On the flight home on the weekend I settled in to read my book, Nick Cave's The Death Of Bunny Munro. There was a little kid across the aisle, a squirmer and a squealer. Awesome. At one point he literally spat his dummy across the aisle and it landed in my open book. The kid fell silent and looked impressed and shocked and a little bit frightened. His mother looked horrified and apologised like she thought I was going to get violent. I was just amused. Ain't never had a kid spit its dummy from a distance into the pages of a twisted novel I was reading.