I arrived at Heathrow at about 10.30pm with nothing more interesting happening on the way than the coach leading our convoy to Ringwood losing an ear at Hurn, requiring all three coaches to stop while the drivers retrieved it from the roadside. The pod was nice and easy to find and then because I don’t like going into the pod and staying put all night, I went to wander Terminal 4. Even at 11 at night, it was still hot and without heading for another terminal I couldn’t find any way to watch the planes. Gatwick is definitely better for entertainment.
I took to my pod again, flicked through the selection of films and music and went to bed.
Then I was woken at 7.15 by what sounded like the terminal collapsing only a few feet away. Sealed in a dark box, I had no idea what was going on but it seemed I was safe in here. I got out my netbook to see if I could get the internet working this morning and just check that Heathrow hadn’t been blown up, although I hoped that if it had, I’d know about it from being here. While I was doing that, I heard the same noise again a few times. I conclude it’s not the sound of destruction; it’s just the sound of the plumbing where toilets are being flushed in other pods.
Later I’ll have to drag myself out of the pod and get over to Terminal 1 to check in. For now, I’m going to go and find some breakfast.