Grown-up toys and toddlers

MK is staying at my place this afternoon, while her mummy and daddy are out working. She's sleeping in the big bed now, but boy has she been a pain in the ass before actually falling asleep! I thought she was asleep when Big Sis left. Moments later, unfortunately, I heard her cry. Sitting up-right on the bed, looking at me accusingly, I found her. She was clutching the tube of lube that sits on the bedside table. You fill in the picture of mischievous toddler. I'm very glad the stuff doesn't leave stains.
So I washed her shirt, got her up again, because she really didn't want to go to sleep, and we played a bit. When she finally agreed to go to sleep ("MK, do you wanna go to sleep?" "Ye-es."), she said: "Fanny lie! Fanny lie!" So I lay down beside her and we played that game where you have to close your eyes as long as possible. Lo and behold: it worked! MK's off to fairytale-land and I've got time to work a bit.

The only thing left to do, is sleep.

Notice that the list of items you are allowed to carry onto a plane leaving from a UK airport since today does not include "pocket-size book, one per passenger". I can understand they don't let you board with an mp3-player that might have been hacked into a bomb, but a book? You can't even bring a lighter to set it on fire!
That leaves three options for the unprepared traveller, locked 8 hours straight inside a metal tube high above the ground: (a) buy a book by a Dan-Brown-Clone in some tax-free bookshop, (b) actually watch the onflight entertainment, or (c) trying to sleep while poor children have been deprived of their playthings and food, because their lactose-intolerant mother wasn't able to taste it.

Since boarding a plane has become an act of terrorism in itself*, I prefer travelling by train.

* At least that's how I feel about it: guilty until proven innocent.