Terminal 4

If the romance of travel is to be extuinguished then Terminal 4 Heathrow is the extinguisher to do it with, but my imagination is strong enough to paint it with glamorous hostesses, the smell of aviation fuel and all of that malarkey. If there are any glamorous hostesses to be found here they are having a fag in the depressing smoking zone outside, where terminal staff huddle in the cold like lab animals waiting to be experimented on – bring back the appreciation of travel I say, perhaps even pop propellers back onto aircraft.

I did have a few whistful moments today as I left the house today. It was one one of those autumn days lit up by a cold sun, I like those, they slap you in the face and say ‘be alive you sleepy sod there’s a world out there’. It’ll also be six weeks until I see my other half, but as we are going to meet in Sydney we have something to look forward to, so my whistful moments were moments and now I look forward to hob nobbing it around South East Asia looking for WiFi connections so that I can work as I play.

On another note entirely I heard that pirates had nicked a super tanker today. Now call me old fashioned but if terminal 4 is peeing on the joy of travel then surely that enhances it – there are still pirates be jaysus. Avast me hearties, sail on until you run out of fuel, or the pool table on the ship plugs up with coins and sends you, bored, sailing back to your pirate havens.

On the subject of pirate havens – I once visited a pirate haven off of the coast of Thailand, it was an island, naturally hollowed out, so that the only way in was to swim, underwater, through a cave into the central lagoon.

Pirates know how to pick a spot.