A mere 2.8 metres high, 5 kilometres long

Blow the Roman trumpets and bring on the dancing girls, for the visiting rulers of APEC are about to be treated to a Cecil B. DeMille frolic paid for by and protected from the wretched of the earth.

The host of the show is America's Viceroy to Australia, John W. Howard. Paralysed with fear that, in front of the assembled, he might suddenly blurt couplets of love to his old squeeze, the war chimp from Umeruhca, the Weasel of Oz is being coached day and night in restraint by his wife, unwitting instigator of the international Janette Non-Proliferation Treaty.

However, we suspect that while the Great Ones are imbibing French Champagne as they view the street theatre well below them -- a vaudevillian panorama of police truncheoning protesters with entr'actes of bloodied bodies being cleansed by water cannons, Georgie and Johnny will steal away to the Loved One's digs at the Intercontinental for a passionate tryst. (Who said John Howard only had eyes for politics?) Forget the bar with its Hennessey cognac "too expensive for a price tag", the Leader of the Free World has brought a rare vintage bottle of Thunderbird wine, beloved yesteryear drop of Yankee winos and the intellectually challenged offspring of the rich.

Georgie has taught his manlet of steel the old wino greeting. "Go on, now, say it," prompts the Prez, excited as hell. Johnny hyperventilates a few times, so intent is he to please, "Wh-what's the word?" His voice breaks a tad, but he's done it. "Thunderbird!" booms the Leader of the Free World, "now, gimme another swig of thet thar TBird!" The Prime Mincer is beside himself. "Ha ha ha ha," he trills.

What happens next no one but David Lynch would want to know.

Links
• We test Bush's APEC lodgings
• Sydney's Great Wall of APEC

-- Bilegrip Admin