Well, here I am in hell, known to humans as Gatwick. Well, not quite the hell part yet, that comes later. This is the part where I can still go outside for a cigarette, and is more like a shopping centre with really, really rubbish shops apart from the constant security announcements.

To properly arrive in hell, I will have to remove my shoes and my belt, relinquish all liquids and prepare for up to an hour of boredom, mostly to prevent terror. Boredom and nicotine deprivation are pretty bad emotions too but nobody seems too bothered about those.

I’m still convinced the whole liquids thing is just a scam to drum up trade in the departure lounge shops, a bit like cinemas stopping you from taking in your own sweets. The fact that they had to try three times to convict their patsies would seem to confirm this.

I hate airports.


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