Spoiler: No. We’re not learning. The next day, traffic was fine. The tunnel opened. Everyone forgot. Until next time. Because there will be a next time. It’s as predictable as a Ryanair baggage fee.
So what do we do? We accept our fate. We download a good podcast (or three). We pack snacks. We consider staying home and just video-calling our loved ones from the couch. Let’s be honest: missing a flight because of a tunnel crash is a right of passage for anyone flying out of London.
Next time you drive to Heathrow, whisper a little prayer to the traffic gods. Bring a book. Bring a packed lunch. And if you see the brake lights appear in the distance… just laugh. Cry-laugh. Because you’re in this together with thousands of other miserable travelers. At least you’ll have a good story for the pub. Eventually.
Moral of the story: The Heathrow Tunnel is a fickle beast. It giveth travel, and it taketh away your sanity. Until the next crash—and there will be one—drive safe, plan for Armageddon, and maybe, just maybe, take the train.
