Let’s talk about the Short-Stay car park first, because it’s the star of this show. You drive in, grab a ticket, and suddenly you’re in a game show where the prize is not getting a second mortgage. Five minutes? That’ll be a fiver. Thirty minutes? That’s your lunch money—and mine. I swear the pricing algorithm is designed by someone who actively hates the idea of you picking up a friend from arrivals without donating a kidney.
Here’s the kicker: you see those little signs saying "Free for 10 minutes"? Ha. That’s the bait. The moment you hit 10 minutes and one second, the system charges you for a full half-hour block. It’s like a parking meter with a grudge. I once watched a family frantically hugging their grandma goodbye just to beat the clock. That’s not travel; that’s a timed sport.
The "Express" Drop-Off: A Tax on Goodbyes
Then there’s the Express Drop-Off zone, which is basically a premium anxiety lane. You pull up, and your car is immediately photographed from three angles—like it’s wanted for something. The signs scream "KEEP MOVING" in angry red letters, and you’re scanning for your passenger like a contestant on a reality show. I saw a guy literally toss his wife’s suitcase onto the curb and shout “Love you, bye!” before screeching off. Romantic, right?
The cost? Let’s just say you could buy a decent cappuccino for the price of a two-minute stop. And if you dare to idle for a chat? The automatic number-plate recognition system will send you a bill that feels personal. I got one once for stopping in the "loading zone" for 90 seconds—I was still loading my own regret.
