The Guardian - Tabitha Lasley

On 2 July we sent six writers and photographers to capture a typical British summer’s day. Tabitha Lasley went to Liverpool John Lennon Airport

Liverpool’s airport is preternaturally calm. There are no queues, no delays. Our photographer shows me a shot of the exterior; it’s so quiet and clean, it looks more like a photorealistic render than a real building. Inside, the concourse fills up then empties out, according to the schedule. 

This, people keep telling me, is the advantage of a small airport. Liverpool runs a lean, efficient service. It doesn’t offer as many routes as Manchester, but it goes to places the bigger airport doesn’t serve.

Even as the country gears up for a summer of discontent, you’ll struggle to find anyone here complaining about strikes. Liverpool approves of collective action, just as it chafes against authority, especially when that authority flows from a Tory government. The overriding sentiment I hear today is relief; that borders are opening up again, and people are free, at last, to fly. The city’s vexed relationship with rules has as much to do with geography as history. Liverpool is a port and looks out towards the ocean. It has its back to England, and so generally disdains what the rest of the country is doing. 

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