You can’t get near these days, you have to park a long way away and approach on foot, approaching Mammon’s Junction. Inside, all is turmoil, people mill about following muddled signage and frowning at displays. Of course, there are distractions; opportunities to buy, while away the time with frivolity.

Eventually the tension builds. We assemble near the forbidden zone, sternly visually challenged by authority, a motley selection of humanity waiting for Godot. The electronic imparters tease, tantalise, inform, disappoint. The expectation builds, there are shadows beyond the glass, the portal parts  and there is a flurry of serious wayfarers, besuited, minimally bagged, heading for the exit guardian interfaces. There then follows the wait of petulance, the carousel doldrums, the slough of despond. We fidget, impatiently. Children question, seniors scowl. Again, the portal parts and there is recognition- strangers react. There are waves, shouts, hugs, children run, get grabbed and cuddled. The scene plays out in bit parts and the players slip away. Then suddenly your eyes meet, your faces beam and you feel that surge of relief, all is well.

I really hate airports sometimes.