Epilepsy at Heathrow Airport

It's those bloody flashing lights that are doing my head in. In fairness though, there is a niggling doubt as to whether the advertisers really want their motion boards to be on the blink (literally) - it is quite clear that they are knackered to all, but the most energetic four-year-old.

Add to that, the fact that I am sitting in Heathrow's vast waiting area, whilst being bombarded on both sides by some of the most inane dance-lite shopping music imaginable and one can understand why a form of deep nausea is beginning to unfold. This trip is making me feel ill already and I have yet to fly...

The dry pain that is this airport on a calm Wednesday evening cannot merely be explained by the depiction of drying paint by magazine stands - it more closely resembles the slow stripping of skin from my hands. Clocks stop, breathing slows and free motion shuns conventional theory - things are always different at Heathrow Airport and all it makes me want to do is get completely fucked.

*Why is it that when I put "Heathrow fucking airport" into Google Images, I just get pictures of Posh Spice and Naomi Campbell?

Current listening:
Throbbing Gristle "Mission is Terminated"


Leigh