I‘ve given up trying to read. I’ve been holding the book back for hours as something to look forward too.
I wouldn’t care but it’s fucking rubbish. Do you find, when delayed at an airport, you have a sudden urge to run into the bookstore and buy the crappiest book in there? You could be a true intellectual but sometimes the urge still grabs you. A few hours later you are sitting on the plane, feel a touch bored and pick up your plastic bag, now containing a pile of shit including a bottle of water, magazines you’d never normally be seen dead reading, a miniature battery operated fan which will stop working before you even step foot off the plane, two adapter plugs because the explanations were so complicated you couldn’t figure out which one you needed for where you are going and some warm wine gums, and out comes the trashy novel which is approximately 60 pages thick and cost you a measly £8.99. You’ve usually read the damn thing or before you’ve taxied down the runway and the only thing it inspires you to do is look at the inhouse drinks list and work out how many alcoholic beverages you can squeeze out of the change in your 98
pocket. I saved my disgraceful excuse for a book until this particular moment in the journey. False hope. I should have spent my money on something better.
Tamazapan.