The Day I Caught The Plane
Hope all is well.
Shifting from alcoholism back to running tonight.
Today I flew home to Northern Ireland but the journey to the airport was fucking stressful as hell. I made the grave mistake of using the Tube to try to get to Heathrow. I thought it was gonna take an hour at most but it ended up taking closer to 2 hours.
I got to Heathrow Terminal 1,2 and 3 with only 34 minutes left before my flight departed.
I ran like fuck up all the escalators and through all of the walkways and made it through security in less than 10 minutes. The only bottleneck was security and the biometric eye scanner.
I stood there gazing into the void of the camera lens as the machine consistently refused to recognise me. I was close to dropping my rucksack and shouting ‘never fucking mind, I’ll just get the boat back’ but they kindly let me through after the 5th failed scan with a note attached to my passport reading ‘AER-1543’ or something similar which I guess meant something like.
Code AER-1543 – Passenger is an alcoholic, a derelict, or a broken Britain, let him through BUT FUCKING WATCH HIM IN CASE HE’S SWALLOWED A JOHNNY FULL OF POWDER.
Anyway I had a good day today and running saved my bacon. Airport running isn’t really advised especially when you consider how slap happy London police are.
I’m still alive and I still have a head, so fuck you THE LAW.
Merry Christmas you hideous old bastards.