cavernous steel and glass roof above you is. It all feels very nice and efficient as my bag is checked in, and I’m excited because it will be nice to go away for a few days.

Then you go through security. First as you go through passport control you have you’re picture taken by four little cameras, but you’ve got no idea when they actually take the picture. It’s a bit disconcerting as you don’t know when to try and look as un shifty as possible. So you try to look like that all the time. Which probably makes you look really shifty. I’m sure I’ve already been marked. Then you get in a slowly shuffling line. At the end of which you have to remove everything from your pockets, remove your belt, shoes, jacket and put them in trays, along with your bag. And then wait to be called through the metal detector. I imagine this is a bit like it must be checking into prison. If they come up with away of delousing by irradiation then this is exactly what it will be like. (do they still delouse people, or is that just in films?) Anyway I left my wallet in my pocket, meaning I set off the metal detector so had to be thoroughly groped before reclaiming my possessions and being released into the departure lounge. There are lots of very shiny and expensive shop inside, and some kind of Gordon Ramsey franchise. So I went to the bar, sat and had a beer listening to the very soft piped music and watching sky news, muted but with subtitles, on the big screens behind the bar. I just ended up staring blankly at pictures of the terrorist attack in Mumbai . Then I realise that my earlier optimism had been sapped somewhat, so decided to cheer myself up by buying a book and some new headphones for my I pod. Which is fine except I can’t open the packaging for the headphones. After wrestling with the stupid plastic box for 15 minutes, which taunts you by being transparent so that you can see the sodding things inside, I went into a shop to ask if I could borrow some scissors to get the headphones out. I can’t, clearly I don't hold the relevant certificate to operate scissors in an airport building, but they’ll do it for me. Even armed with scissors it took another couple of minutes to get my headphones out. As I was watching this and then as I walked down to the holding pen by the gate the very idea that flying was ever considered to be glamorous, or indeed was glamorous seemed so alien it was ridiculous. It’s more like being a wrongfull arrest. Followed by a every so slightly exotic bus journey. Except the bus stop has been designed by some very clever architect.

Had a nice trip. Thank you.