Arrivals

The first thing I did Monday morning was log on to the Heathrow airport website, and check the "live arrivals" for Dune's flight -- it was showing as "expected 18.30" rather than the 17.30 it was scheduled for, but if anything this would probably benefit us with the traffic trying to get home.

My day was largely lazy and uneventful -- despite having all this week off work, I hadn't been able to sleep late, but still I failed to make it to the gym, either in the morning or in the afternoon. Bad Jay. More important to my day was making CDs to play in the car -- both on the way to the airport and on the way home. The drive there took more or less an hour, just as the satnav had predicted. I'd given myself plenty of time so even if I was sometimes driving slightly under the speed limit in places, I still didn't really add any time to the journey. I found my way to the short stay car parking for the terminal, wound my way up through the levels til I found somewhere relatively empty, and headed into the airport building.

I'd left plenty of time for the journey in case of delays, and likewise had allowed plenty of time at the airport before Dune was to land. I much prefer to be early and have time to read my book, to wander about, people-watch and dig stuff -- as opposed to getting places "just in time". There was no way I was going to play this one so close to the line.

Arrivals at the airport is a happy place, I like it. Unlike departures there isn't a whole lot to do -- although I was impressed there was a choice of a couple of restaurants -- but there is a lot of good feeling.

I sat for a while and read The Game by Neil Strauss -- which is a book that is going to need posts all of its own, but needless to say it really skews your perceptions of the world. I get very absorbed in books, and find immediately after reading something my world can be very coloured -- for example, if I read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Nighttime I would have to remind myself afterwards that I can eat foods if they are touching each other, that it is not me that has Asperger's at all.

I stopped reading my book and wandered off to get a drink and something to eat -- I found a coffee shop, ordered what I wanted, and spotted some comfy-looking bench seats along the back wall of the shop. I slid into my seat, and the cute girl with her Mum at the next time looked up, made eye contact and said hi. I smiled to myself, my head still full of Neil Strauss' tales of pick up artists and their routines -- but I instead returned to reading, rather than use some opening question to start conversation.

I read for a while longer, until I found myself unable to concentrate on the book and instead opt to write in my paper journal. A couple of pages in that, and I decided although I was still early, it would be a good time to get my spot on the railing that runs alongside the arrivals.

Getting a good spot on this railing is a lot like trying to find a good spot to see from at a gig. Most people cram along the right-hand side, maybe because they are right-handed and automatically favour that side, or maybe because you have to walk a long way round to get to the opposite side. But because of this, there are several good spots to stand on the left where you can stick your elbows out to give yourself more room. It's important that you are against the rail itself in this case, otherwise your target -- the arrivee, as it were -- might not spot you. And that's a right kerfuffle. But sometimes you have the people for whom just standing there isn't good enough -- they have to stand on the rail, so that you can't see past them, or they have to lean right over and so block the view of everyone alongside them.

I get my spot and I know that I am early, but am content just to watch the people as they come through the doors and look for their friends and loved ones. The best ones would be where (typically) a man would come along smartly dressed and looking quite tired -- and then there would be a yell of "Daddy!" and a small child would run towards them, only to be picked up and hugged. Or there would be a professional looking couple who would be greeted by perhaps two small children who would be barraging them with stories about the toys they are carrying or everything else. You needed a heart of stone not to be touched by these moments. There would be other people you couldn't help but make up stories about -- young people with backpacks you imagined were returning home, or else perhaps seeing England for the first time on the European leg of their round-the-world trip. I saw one old man in robes with a long white beard. I thought he was so cool I wanted to take him home (no, not instead of you, Dune) -- how good would it be to take him to the pub, take him to gigs in Camden, bring home to dinner with my parents...

I kept an eye on the time, to be aware of when I should start properly watching for Dune's arrival. She was now due at 18.30, but I reckoned that it would be silly to expect her before 19.00 at the earliest -- the plane might land at 18.30, but there still needed to take into account deboarding, collecting baggage on the wheel of fortune, clearing customs -- perhaps even being quizzed by security, as I once had returning home from snowboarding in France. I knew 19.00 was the earliest I would possibly see her, but just the same as the time ticked on, I started to wonder -- had she even made her connection in Kuala Lumpur? Were her bags lost? Were customs being difficult? Or could we just have missed each other as she walked along the arrivals walkway?

As each new wave of people passed through the doors and alongside the barrier I'd try to work out if they looked like they have travelled from Kuala Lumpur -- but how can you tell? What exactly does someone who has caught a plane from Malaysia look like? I figured that if it got past 19.30 then I would consider maybe asking airport information to page Dune -- which would have been the first time in history I have ever asked airport security to make a genuine announcement. But as if on cue, Dune walked out at almost exactly 19.30 -- pushing a baggage trolley loaded with bags but looking glad to finally be at Heathrow.

We negotiated a trolley with wonky wheels back to my car -- which seemed a lot easier to find when the car park was empty -- and then began a drive home in thick fog, stopping only for fast food dinner at motorway services about an hour from home.

Reassuringly, from my side at least, we seem to get on very well -- as if there has been no transition from being online mates to real life friends. Today Dune saw the delights my town had to offer (like Asda), and she's quite worn out from all the excitement. Tomorrow we're heading into London to be tourists :)