Osama bin Laden has a lot to answer for.
Every time I'm at an airport I curse him as I go through the time-consuming and no doubt costly security screening system that was non-existent before he changed the world forever on September 11, 2001.
That is of course unless I'm flying out of a regional airport in New Zealand because any self-respecting terrorist wouldn't bomb or hijack a plane out of Invercargill when he could drive up the road and do his evil best from Dunedin.
Besides everyone knows terrorists are a bit like the airlines; they don't really get too bothered about the regions.
However I digress, because on a serious note airport security and, more importantly, security at our borders is something we should all take seriously.
Case in point the latest biosecurity incursion, Mycoplasma Bovis, which follows hot on the heels of the likes of myrtle rust, pea weevil and velvet leaf.
While not in the league of Foot and Mouth Disease, which would result in a 'last one to leave turn the lights out' scenario for New Zealand agriculture, M Bovis is yet another salient reminder of why we need to be so vigilant at our borders.
And if that means standing in a customs biosecurity queue for a bit longer upon return from that overseas holiday, then I'm happy to make the sacrifice for the good of the future of the New Zealand primary sector.
But I still haven't forgiven you Osama!
Talking of holidays, I took some annual leave last week, hoping I would not be missed or I would not miss anything on my radio show (if that sounds paranoid bear in mind 95 per cent of all radio jobs are lost when you're on annual leave, when they realise somebody smarter, younger and cheaper can do your job).
So last week not only did we have the M Bovis outbreak to deal with but also the biggest political story of year - Jacinda Ardern. To make matters worse my annual leave turned into bereavement leave with the death of my father in law, Max Wills.
One of my fond and most ironic memories I have of Max occurred circa 1989 when I was a young farmer in Riversdale, northern Southland.
Max had just recently retired, at the amazingly early age of 58, from his chosen occupation as a civil engineer. His mind was naturally hard-wired for new technology, where mine was technology-averse and much more orientated towards rugby, beer and farming.
Nearly three decades later I still retain those passions, whilst remaining basically technology inert.
Back in 1989 Max was at the bleeding edge of the home computer revolution. He'd already been through at least one Commodore PC and was in the process of upgrading to a new one with more 'ram'.
Initially I thought he was talking about an easy-care Romney until he explained to me it had something to processing capacity. I knew a bit about that because at the time we were having a hell of time getting stock into the freezing works!
Suffice to say, being the incredibly generous man he was, Max offered me his old computer, no strings attached. He even volunteered to bring it south from his Tauranga base and install it on his next four-wheel drive jaunt around the South Island high country. He reckoned it could be useful to me on the farm.
For some reason my response to him, all those years ago, has stuck in the forefront of my mind. Showing a complete lack of foresight, I said I'll never need a computer in my farming career.
All the information I ever needed would be contained within the confines of my hand-written farm diary.
Mercifully Max persisted and insisted. Within a year I was writing, albeit in a very awkward two-fingered typing manner, a weekly column for my local paper and I've been doing it ever since and have wound up in this national publication.
For someone who could see no future for a computer in his working life back in 1989, I now find myself staring at one for the majority of my working day.
Max, I wasn't smart enough to take up the initial offer of the computer but I didn't need to be asked twice when it came to the daughter.
For that I am eternally grateful. Rest in peace my friend.