Here’s the thing about the frequency. It doesn’t just feel frequent; it feels personal. Because those 90-second intervals don’t account for the guy in the control tower who’s had three cups of coffee and is staring at a radar screen like it’s a puzzle.
Plane Landing Explained at Barbara Oneal blog
The frequency is only possible because they land planes so close together that the wake turbulence of the last jumbo jet hasn’t even dissipated before the next one is lined up. It’s like following a lorry at two inches on the motorway. Intense.
And if you’re sitting in the terminal watching the arrivals board? You’ll see a new flight pop up every time you check your watch. “Delayed.” “On time.” “Boarding.” It’s a rapid-fire playlist of anxiety and relief.
A Little Anecdote for the Road
I once sat in a pub near Bath Road, watching the planes come in. I started counting. I got to 17 before my pint was half-empty. The barman didn’t even look up. He just said, “Thursday afternoon. Standard.”
That’s the reality. It’s not a miracle; it’s a beautiful, noisy, well-oiled machine. And it just keeps going, like a hyperactive metronome that never says “stop.”
So next time you’re sitting in a traffic jam on the M25, staring at a plane descending over the M4, remember: that plane is probably number 47 of the hour. And by the time you’ve sighed and turned up the radio, number 48 is already saying, “Heathrow Tower, established on the localizer.”
Every 90 seconds. Trust me. You can set your watch to it. And if you live nearby, your watch is probably already set.
