The Great Stink of London has returned. Except it isn’t the result of leaked sewage in the Thames. It’s the whiff of unclaimed luggage piling up at Heathrow airport from the past few weeks, photos of which have now since gone viral. I had thought the pictures were unsubstantiated click-bait fodder when they started emerging, until my own suitcase became the latest victim of Heathrow’s baggage handling woes after a two-day work trip to Stockholm. At the Terminal 5 baggage area, the dystopian crowd of suitcases does indeed exist. Befuddled Americans just couldn’t comprehend why they had been standing there for two hours plus, hopefully waiting for that beeping sound when the belt comes alive (it never did). ‘How does this city function?’ they asked to no avail. Their crushed faces resembling those of children who have found out Santa isn’t real. Friends transiting through the UK’s busiest international hub have also fallen victim to lost baggage, often waiting days for any reply. They also happen to be people with significant social media followings and the message they’ve duly sent out? Avoid London at all costs.
Of course that prospect is going to rile me up. The return of a going out-out summer, vibey openings and events should be luring everyone back to town. I’m here with the welcome sign, ready to be unofficial Laaaaaandon ambassador and point people to all the nooks and crannies of our city so that they avoid pseudo-boujie rip-off establishments. Except the people who really power London — zero-hours staff in the retail and hospitality industries, underpaid/undercut Uber drivers and driven-off-the-road cabbies — have decided otherwise. They haven’t returned to pre-Covid numbers, whereas visitors have. Hence why the city feels like it’s bursting and is struggling to cope with the demand. Friends who have made it into town from Heathrow have all reported that hotels are booked out, but with issues of getting basic amenities and room service. Restaurants are heaving but closing early because staff have clocked off. And when I used to casually/incorrectly say Paris is always on ‘strike’, the same predicament now befalls London, with further RMT threats and potential Tube walkouts.
And so through the cycle of Chinese whispers on social media, London’s rep slides. Travellers from abroad constantly text me with, ‘But what about the strikes?’ A struggling tourism industry that was just beginning to clamber back on its feet is once again hampered by the fear factor of the S word. I’m gamely going to say that those who persevere with their London jaunts, smile stoically through the rain, efficiently raid Boots for replacement toiletries and Uniqlo for underwear (keep the receipts, people!) and get their steps in if transport options fail, shall still be rewarded.
The city’s famed institutions are celebrating inclusivity from Hayward Gallery’s In the Black Fantastic to V&A’s Africa Fashion. There’s pop-up everything on rooftops, disused Tube carriages and faux beach clubs, with so many food residencies that I’ve had to mark them in iCal. Beyond our zombie-state airport hub, London is ON.
PS If anyone passes through Terminal 5 and happens to smell a combination of inevitably leaked tube of Swedish Kalles and Gucci Bloom perfume emanating from a battered soft case (can’t carry hard cases right now what with pregnant lumbering state) then feel free to DM me. In return I’ll roll out the London welcome concierge wagon.
