Wikileaks, we all leak, except nuke submarines.

Wikileaks, I leak, we all leak as we seem to be falling into the slideshow of rewritten History again. We should be damn happy not be living in the days of Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Ciaucescu and the like! But we’re not. Happy, I mean. We’re never unhappy enough. For all the talk about which high-tech weapons systems the British military might have to do without as the country slashes budgets to reduce its debt, officers in the Royal Navy must be glad they still have tugboats and ropes at their disposal, since those were what they were using Friday to try to dislodge a nuclear submarine that ran aground just yards off the coast of Scotland.
Thank God for tugboats, hopes and ropes.
I found this particularly interesting: Julian Assange (the guy who launched Wikileaks – and is paying a high price for doing so) moves like a hunted man. In a noisy Ethiopian restaurant in London’s rundown Paddington district, he pitches his voice barely above a whisper to foil the Western intelligence agencies he fears. He checks into hotels under false names, dyes his hair, sleeps on sofas and floors, and uses cash instead of credit cards, often borrowed from friends.
Christ! This guy is just like me! (am I just like him?). Guess not. I’m more into tugboats and rough sex. Does that explain it?
Tomorrow, Monday, new week of rehearsals with the London Dry Opera. Nervous. Excited. All. And leaking,

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