TOM Hanks and Catherine Zeta-Jones star in the new film The Terminal, directed by Steven Spielberg.

It's all about a refugee who is forced to live in John F Kennedy Airport because of red tape and was inspired by the real-life story of Iranian Merhan Nasseri who has been living at France's Charles de Gaulle Airport since 1988. But, just how easy is it to "live" in these vast places? Angela Kelly spent time at Manchester Airport to find out

IT was the moment that I tried to see how many words I could make out of "departure" that I realised terminal boredom had set in.

The scene is Manchester Aiport, mid-morning and the living is easy -- provided you are an avid people-watcher.

Airports are generally wonderful places. They are small communities of three tribes: the people who work there, the people travelling somewhere and the people making sure they either go or return.

Manchester Airport is no exception. It has benefited from a couple of costly upgrades in recent years and it is a fascinating place to visit. I said visit. Not stay there for years like that poor man in France.

Airport time -- as any much-delayed traveller will tell you -- is not like real time. An hour there is the equivalent of five in the outside world; a day like a week at home.

It's not as if there isn't much to see; it's just that what there is to do becomes, how shall I say it, repetitive.

First of all, the bedtime arrangements at Manchester Airport are not conducive to deep satisfying sleep. Those bench seats are shaped for sitting bottoms not lying backs.

And all that ding-dong announcement stuff really jars the sound sleeper, you know.

The Ladies toilets are, however, very pleasant places for morning ablutions for airport residents. They are clean, well tended with enough room to change in your private cubicle.

There is soap on hand and hand-driers that will happily become hair-driers, provided you don't mind twisting your head into a yoga position. And no one seems to mind when you get out your Disney toothbrush and beaver away at the plaque. They are quite used to travelling eccentrics here.

Food is more of a problem. Tom Hanks seems to exist at JFK thanks to the small change he gets for returning luggage trolleys, and food parcels from friendly restaurant staff. Manchester Airport keeps it simple. It has plenty of places to eat, but you pay. There are designer fish and chips, ham and cheese pannini, and tuna and lettuce with creme fraiche sandwiches.

But if you had to fork out £2.15 for a coffee and £3 for a sandwich each mealtime, any savings you had would soon disappear.

It is enough to drive you to drink. And, fortunately, you don't have to go that far -- Boddington's pub The Donkey Stone offers an accessible welcome in Terminal 1.

So, after you have sorted out the basics of living, how to while away the hours?

Well . . . you could try your hand at the machines at the amusement arcade or go in for a very one-sided game of table football. Or go on the roof to watch the planes take off (20p for a telescope and you can see Jodrell Bank on a clear day).

Spend time in the Prayer Room -- lovely and peaceful, a very pleasant room for those final, fervent wishes by the nervous traveller or simply for some quiet contemplation of your life, in the airport.

If you have a mind, you could have a dirty coat cleaned at the airport's dry cleaners (£8.10) or visit one of the many shops. I was tempted by a mini jug kettle at £14.99 or a Ladyshave at £34.99, but where to plug them in?

Take a trip to Terminal 2 along the travelling walkway for a bit of a treat. Or jog alongside it for that important daily exercise. Don't worry about the looks from passers by; a fitness routine is vital.

T2 has plenty to see. It's a bit of retail deja vue from T1 but it's good to know that "The Da Vinci Code" is the No.1 best-seller -- I've plenty of time to read it and it's working out very well, thanks. People-watching is still a very satisfying occupation, though. All shapes and sizes. Folk travelling to exotic hot-spots, nervously giggly. Cool-looking business types, unrumpled and smart with only a briefcase for company during their long journey. Sorry . . . that began to pall a bit, too, after several hours (still airport time). I am, however, the lucky one: I can go home.

In the meantime, though, I have an occupation. Now,"Departure" -- pert, dear, retard, tread, aperture, no can't have that . . .

Thanks to Manchester Airport for their co-operation.