Gatwick Airport
I queued up in W.H.Smiths.
Honestly, I did.
I hate W.H.Smiths.
‘Cos they make you queue.
I have never been in a W.H Smiths and not queued.
I hate W.H.Smiths with a passion.
They make you queue just to form a queue!
I bet even in the Outer Hebrides there is a queue in W.H McSmiths.
I bought a paper, that’s why I queued.
Yes, I bought a newspaper, honestly.
I don’t buy newspapers, hardly ever. They depress me. I don’t queue. Not in W.H. Smiths, they depress me.
I certainly don’t go into Smiths for anything, unless it’s to increase my anxiety and bring on a feeling of total futility with my life.
On a point of principle I would never go in Smiths to wait in a line ……for a newspaper!
But I did.
I thought I might need one to read on the plane. And do the crossword. And Sudoko. And bone up on Jose Mourinho, self proclaimed son of God.
So I got in line, paid for a paper and left, feeling as though I had let some true principle inside me die.
I get to the Emirates gate and they gave me the same newspaper for free,
Bollocks.