I'm sitting in Heathrow airport, en route home to Milan. An announcement just came over the loudspeaker saying that a bag has been left unattended outside Dixon’s, the duty free shop across the way. It’s tragic in a way how suddenly my brain is filled with thoughts of explosions, with a shivering in the pit of my stomach. I’m eyeing the pillar two meters away, with the payphones attached to it, and I have the clearest possible image of how it would be torn into pieces, shards flying everywhere, phone receiver hurtling uselessly through space, ceiling caving in. The force of my imagination terrifies me at times, and it’s sad that my instinctive reaction to hearing about the unattended bag should be that of thinking about terrorism.
An old man in suspenders sauntered over and picked it up, so all seems well.