|Up at 5, the day
you set off for warmer shores has arrived.
Not even cleaned teeth yet, the blasted
Shutting door firmly, pre-occupied with
turning the key.
As driver barks annoyingly "Morning!
Off to the airport are we?"
Struggling with cases while
he stands jovially to one side.
Taking the hint he struggles
overdramatically, before finally
commencing the ride.
Rubbing eyes wearily only feeling half
As the radio kicks in to wake you with
exhilarating Radio 5.
If this were a
horse ride it would be a trot as opposed
to a canter
Made even more drawn out by the driver's
Seemingly unaware of motorways the driver
takes the scenic crawl
Oddly named villages only ever seen in
"All Creatures Great and Small."
The driver hunched,
lumbering inaudibly mumbling about the B41.
At last Gatwick signs, entering drop off
area the journey finally done.
Driver then asks what terminal you want
putting your mind into needless panic.
Thrusts return journey form at you,
asking what flight no. his tone suddenly
At last in airport,
on endlessly moving walkway you go to the
Chaotic land of bedraggled travellers,
what zone am I? You inwardly groan.
At least you're 3 hours early, more time
for duty free as the travel agent said.
It's not open yet! Greeted by a lone
empty chair it's the Night of the Living
After an eternity
the self important check-in agent bustles
in, creating much ado.
You wearily wonder how you ended up at
the back of the ruddy queue.
Herded through scanners, security giving
you the once over with a welcoming frown
Female guard of questionable sexuality
enthusiastically patting you down
Inside the lounge,
peering at the tiny tv screen, anxiously
searching for your flight.
As seated rows of blank faces eye you
wearily, not a smile in sight.
Worn looking cleaner shuffling in toilet,
trolley laden with carrier bags
Eyeing middle-aged Harrods snobs smearing
on rouge and clasping fashion mags
Gap year students
sprawled on floors, matted dreads resting
on oversized bags.
I browse duty free, people fawning over-excitedly
at dull perfume and fags.
Suddenly frantic calls to board, people
rushing like lunatics to gate.
After 20 mile walk you enter the lounge
hoping desperately you're not too late.
No need to have
rushed you are greeted by familiar scenes.
Haggard families bickering, ipods fought
over by socially inept, spoilt teens.
Called up 5 seats at a time, then all
remaining rows, charging forth like
Pamplona bull run.
Weird space age corridor that takes you
onboard - your plane hell has just begun.