Once you’ve wrestled the luggage out, you face the terminal entrance—a bottleneck of trolleys, kids, and stressed-out couples. It’s like trying to merge onto the M25 during a bank holiday, but with more crying. I once saw a dad do a full Matrix dodge to avoid a runaway suitcase. He didn’t make it.
And don’t even get me started on the “kiss and fly” zone. The name sounds romantic, but in reality, it’s a two-minute scramble where you shout “I love you” through a half-open window while a traffic warden glares at you. It’s less a kiss and more a desperate peck while the engine idles.
