On the Fourth Day

The Christmas Season is upon us, the turkey is being eaten little by little. Sadly, the sprouts have run out. I do like a nice Brussels sprout, me.

And of course, airline security has been stepped up. The thing is, the security measures that were already in place were probably enough, were they being followed. How can a syringe needle not set off the metal detectors? And chummie was on the UK's terrorist watch list, why wasn't that information shared, or if it were, why was no action taken?

A British man faces execution in China, for allegedly smuggling heroin. The heroin, we are told by the Chinese, 'could kill 26,800 people'. How does it do that I wonder? I mean, it's not like Anthrax is it? You have to take it, and then, some people maintain a habit over a lifetime and don't ever die. I'm on shaky ground here, because I'm getting my information from Soaps, and I haven't watched one for about fifteen years, but I'm pretty sure heroin doesn't just kill people.

Basically, the man may or may not have smuggled four kilos of a drug that you have to actually take for it to do you any harm, and he is facing the same sentence as Saddam Hussein who oversaw mass torture and slaying of his own people and an attempted genocide of the Kurdish people, none of whom, agreed to any of it.

Meanwhile, the fourth day of Christmas at the Schloss has been spent tidying things, my desk, the wardrobe. I have been listening to a lot of Bowie, and whilst some of his work has more Zeitgeist than the Zeit itself, he did have a rubbish period as well.
I have also been catching up on missed tellie.
Dexter, series ender.
Oh my.
The next series could be....well, quite the series.
I have finished all my downloads of Beautiful People, sadly. The more I saw, the more hooked I became.

And now that I'm back in Canada, I realise what a relaxing break I've had from sexist language, (church service notwithstanding), although I did have to complain to the management of the Co-op for using the word 'manned' instead of 'staffed' in one of their notices, bloody peasants. British Rail's notice said, 'staffed'. Quality.

I also note that Whisky is attuned to Dean Martin. My friend send me a Power Point e-mail of snowy scenes with 'Let it Snow' playing in the background. Whisky ignored the intro music, but pulled his head whence it was buried, deep underneath the cushions, as soon as the old crooner's voice started up. Maybe channelling my mum.