Why is it that being in Heathrow brings to mind the image of a bottling plant where all the bottles proceed at manic pace, one behind the other in a manner which is very efficient and lacks any humanity? The airport seethes with humanity, but at the same time is a machine which grinds on remorselessly.
Everyone is going somewhere; they all come in to the centrifuge from different places and, if they are lucky, they and their luggage will be thrown out of the vortex into the correct plane going to the desired destination. It is a monster - but quite useful as long as its in someone else's back yard.
We entered it's orbit and were slung out again in the direction of LA. So far so good . .
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