Arrivals hall

6.37am at London Heathrow Terminal 3. It’s a twice/thrice a year gig as Bert comes home to get sMothered for a few weeks. I always sleep badly the night before. All the sheep in the world are counted, the counting down in multiples of 7 from 501 accomplished, the breathing in for 6, holding for 6, breathing out for 8, holding for 8 for what seems like hours, and yet my mind doesn’t shut itself down. That is, not until about 45 minutes before the alarm is set. And then when the alarm goes off I am in such a deep sleep that i really have to force myself to get up and wake up enough to safely drive the 50 minutes to the airport. I always plan to arrive when the plane is due to land. I always forget to check the flight before I leave home. Ergo, I arrive too early as the flight has been delayed. Or I arrive after the plane has landed and then Bert is stuck for 2 hours waiting for his bags to arrive. Today, it’s the former – and i knew the plane was delayed before I went to bed so there’s no excuse for getting here when the plane was meant to arrive (I guess I have this expectation that flying from the US is always a lot quicker than “they say”. And with most airlines seemingly adding on half an hour to flight times to avoid disappointing passsengers, I now expect flights to be faster than advertised.)

So in most cases, I end up have a crappy coffee in cafe Nero and a stale croissant. And then I go to the over-priced M&S and buy some fruit. And then I just stand and people watch. This is the best part of the waiting time (apart from the unbridled excitement of seeing Bert again). I always cry at the bit in Love Actually at the end when they are at the airport. Seeing people meeting each other with such warm embraces reminds you that the world is actually full of love. We are bombarded with hate in all forms by the media, but people have enormous capacity to love.

The shrieks and laughs, the tears and the hand-clapping. The passengers emerging as if from a deep sleep through the automatic doors looking bewildered but expectant, their eyes taking time to adjust to the blaze of neon signs and walking as if they have only just learnt how to use their legs. It’s great. People holding flowers, home made welcome home banners, the conversations you overhear on people’s life stories of the last time they saw so-and-so. It’s a lovely microcosm of life.

Am off to check the board again and see if Bert has landed. And to buy some fruit. He’s not got any check-in bags so fingers crossed he’ll be through soon.