Felicity Fox London Style
From the highend to the other end, airports are a playground of characters where the weird and the wonderful and everything in between congregate.
This is the 7am flight from Edinburgh to London City and we’re talking suits, stiffs and an abundance of gout.
We’re flying right into the city as opposed to landing in a completely different city and having to take a bus, train and automobile to get you to your chosen destination.
There’s not a pink feather boa in sight, nor are there any fat necks complete with tattoos. This flight’s full of greys and every shade of grey on the spectrum is on aboard. There’s lots of city importants and me. We’re all typing furiously. I’m blogging whilst giving off the elusion of sophistication, a person of terrible importance like my fellow passengers.
It’s not a free for all on these flights either. There’s a seat number on the ticket and that’s where you sit.
You see I was first in the queue to ensure I got a seat near an exit because if this plane’s going down, logically I want to be first out; everything’s a competition.
I’m quickly removed from my exit seat by a girl who purports that I’ve parked wrongly. I didn’t even check my ticket number as I’m so programmed to the scramble of the budget airlines. She’s right and I shift along one. The Buffon-haired 20 year-old is not for budging even though there are lots of spares. Spoilt-brat. Obviously I don’t know if she’s spoilt but she’s definitely giving off the vibes and wearing a waxed jacket is not helping.
I want to tell her I used to be a frequent flyer, flying all over and today I’m travelling solo. But we’re not bonding so I’m not sharing.
Nobody is up for a chat but an hour for me is a long time to remain silent, so the stiff beside me doesn’t know that he’s going to be enjoying a little chit-chat and he”ll even be walking me to the train station when we arrive.
It’s not long before I find out why he’s here, what he does and where he lives, and yes, he’s agreed to walk me to the train station too.
We arrive to a thousand apologies as the runway staff are a couple minutes late erecting the stairs. Money talks and I like it.
The markets are open and they’re off. Down the runway, along the corridors and off to the tube, taking one pedestrian at a time, London style; a precursor to the Olympics 2012 and you don’t even need a ticket to watch. I, on the other hand, leisurely take my time to look like a tourist from a remote village, looking up bewildered. I have seen big buildings before but I seem to do this when I’m in new territory.
City airport is right in the hub of it. Big buildings, big bonuses, big jobs, lots of suits and there’s not a bit of deprivation in sight. This is where the money is.
I lived here before but I never noticed. I get it now, that’s why Dick Whittington and every other Dick, and Harry, come here.