Air Babylon [antikvár]

5-6 AM Having spent the past ten years working for this airhne, you'd have thought I'd have a better parking spot by now. Somew^here within the airport, at least, where I could park up in the short-term multi-storey and walk across without getting bloody rained on. But no. As duty manager, I'm one of the most senior employees my airline has working over here in the UK; I'm in charge of all that goes on in the airport and I am still parking my car at the bloody north perimeter fence along with all the other riff-raff. And I've got a rubbish car. Well, everyone has a rubbish car if you compare them to the hardware the baggage handlers drive to work. It's like the forecourt of Jack Barclay out here. It's known as Jag row, although they aren't obviously all Jags. I can see a couple of shiny Audis, a BMW, a Lexus and a brand-new Merc glistening in the rain. Quite how baggage handlers manage to afford such glamorous transport on their