Once again, no matter how many pleasant distractions I tried to conjure up, I could not sleep, a recurring problem of mine. So I awoke early and did something I so seldom do: walk the beach at dawn. Yes, ME at Dawn, and I don't mean Dawn Davenport



I caught one father trying to chum the waters with his son while his wife was swimming.


No problem: the temperature at 7 Am was 74 degrees and it was relaxing--even for a stiff, old broad from New England like me--to kick off the shoes, wander, and wonder. I wondered about that polonium because Pimpernel is right about it being so wrong a poison. "in point of fact, everyone in the community of people who worry about such things agree that polonium was a very stupid thing to be using for that purpose. For one thing, you don't want your victims lingering on speculating about their poisoners (death bed statements and all of that). You poison, the victim dies, excavate a tomb, its flower time."

So true; in the good old days you'd empty a vial of poison concealed in a silk hankerchief into the drink of the victim and that was it; he'd clutch his throat in the middle of the dinner table, sputter out a few unintelligible words and collapse into the foi gras. Of course, there was always what I jokingly referred to as The Five Year Plan, where the poison was administered is such minute quantities that there never could be suspicion. "Poor Uncle Krinkwell; I know he's a nasty son-of-a-bitch, but he doesn't deserve ulcer problems like that." (They didn't call me Lucretia du Bois in home economics for nothing.)



And with all this brou-ha-ha about using wild animals for amusement, what do we stumble upon at Twist?

We found Scotty committing a no-no by performing with a wild bird (he said they were trying to break the record for the longest kiss between man and bird). I mumbled something about animal abuse and the boy with the mohawk at the bar being a far more exotic bird and the crane whooped, "Who do you think you are?" and flew off.

That left only the boy......