The Independent - London, January 23rd, 1999
THERE SOMETIMES comes a point on an unfamiliar aeroplane journey when, at a window seat, a passenger can feel like God. The plane descends through the cloud cover towards a distant runway. The cloud frays. Patches of the Earth's surface appear. First a glassy sea ridged with frozen waves and dotted with a few model ships; then a coast and a miniature train running down the coast; lower now, a ribbon of road with insect-cars crawling along it; lower still, scruffy fields, some kind of farmhouse, flat new factories, a tiny man on a tiny bicycle pedalling somewhere. For a minute or two, it seems ...
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