Airports

Everyone has grumps about airports, mostly to do with the fact that they aren't as convenient as teleporting and you don't get treated like the royalty (sorry, that should read "celebrities") everyone seems to think they are now that Andy Warhol's famous prophecy has come true.

My complaint today, however, is more specific. It's about the people you share the lounge, gate and flight with. It's not pissed-up Brit holidaymakers. It's not fat, braying Americans. It's the 20- and 30-something Jack-the-lads in cheap suits and expensive mobiles, gobbing off about their triumphant business trip as if they were something between Bill Gates and Gordon Gekko (did the writers of Wall Street imagine we wouldn't know a gecko was a type of lizard? If they wanted to indulge in that kind of crude sub-Dickens literalism why didn't they just get on with it and call him Sam Snake?) Said mobiles rarely get used for a phone call of course - their purpose is to illustrate how expensively you can announce your latest text with a poorly-reproduced chunk of shitty production line R 'n' B (funny how that term started out meaning Chuck Berry, then the Stones, then The Who and now, inexplicably, over-produced, under-inspired clone warbling). The man who does speak into his phone is these blokes' fellow traveller Mr Middle-Aged-Bottom-Rung-Executive. You'd think he was really really important by the way he continues to conduct a booming team conference with his minions all the way from the lounge to the tarmac, but you know he's a fraud because he's travelling on Jet2!

You've never got a Glock when you need one, have you? I'm not sure why these people get my goat quite so much. I think it's the pretence. You just know the young guys would love you to believe they're cool jet-setting movers and shakers but really they're about as sophisticated as Wayne Rooney and ninety percent of their cerebral activity is devoted to footy and pulling that blonde down the club with the massive tits. And Mr Exec probably goes home to his lawnmower and a bottle of mid-priced whisky to drown out the fact that he's still travelling by Air Scunthorpe after decades of service to the company.

I should let it go. Imagine what they're writing about me. Well, maybe not writing, then...