Terminal

Today I felt a little like Mehran Karimi Nasserim, the guy who spent 18 years (1988-2006) in Paris's Charles de Gaulle airport (which inspired the Tom Hanks movie, Terminal). True, my T5 transit was only six hours but it felt like an eternity as I drifted from reading the Sunday papers in a cafe to doing some work on some funky benches. If I'd had the money I could have bought a bottle of Dolmore 59-year-old whisky for ₤15,000 or a Chanel watch for ₤30,800, instead of the ubiquitous chocs for colleagues. I could have popped in to the Interdenominational Prayer Room or had a shower or seen some art (Troika's light wall or Christopher Pearson's etched glass for example). I could have spent the afternoon riding the driverless train between sub-terminals A, B & C, or wandered illicitly through corridors, napping in utility rooms. Perhaps I could have let the 8kms of luggage conveyor belts take me out of the building and on to the tarmac. Of course I did none of these and, as always, ended up rushing unneccesarily to get the plane.