I lost count of the number of hours I spent at LHR T1 around the turn of the century. My role with Dell at the time was, after all, “International Man of Mystery.” Or sumfink like that. Anyhoo, I was back and forth to Dublin, Limerick like a back-and-forthy thing carried in the nicest seats that Aer Fungus and/or British Midlife Crisis could offer. (Back then, even iccle flights had business class.)
So in the different world that is middle age, a trip to Heathrow was to meet a client (again) and I arrived suitably early to nip into Terminal 1 in search of a cuppa and breakfast. It was at this point that things got surreal.
You see, I was, er, alone. Here are my snaps from breakfast time this morning:
In my head, my memory, Heathrow at 08.00 is a thronging mass of commuting sleepyheads rushing hither and thither. No more dear reader. With the redevelopment of the other Terminals, T1 is now redundant and slated for closure and they’re building, building, building.
Ooooh, it’s as if they know they’re getting and extra runway….