Terminal 1 Heathrow. I wander down the corridors past the odd working light, and non moving walkways into Brittan's Finest. Not much has changed at Heathrow since the Nazi's bombed it. There is the new terminal five,never been there, looks nice from the plane,  bit of a black hole for baggage so they say, then there is the rest. Off to customs to join the line, then be checked by some one from India that your safe to enter England. Thats out sourcing. Finally out into the dull English day.

         On to the bus. The smart card ticket system works , points for that. My mate lives in Twickenham, besides the rugby stadium, half an hour from Heathrow. Through the gloom I make out the shops. The chill winds of recession are blowing down the English high street. Curry shop, Phone seller, clothing store boarded  up and empty. Even the once mighty Woolworth's has gone, the only things left, the cash registers They sit forlornly in the window, unwanted. Past the neat little houses, light streaming out the windows. Living the English dream. What is the English dream? Moving to Spain is the only one I know of.         
       Posters advertise the army. Territorial or Regular? Afghanistan or Iraq? at least it will be Sunny.  Heathrow terminal 4. At least whe have made it to the seventies. I'm going to live the English dream. I'm Leaving. Home. Home.