It’s 6.33 in the morning and I am in an airport. This seems to be a good time for me to tell you some things about airports that I don’t like.
I don’t like having to take my belt off when I go through security because the shorts I’m wearing for this flight are a bit loose and at risk of falling down while I walk through the scanner.
I don’t like exiting security and passing directly through a massive duty free shop before I can do anything else, assaulted from all sides by strong smells of perfume that my nose can’t deal with at this time of day.
I don’t like having to be here two hours before my flight, only to find that having cleared security they won’t even announce the gate number for another hour and a half.
I don’t like spending that hour and a half in a departure lounge that is basically a windowless shopping mall, all brightly lit stores and flashing screens. I don’t like that my entertainment options are a choice between looking around designer boutiques I’d never normally go in, or sitting in an uncomfortable chair in ranks of seats surrounded by screaming children and looking at the same designer boutiques because I’m literally surrounded by them.
I don’t like that all the food on offer is served by places that are chain restaurants that serve sushi or craft beers or sourdough pizza, and that here they also have to serve breakfast, and none of them know how to do that.
In summary, the basic point is that I don’t like this. But in another few hours I’ll be on holiday and too far away for you to hear me complaining, so it’s OK.
This post was sponsored by Heathrow Airport.
“Designed with the passenger in mind”
10 comments on “Airports”
Hang on, wait a minute, wait a cotton-picking minute…
You’re wearing shorts?
I wore shorts, and nothing longer, for a full two weeks. I’m back in jeans now and my legs don’t know what’s hit them.
Your legs need to sort themselves out. I wore jeans all summer and mine have been fine. Good old sturdy (rather sweaty and warm) Northern legs!
Your Newcastle temperatures might have been leg-safe, but here in the tropical south, and on my tropical holidays, my legs would have wilted like week-old lettuce in trousers. I wore shorts for survival.
(This is completely uncalled for but it made me laugh so I’m going to say it anyway).
You’re such a heinous anus sometimes, bro.
(You’re right, that was totally uncalled for. Why would you ever call me “bro”?)
(Well bro, sometimes you have to do it to get your point across. I believe I have made my point. Look at my point and be inspired.)
(Oh god. I was so busy wondering whether I was a bro that I totally missed your point. You got it right across without me even noticing. It’s massively in my face now, and there’s nothing I can do, bro or not. Wow.)
(Look at me and my massive point!)
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
… what?
No thanks.