Tue
13-Apr-2004
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stansted
Matt and I went to Stansted late on Sunday night, with the strange intention to sleep at the airport for a few hours before getting up at five in the morning to check in for the flight. The airport stretched out around us, bright and echoing, it's grid-roof supported by elegant tree-like columns stretching off all around us. We pitched camp outside a sock shop, stretching out on our towels. I tried to write a poem as bored teenagers zoomed around on really noisy skateboards.
The artificial light and closed shop fronts -
Sock shop Hargreaves, Ponti's Costa -
The distant chatter of three-in-the-morning voices
Footsteps, skateboards, air conditioning.
Hard floor below me, clammy limbs
And battered soul.
The temple stretches out in all directions, vast and improbable,
While its priests, in crisp suits of nylon, trot back and forth preparing for the dawn,
Lord Foster, we salute you.
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