THE NAIL-FILE 'WAR' _________________________     And there I sat; the long haul to the UK from Australia, and a broken finger-nail.     I asked the passenger seated next to me whether he (for it was a 'he') had one but he replied that he had had to give his up at Customs, along with a plastic knife he'd used to put tuna onto a biscuit for lunch.     He spoke quietly to me, (my nursing the broken nail that I attempted to chew off but wasn't wearing my false teeth). He said that although Customs had removed his collection of nail-files (which were to be the subject of a Nail-file Expo in Manchester) he had managed to secrete a set of useful tools in his hand-luggage which had escaped Custom's attention. Thus I was able to remove the offending nail-chip and relax, undaunted in my seat. (I'm pretty naiive and didn't think to perceive him as a potential terrorist.)     I felt sorry for him. His raison d'être for leaving Australia was now nullified, having lost his nail files. However, he later confessed to having a penchant for biting the toe-nails of various women with whom he had been in contact with previously, in Europe, nail-files aside. (He must also have had a set of sound teeth, lucky devil.)     Now there's a thing. How many nail-files, I wondered then, have been confiscated by Customs officials around the globe from people with such broken nails, hang-nails and other reasons for carrying them in the first place? Was there now a World glut of semi-used nail-files and had my shares in them fallen drastically?     In all innocence, what had the humble nail-file got to do with terrorism? If I were confronted by a person wielding such an object at me and threatening to take away my hard-fought-for aisle seat, I would probably collapse laughing. A Stanley knife might make me think for longer but the same would probably apply in the end.     It's hard to imagine that these 'weapons of mass destruction' are laudable, in any circumstance. Takes an American, I suppose....     "Hey, Buddy. How's about you handing over the plane? If you don't do as I say, I'll file you to death." Sounds like a government clerk.     Well, anyway, I managed to secrete the elastic band that was holding my file (not 'nail') of notes together into my stow-away baggage, (fearing that I might be caught trying to strangle my nearest neighbour with it and attempting to take over the aircraft). I did flick him several times with it but he refused to react as he was trying to sleep. I also managed to hide my Swiss pen which contained not only one, but three coloured inks, the combination of which might have given rise to noxious fumes, further endangering the lives of the other passengers. (I'm not a chemist, so I wouldn't know the outcome of this mixture).     Fortunately, my passenger-neighbour, had heeded the airline's warning to turn off his mobile phone, which was now, fortunately, not emitting microwaves which would fry the aeroplane's computer. I further disregarded him as a potential terrorist.     Well, we gained the air. It was a bit of a worry when the pilot announced on the intercom:     'Sorry, folks, I can't get it up. Maybe you should have flown Viagra Airlines." We did realise it was a joke, eventually, as the plane took to the skies. We were off on our flight. Singapore was first. It would be my first fag for six hours. I dreaded the thought of smoking in the toilet; even I, had no wish to include my own passive smoking on my agenda, let alone set off the smoke alarm, which would probably have heralded the inclusion of an air-sea rescue in our itinerary. Mind you, I knew where my life-jacket was, courtesy of the in-flight video. I was, however, a bit worried about the whistle you were supposed to blow so that people could find you in the shark-infested waters in the dark. (Do sharks eat you in the dark?) Maybe it would signal a strike of US NORAD planes (off-course, of course) which would obliterate all the nail-files stowed in the hold-luggage as well.     Singapore was sparse of SARS. It had recently, yet again, come off the WHO list and didn't appear on the WHEN list or the WHERE list or even the WHY list. A few people wore masks; they were the cleaners who emptied the over-full ash-trays in the smoking lounge. (They, obviously, didn't like passive smoking either).     Then it was on to the UK. Thirteen hours of consulting the I Ching and Runes to find out if we would get there in one piece or even in peace. No Mecca this time, I was flying Singapore Airlines, not Royal Brunei. No prayers this time, only our own; a wing and some, possibly.     Swollen ankles, even less nail-files than got through the first Customs check in Perth, less Stanley knifes (why Stanley)? There are plenty of other manufacturers. Mostly they come from China. (Wasn't that the place SARS was supposed to have come from?)  Is, therefore, China a 'weapon of mass destruction'? or is that the USA, who seem to know all about them? ...And no sign of them finding my friend's miniature tool-set, either.     Ankles still swollen, I, arrived at Heathrow Airport along with my other passengers and children terrorising their parents. We were all tired and nail-bitten (those that had teeth). Thirteen hours is a long time cooped up with 300 other potential terrorists (even without their nail-files), but, I might add, still with their plastic spoons with which they ate their ice-creams. Whether or not they had still managed to keep their nail-files or Stanley knives (or sets of miniature tools), I have no idea.     We, therefore, arrived safely; hard-(nail)-bitten travellers, but safe.     Blast! I've just broken a nail, again. Now I'll have to wait until I can get my suit-case out of the baggage-hold before I can find my nail-file and clippers.     But, hang on! I'd forgotten about the sheet of sand-paper that I always carry in case we came down in the desert. It was my map for survival; and my nail's salvation.

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