He didn’t like to fly–the noise and vibration gave him a headache–but, as with anything new, he was excited by the strangeness of it. The disjuncture intrigued him: stepping through a door in one place,...

In the airport, luggage-laden people rush hither and yon through endless corridors, like souls to each of whom the devil has furnished a different, inaccurate map of the escape route from hell.

There is already enough chattering nonsense on the ground. Do we really need aviaries in pressurised tin cans at 30,000 feet as well ?