Monday, September 3, 2012

It All Comes Back To Heathrow


I was reading London Fields by Martin Amis, and came across a passage that brought back memories:

In all I spent six nights sleeping rough at Heathrow.  Not much sleeping.  But plenty of rough.  And I despaired.  The other people were better at it than I was, stronger and quicker in the standby queue, with heftier bribes more heftily offered.  I could see myself becoming, as the weeks unfolded, a kind of joke figure in the Departure Lounge.  Then a tragic figure.  Then a ghoulish one, staggering from news hatch to cafeteria with bits falling off me.