Monday, 29 December 2003

Homeward Bound

And finally at the end of the day I found myself at the airport. Sis drove me. She lost her card in the cashpoint machine, and decided she hated Edinburgh Airport, so I don't know if anyone will be picked up from there again.

We said goodbye over the knives and scissors and anything sharp deposit box which wasn't too full but had been used enough to suggest that people evidently forget they are not allowed to take sharps onto the plane with them. One man was saying to his wife, "my god - what on earth (very important to hear this word in that scottish accent where the ea is a sort of gutteral eh followed by a rolling rrrr) would someone want on the plane with those huge orange handled scissors", and she was saying, "for doing their sewing".

The plane was late and I took this photo of the carpet which I discovered was exactly the same one as at Heathrow. It must be a design called Airport. Popular for a while all over the world in these places that are the starting or end point of a journey. Neither here nor there and aim to be as bland and characterless as possible.

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