Writing On Literature

  •  Published in Prospect Magazine and New Writing 15 Heathrow Airport is one of the few places in England you can be sure of seeing a gun.  These guns are carried by policemen in short-sleeved shirts and black flak-jackets, alert for terrorists about to blow up Tie-Rack.  They are unlikely to confront me directly, but if they do I shall tell them the truth.  I shall state my business. I’m planning to stop at Heathrow Airport until I see someone I know.  In the busiest airport in the world this shouldn’t take long, and I expect to be home before Ally leaves for work.  It is 6.43 a.m.  My gaze slides between so many faces that I instantly forget everyone I

    Jul 12,