There’s a woman in the President’s Club lounge, (the one in terminal C opposite gate 74) who has talked, loudly, and without ceasing for more than 3 hours. In a strange mix of Italian, Spanish and English she has berated, greeted, beguiled, wittered on to and generally talked at not only her two companions (who seem to be silent), but I imagine most of the contacts on her cellphone. I’m surrounded by other familes, and other fellow travellers, all, I imagine, hardly interested in the fact that our protagonist has three small suitcases, or that she wants her daughter to pick up a dress tonight, how much she loves her dog\/child\/boyfriend\/carpet\/etc, nor any other of the inane drivel that has spewed forth from her in a constant stream for the duration of my stay in the lounge. A billion years of evolution brings us to a place where we have nothing better to do than babble vacuously into the ether. (Or, indeed, sit and self-righteously blog about it).<\/p>\n
Just thought you ought to know, and if by some infinitesimally small chance you’re in here with me, and read this…you have my sympathy.<\/p>\n
LOVE YOU>>>> LOUD KISSES MI AMORE GRATZIE<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"