In Heathrow
So I got here early, a maniac getting onto the Piccadilly Line in a personal best time, and now I’m loafing about the place surrounded by bored children and boreder adults, sitting in an overpriced Internet booth-type-thing, a Krispy Kreme doughnut having sunk to the bottom of my gut like a sugar-coated lead weight. I resent eating anything from a place that can neither spell ‘crispy’ nor ‘cream’ correctly, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I’m thinking about the guy who has lived in Charles de Gaulle Airport for the last ten or so years due to a mix-up with some paperwork, surviving on MacDonalds food and living out of suitcases in the corner of an arrivals lounge, and all of a sudden this doesn’t seem so bad.
The flight is eleven hours and I’m hoping for a few good movies, a quiet seat (so not one next to any babies), half-way decent food and some sleep. I’m already trying to convince myself that I am seven hours ahead, which makes it nearly 2am. I might not sleep too well because I forgot to do the padlock on one of my backpack compartments up when I checked it in, so I keep envisaging the bag coming open and a pair of crocs, two boxes of Yorkshire tea and some fine new pants being scattered to the wind on the runway.
The coin-operated computer is telling me that I should pump more money into its greedy guts in order to carry on using it, which I just won’t do. Time to stare blankly at some souvenir biscuits or try and work out why everyone looks so miserable when they’re supposed to be going on holiday.
Quite Random is the blog of Nathan Nelson, a human male who lives in the UK and is not entirely sure what he's going to do when he grows up but is interested in international development, photography, secularism, technology, music and movies and other things anyone of his age would be.
