I was sitting on the Tube with the working lot in London at about 7PM reading one of those newspapers that they hand out for free in front of the Tube. It heralded the arrival of writer Tony Parsons at Heathrow Airport.
The lucky scribe is only the second writer in residence at the international airport (if you consider staying in an airport rather than transiting to global destinations via an airport lucky).
They’ll be hosting him for a week (?) at the Heathrow Hotel as he observes all the wacky goings-on, chatting with stewards, porters and security guards, no doubt…doing his best Tom Hanks impression (from the hokey flick The Terminal) and gathering info for an upcoming book.
You’ve got to love how perfectly manufactured and cross-marketed top writers and their concomitant books are these days. Apparently, when the tome is eventually released, a certain amount of copies will be given out at Heathrow Airport.
Now where is the king of travel branding Richard Branson when you need him? He must be hatching some plan to culturally cash in on this literary enterprise.
My idea for a Bransonian marketing scenario: perhaps sneak an irresistibly sexy Virgin flight attendant into the Parsons zone, and have her seduce him so she’s part of the book (notice wink wink nudge nudge seduction by *Virgin* flight attendant?)
Hey, that’s not a bad idea…perhaps they should hire me to fashion these off-beat scenarios, especially after some of my recent serendipitous London episodes (including a handsome lad in a kilt dropping things he was carrying in Notting Hill, me coming to the rescue only to have him give me two venison steaks and a baguette and revealing that he was a butcher and sold Scottish game).
Read more about Tony Parsons’ adventures at The Guardian
Related: The V.I.P. Side of Frankfurt Airport