A very literal 'fight or flight' situation
Involving an airport, a bomb, and a tearful phone call to my husband
I had been in London for a grand total of seven hours – I’d flown in, bleary-eyed, that morning at 7am. It was now coming up on 2pm and I was leaving Pizza Express (not the one in Woking, IYKYK) having eaten lunch and was heading to hop on the overground back to London City Airport. The reason for my perilously short trip was I had been commissioned to interview Alicia Vikander at the Tomb Raider junket she was at, which sounds glam on the surface, but the over-and-back-same-day vibe is, I can confirm, not it.
Because I love to sow chaos in my own life, I had forgotten to bring my purse with me to the UK. But I didn’t realise that fact until after I’d paid for my Pollo Ad Astra and Coke which I paid for in cash, meaning when I went to buy a train ticket, I realised I had no means of payment on me. At all. I cried at a security man (AT him) and he mercifully took pity on me and opened the gate to let me through. I was in the middle of prepping for a repeat performance at the other end when what I can only describe as a MADMAN sat on the train beside me.
Anyone who knows me will know I attract these sorts on public transport. It’s clear that I inspire passion in the unstable. So for the entire journey I fielded odd questions about shoelaces, my pronunciation of various words and at some point there was something about a zamboni – which, frankly, I was impressed that the Madman knew the word for. He was harmless and I don’t want to denigrate his apparent mental health struggles, but for all intents and purposes, he was just mad.
Arriving at the station, I felt a sense of relief that I’d be free from his conversational web. For those unfamiliar, there’s a station directly underneath London City Airport (aka my favourite airport in the world) which leads up into a large, enclosed, almost conservatory-like foyer. There are ticket machines and people saying goodbyes to travelling loved ones – though LCA is a typically business-y airport, so it’s mainly people in suits with efficient-looking luggage and gaits to match. Hence my love for it: Ain’t no airport first-timers ‘round these parts.
Upon arriving into the foyer, I immediately sensed something afoot; there were security guards manning the inner doors – the ones leading into the terminal – and not letting people through.