Puss & Boots

You are about to blow up a plane.

To kill hundreds of people in the air and possibly on the ground.

It doesn't matter whether you do it in the plain light of day, or tucked away out of sight; the end result will be the same.

But, then we have the two attempted plane bombers - who we shall call: puss & boots, if the intention was to bring the planes down, then why after flying for so long, why at the last moment do they miraculously lose their focus and turn from being martyrs of adoring waiting virgins, into a terrorist version of frank spencer?

Surely if the aim was to down a plane, wouldn't you inject your pants whilst sitting on the loo in the loo, at least you'd have minutes of peace to make numerous attempts without having those very same people you're attempting to murder trying to pummel your ineptitude into an orbit all of its own?

Remember, this is from the very people who planned the destruction of numerous iconic buildings whilst they cosseted it up thousands of miles away, in the dusty bleak wasteland of the mountainous east; managing to hijack planes and thwart the best that trillions in defence spending could offer on 9/11.

Is it me, or does each time this particular shoal manages to bob its way to the surface, it has a disturbing tendency of smelling like a trawler full of nasty old pollock?