One of the many things that I don’t like about airports is that they don’t understand early morning.
You know what I mean. You get up at half past yesterday for your pre-dawn flight. You feel like crying. But you’re too tired. Your eyes are so bleary you can’t quite work out if you’re actually up or just experiencing a soft-focus flashback of that time you had to get up at half past yesterday for a pre-dawn flight.
Then, you get to the airport and just when you most need to dowse your mind in cotton wool you’re thrust into a fluorescent nightmare where people rush about at 5.30am in a headache-inducing strip-lit version of Tuesday afternoon (famously voted ‘most mediocre time of the week’ four years running).