These days, it's the cakes that are the real terrorists

Pssst!  It’s me, Jon Bon Jovi.  Not the real Bon Jovi of course, it’s just a pretend name that I use to cover my tracks.  I was in Sainsbury’s supermarket the other day, perusing the delicatessen, when I heard a rustling in the Bon Bon Cake section.  It sounded very suspicious, so I did what I always do when I feel threatened; shouted “Not now, Marjorie!” at the top of my voice.  It’s a defensive reaction that has always served me well, and I got the idea from hedgehogs.  And why not?  If a hedgehog hears a twig snap, or an amorous couple engaging in a spot of noisy, impromptu coitus on a picnic blanket, then he will roll himself up into a ball until the threat has passed.

It’s been about twenty years since I last got on a plane, and with good reason; I am scared to death!  The authorities spend all that money on X-ray machines, metal detectors and bald men who want to sneak a digit up your backside, yet none of that is going to stop anything with a biscuit buttery base, is it?  What will these security bods do if some chocolate fingers and sultana croissants team up, and start sneaking through the air vents?  Are they going to go after them, armed with cups of warm, sugary tea, hoping to dissolve them before they get anywhere near the fuel tanks?  I think not.

Even the roads aren’t safe any more.  Cats eyes?  Street lights?  Toll roads?  Like, hello!  A baked lump of flour, sugar and egg simply isn’t going to take any notice of those things.  They are masters of strategy, they will simply outflank anything that put in their way.  No-one ever listens to me, they just roll their eyes and call me a nutter.  Wait, hold on.  Why are those security guards looking at me?  Why are they surrounding me?  Good Lord, not even Bon Jovi is safe from these tasty snacks!  Somebody, please help!

Not now, Marjorie!

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