Jonny Dunbar
Turnhouse Bar - Edinburgh Airport
Four clocks on the wall say the time in London, Paris, New York.... and Alicante. The middle of an unseasonal heatwave, and walking through the airport gives us the unreal feelings of a holiday, but we can't agree whether it's feelings of arriving back, or just departing. Ian brings out a multipack of Wispa bars. I don't partake, but Jonny says that it "really hits the spot". Shirley texts to ask if she should watch Saving Private Ryan on TV. The lights of a multistory carpark. Turned away from the toilets, because the airport is already shutting down for the night, told to use the disabled ones instead. Metal shutters come down behind the bar, guarding bottles of cheap rosé wine. And on the bus back, we sit upstairs above the heater, and it's unbearable. (Cai)
Obviously I'd known when it was drawn that this was gonna be an odd one. But it still felt like a form of surprise, that yes; going out to the airport for a pint, for no reason other than being there, and then going home, feels different to grabbing a pint before flying off somewhere. I'd not been to the toilet yet; when they started the process of closing! It was about 9! I wandered off, and came across Cai in the corridor near the facilities. He warned that a woman was cleaning the toilets, and that the disabled one was locked. On the 35 bus home, we sat upstairs at the back, right on top of some sort of engine or heater. It was uncomfortable, and we stupidly sat there for most of the journey. A long, snaking journey, through the outskirts, the city centre, and finally to our destinations. (Jonny)
We went to the airport for a drink; a bit random but the draw process threw it up! It was Friday evening and by the time we arrived, approx.8pm, it felt as though the smart traveller had gained an early exit. The bar was bereft of punters and the staff shuffled around uncomfortably trying to busy themselves. The flight information screens were processing the final flights - I remember marvelling at their strict order and ability to disappear in the blink of an eye. By this time it struck me that the staff were trying to shoe us of the premises - a telepathic chain of thought saw us diligently catch the LRT no.35 bus back to the city. I felt slightly deflated at leaving the airport and not flying off to some exotic location. (Ian)
Turnhouse Bar - Edinburgh Airport
Four clocks on the wall say the time in London, Paris, New York.... and Alicante. The middle of an unseasonal heatwave, and walking through the airport gives us the unreal feelings of a holiday, but we can't agree whether it's feelings of arriving back, or just departing. Ian brings out a multipack of Wispa bars. I don't partake, but Jonny says that it "really hits the spot". Shirley texts to ask if she should watch Saving Private Ryan on TV. The lights of a multistory carpark. Turned away from the toilets, because the airport is already shutting down for the night, told to use the disabled ones instead. Metal shutters come down behind the bar, guarding bottles of cheap rosé wine. And on the bus back, we sit upstairs above the heater, and it's unbearable. (Cai)
Obviously I'd known when it was drawn that this was gonna be an odd one. But it still felt like a form of surprise, that yes; going out to the airport for a pint, for no reason other than being there, and then going home, feels different to grabbing a pint before flying off somewhere. I'd not been to the toilet yet; when they started the process of closing! It was about 9! I wandered off, and came across Cai in the corridor near the facilities. He warned that a woman was cleaning the toilets, and that the disabled one was locked. On the 35 bus home, we sat upstairs at the back, right on top of some sort of engine or heater. It was uncomfortable, and we stupidly sat there for most of the journey. A long, snaking journey, through the outskirts, the city centre, and finally to our destinations. (Jonny)
We went to the airport for a drink; a bit random but the draw process threw it up! It was Friday evening and by the time we arrived, approx.8pm, it felt as though the smart traveller had gained an early exit. The bar was bereft of punters and the staff shuffled around uncomfortably trying to busy themselves. The flight information screens were processing the final flights - I remember marvelling at their strict order and ability to disappear in the blink of an eye. By this time it struck me that the staff were trying to shoe us of the premises - a telepathic chain of thought saw us diligently catch the LRT no.35 bus back to the city. I felt slightly deflated at leaving the airport and not flying off to some exotic location. (Ian)