The one about planes and metal detectors

I was talking aviation security with an international pilot recently, we were discussing the varying levels of security at different airports.

How come at one international airport I can swan through without setting off the metal detector, but yet at another one - wearing the same clothes -I get told very brusquely, 'Take off your belt and boots.' (I did refrain from, 'If you were going to request my jeans, I'm going to have to put my foot down') and, even without these items, promptly proceed to set off the metal detector?

He said that he noticed a huge difference from airport to airport. And that at one particular airport, despite the fact that they're familiar with the security staff, they remain incredibly strict with their searches of them.

Which, when you think about it, is kind of a waste of time - as he so rightly pointed out, 'If I wanted to take the plane down, I wouldn't need to smuggle anything on board - I'd be flying my weapon.'

I have to say, while I think our domestic security in New Zealand can be over the top, security on international flights does make me feel a little better about life in general. And when I read that there are calls in Bangkok to relax airport security I start to get a little twitchy.

Especially when you read that the reason Democrat MP Pichet Panwichartkul, is calling for the security review not because he's thinks the risk of terrorism on planes has diminished, but due to what appear to be fashion issues.

The former finance minister asked why passengers have to take off their belts at the checkpoint and then clumsily put them back on in public.

"How is it possible that a female foreign passenger must remove her jacket to reveal her light clothing underneath to go through the screening?" he asked.

Hmmm, call me butt-stupid Mr Panwichartkul, but don't you reckon if that jacket was carrying a gun or a knife, don't you think it's worth her having to reveal her light clothing?

Just a thought.

And another one from the Gin Wigmore stable.

I'm digging it.

But I do find mannequins creepy, though.

My father can be such a bastard. But if he changes, I will kill him.

So the Fruitcake, my mother, has been learning mahjong.

Now this is more complicated than the sentence may initially read.

Some of you will be familar with how numerically challenged she is.

As I have said before, we are talking about the woman who, when playing Monopoly would roll, say, a six and a three, and before she could say 'Pass me the calculator' you'd exclaim 'Eight ! Go straight to jail!'

She was reasonably delighted when she told me that the mahjong sensei thought her and her friends were good enough to play on their own, and that she was going to be hosting them all for a gruelling afternoon while they slogged it out over the mahjong table.

And that is why she wasn't answering the telephone when my father-the-arms-dealer was trying to tell her that he had arrived safely back in the country.

So he rang me instead, 'I'm back ! Can't get hold of your mother, she's not answering the phone - I think she's having a snakes and ladders party.'

Two men, two very different burials.

So Ted Kennedy dies on August the 25th and will be buried four days later.

Michael Jackson dies on June 25th and will be buried.....um, yeah.

I suppose there's something to be said for being two parts natural, one part artificial - your 'best before' date can be pushed out.

That would be as a flapper - not as a slapper.

If I could go and live in any era, I think it would be in the roaring twenties.

I just love the fashion (okay, there is always the possibility that it can make you look like a dump truck - but I would just ensure I was got leg extensions during my time travel back there) and it just seems to have been such a bloody fun time.

Then there was also the endless rounds of cocktail parties (not only would I turn up to this decade with drainpipes for legs, but also armed with a very fat bank account).

And then, when you're just getting sick of the heady lifestyle there was always the Wall Street Crash just round the corner to make sure you didn't have too much fun.

Perfect.

And that got me thinking - what era would I travel back to if I was poor? I have thought about this for a while, and I reckon I would have to been a stowaway on a boat in the late 1800s heading for Australia. At least it would have been hot when you got there.

But then, if I wanted to be a freeloader, I could just make it a whole lot easier for myself and be the unborn baby of a stowaway on a boat headed for Australia.

That's my time travel of choice, where would you go ?

Dear Scotland, a simple observation from someone who knows very little about foreign politics.

So you lock him up an Islamic extremist nut job because he was integral in bringing down a plane over your patch, killing 270 people in what is the most horrific aviation disaster your country has ever known.

That is, until such time that Mr Murderer and Wrecker of (effectively)Hundreds of People's Lives contracts terminal cancer and you go, 'Poor wee lamb, you got a sore tummy? That's no good, is it? Why don't we send you home so you can die nestled into plumped goose down pillows, surrounded by those you love.'

I mean, hello ?

I smell something large, dead and rodent-like that involves words like, 'ulterior' and 'motives.'

It does beg the question - has Gadaffi's nephew Crown Prince Sayyid Hasan ar-Rida al-Mahid as Sanussi got one of Kenny Mackaskill's (insert:close male relation) kidnapped as some sort sex slave?

I only say this because it just seems that someone is being shagged up the derriere over this fiasco, and it's most certainly not Libya.

Now that's a couple of pissed off looking cats.

And a truly disturbing post from Awkward Family Photo.

Why? Why ? Why ?

I mean where do you start?

Are you going to frame it and put it up in your house ?

Or was it for the annual Christmas card?

And who took the photo?

And...... question brain, would you please go into a coma.