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Not
This week is most definitely not about Egypt. Not even a little bit. Unless, in being specifically and emphatically not about Egypt (or any other countries down that way) counts as being about Egypt. The fact that the word Egypt has been used four times already make the claims above somewhat suspect.
So.
There are no dragons at today's modern airport. Or, at least there are no dragons at Heathrow Terminal Three these days, which would make a somewhat winded and disheveled Saint George, rushing in with his sword akimbo and armour clanking as he bumps and bumbles off people scattered around the departures lounge (you try walking, let alone running, with armour on and see if you can manage to avoid bumping into people), a bit needless, really. Not that we mind him, on his own, you see, but when he's rushing about, akimbo, as it were, with a sword in hand, and wielding it, languishing it, rather, around a load of grumpy future passengers being frisked, jiggled, tapped, and otherwise bothered by security staff of the airport and bathroom attendants you assume are working for the airport, things aren't bound to go well.
In fact, they might go horribly wrong. A more modern day dragon, replete with her purplish hair, matching dress/mumu, horn-rimmed glasses, foul temper, and fire breath, while presumably telling the girl at the duty free till all about her grandchildren who don't exist because the woman never had the opportunity to unleash children upon the world due to household pressures and too many soap operas, and possibly, you think, attempting to buy a package of chocolates, might take offence at the knight jostling her and ruining the bit where she tells about the fictional grandchildren's illnesses and in particular myopic detail about fictional sopping wet noses, could potentially lay waste the entire half of the duty free shoppe in her indignant rage.
But this issue isn't about that.
Either.
Sooooo.
While there are no dragons or henceforth awkward Saint Georges, Toronto's Terminal Two has plenty of time to think about dragons, Saint Georges, flowers, warm beds you could have remained sleeping in as is your habit on Sunday mornings, tea, coffee, chocolate, Belgium, Asia-European relations, and anything at all, really. Not the terminal itself, but the masses and masses of people milling about the customs area like some bedraggled and cranky mixer party because Canadian Customs officials are apparently instructed specifically not to let people pass through the gates at one end of the hall in which you find yourself jammed with many other people.
But this issue isn't about that, either. As well.
Soooooooooooo.
This week's issue is about Jimmy, Ears, Bill, all of them ducks, all of them making some sort of a home down by the riverside in Richmond, where the people sit outside and drink beers when it's nice weather out, and where bets are placed as to whether or not people are going to realise that if they sit on the steps at the edge of the river they will get wet when the tide rises.
disclaimer:
We are in Canada, which can be the only explanation for this.
And we are very, very tired.
So.
And so.
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Yer Weekly Horoscopes.