I write this at 33,000ft somewhere between Singapore and Manila. Embarking at Singapore I witnessed an angry outburst by a passenger who had his tiny scissors confiscated. He claimed they had been declared kosher on his two previous trips through the metal detectors, and couldn't see what the problem was in any case. Now, I'm fairly amazed that he was silly enough even to try to carry such an item onto a plane these days - they've been things non grata on domestic flights in Australia since September - but I have to acknowledge his point. Like, he's going to hold a .25 inch blade to a flight attendant's throat and order him or her to break down the door to the flight deck, menace the two or three crew with this mighty sabre and frighten them into giving him the controls, so he can fly us into Raffles' Hotel?

I think not. But that's not the point, is it. The point is that every anal, ISTJ, rule-toting idiot in the world's air terminals is now having the time of his or her life. Suddenly, the world has been rearranged and turned around and tailored to suit their tiny mind. Their opportunities to hassle and importune their "customers" have expanded beyond their wildest imaginings. Now they can push around the CEO of a Fortune 500 company for daring to carry a manicure set.

I've flown a bit. Prior to September I'd never had my bag searched (except in Manila, of course). Last October it was searched three times before I managed to leave Sydney. An astute metal detector attendant at Hong Kong divined that the handle of my razor was the offending item, but that possibility had been beyond the imagination of the overzealous Aussies, empowered and emboldened as they now were to throw their considerable weight around as it suited them.

The contrast pre- and post- 11 September 2001 in the boarding lounges of this planet deserves a more thorough analysis than I have time for at the moment. Suffice to say that in July I flew round the world on a trip involving fourteen takeoffs and landings, without my shaving tackle exciting anyone. And without having to dismantle my laptop, which has happened once (so far) on this trip. Note: once! 66 percent of the metal detector jockeys so far have let it through intact. But one decided to exercise her authority - arbitrarily.

The arbitrary exercise of authority, as a principle, scares the bejesus out of me. Especially arbitrary exercises of authority by not-very-bright people with guns. It was bad enough last March in Manila. Being given the once over by half a dozen, variously uniformed armed guards, some holding blunderbusses that looked like sawn-off shotguns, just to get into the mall, was a little unnerving to say the least. I'm not looking forward to seeing how the War on Error has affected the situation. My protectors are not likely to have mellowed out.

I'd rather take my chances with a nail-scissors wielding terrorist any day.