So, there I found myself standing in a queue of what looked like the Mara Wildebeest migration transposed to Heathrow airport, awaiting her Majesty’s Border Force to finish their breakfast and process us.

Anyone would be forgiven, of course, for concluding that breakfast never ends at Heathrow because, of the 34 booths I counted, only about 7 of them were ever manned. The mystery, then, was not that 27 booths were empty, but, on the contrary, that 7 officials had bothered to fill any at all.

Not that there was a shortage of officials themselves, mind you. There were plenty…

Prince Mishkin

Technology, society, big ideas, the culture wars and the nature of good and evil.

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