LATE-NIGHT OTHERWORLD

It’s 2:18am and I am stuck in Gatwick Airport. My flight was delayed by three hours and then it left late, and arrived with exactly the amount of time required for me to snatch my case off baggage reclaim, sprint to the shuttle to the south terminal, check my watch and then run like crazy to the train station one half of one minute late - for the last train.

So here I am in the late-night otherworld of an airport terminal. Sammy was worried that I’d fall asleep and miss the next train too…

Fat chance of that! These places are literally designed to keep everybody here completely awake. The lights are glaringly bright, there’s upbeat pop music from the nearby Pret keeping the energy going. Shops are permanently open, no-one has a clue what time it is because there are no clocks and the few seats that there are happen to be the least comfortable seats designed by a human. No, I’m awake alright.

My body’s really feeling the effects of the travel. It was a really uncomfortable flight - cramped and long and painful in the lower back. I’d given up my window seat for an aisle, which was nice of me, but also an appalling idea. At one point a magnificent storm flashed over the channel with Jersey twinkling below. I missed most of it, stretching and holding my head in my hands.

That flight was preceded of course, by a 5-hour wait for the plane in the first place. Spain has the same designer of airport seats I’m certain - built for short-term relief, not extended stays. There’s a certain type of church chair that comes out of the same factory.

Another thing about the late-night otherworld is that there are lots of other people here. All sorts of travellers and airport workers, with suitcases, coffees, walk or-talkies and water bottles. I look around. It’s got the feel of a dream to it. My eyes are blurry, and it’s all going slower than maybe it should. I also feel a great injustice has been done to me. I raced as quickly as possible for that train. There was nothing I could do any quicker, and yet, it left without me. I feel sure there’s some sort of life lesson in there but it’s too late and too early in the small hours to start figuring it out.

I don’t think anyone (not even Tom Hanks) could survive for long if they had to stay in this space. It’s constantly on, no rhythm, no clock. We’re built for patterns, for variety, for a predictable cycle of light and shade and summer and winter. This is a cryochamber, freezing everything in place so that it’s all in the perfect place for you when you’re travelling through. Real places aren’t designed for that. And neither are humans. I need to get out of here. 1 hour and 20 minutes to go.