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August 2, 2008
On my way back, I'm already fed up with the English. I'm at the airport, 50 minutes to departure, and they are queuing up already to the empty gate, wearing that awful expression of suffering righteousness. I nearly started a fight with a sickly, boring couple, faces bleak and colourless, she in a garish-print top, he exposing his blindingly pale legs in beige shorts. They cut in front of me at check-in, so in vengeance I peeled off the green sticky-tape cross they put on their plain, boring suitcase to spot it easier. That will teach them.