Tag Archives: human

Your Numbers, Front And Back

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DSCF8635Here’s a real-life surprise observation from the land of the superlatives:

When I stepped out of my car two nights ago, I noticed I have no front number plate! The rear number plate, which also contains the tax disc (or some other official sticker) is still there, but I was worried that I’d get a ticket over night, as the police sometimes drives around in the hotel car park.

No ticket in the morning, so I make my way to work, planning to phone the car rental company and seek advise. On my short way in (it’s only a few minutes in clear traffic), I counted no less than seven cars without front number plates, driving into the opposite direction! And these were only those that I saw, and only within those 10 minutes, on a short stretch of Hamilton Avenue.

Hmmm, methinks, this doesn’t seem to be a very severe offense.

I’ve given up counting now, but have seen many more cars with backside numbers only.

When I checked with a colleague before phoning the car rental company, he confirmed that many people couldn’t be bothered, and that he knows of nobody who ever got a ticket because of it. I just left it at that then.

I find this very surprising though. Most people around here appear to be observing signs and directions slavishly, but red traffic lights or front number plates seem to be an exception and do not seem to apply to everyone.

 

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Church And Other Disappointments

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DSCF0354Ah, you had me fooled, Charlotte Church.

For a while, earlier in the month, I was about to applaud you for taking the News of the World phone hacking issue to the courts rather than accepting settlement from Rupert Murdoch. Fool that I am, I thought for once someone has a decent amount of morals, a spine, a sense for what is right and what is wrong.

No. An improved offer of £500,000 was what it took to satisfy your injury.

I realise now, reading the earlier article again, that you never claimed high moral standards, only a reported break-down in negotiations over the settlement pay-out.

Shame on you.

Not everyone can afford to waive an offer of £30,000, £100,000 or £500,000. But more or less everyone on the list of victims could have done without this pain killer; everyone could have done the right thing. None did.

Shame on you. All of you.

 

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Space Hoppers, Life, the Universe, and All Else

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DSCF2191Watching a science program on the telly, I wonder what’s wrong with physicists. We’ve all heard of parallel universes, and some of you will have heard of hovering membranes in no less then ten dimensions of space, plus time. Others speak of time itself suddenly jumping into existence. Wobbling strings, and what-not’s, all trying to explain the ultimate root from which you and I, and the universe around us, grow.

I realize that I am no more than a couch physicist, but as one of those, I find the whole thing straight forward: a star collapses into a black hole. Sometimes, a very big star collapses into a large black hole. The combined nuclei now may take more space than a pin head, if the collapsed star happens to be big enough. Every now and then, this black hole is near enough, and big enough, another  cosmic corpus to suck it in. Once in a very rare while, this becomes a self-propelling ever-sucking, ever-growing black hole, with a core of infinite density where all the nuclei combine. This grows to ping-pong ball size, then a football, then become even as big as a Space Hopper! Just when the core size hits the magical Space Hopper threshold, the density in its own very core is big enough for the whole thing to explode. I’m sure you can imagine that this will make a pretty big bang. Once in a while and by pure chance, the dust settles and becomes a universe like ours, our galaxy, our planet, you and I.

Our universe will probably end as cosmic dust, to play no further role. The chances of being part of the extraordinarily unlikely circumstances leading to the big bang in the first place, let alone to you and me (as detailed in the W7 theory, see above), multiplied by the chances of being part of the same thing again, is a number tiny enough to defy even the most imaginative of minds. In other words, it won’t happen.

So, face it. We kind-of know where we come from (see above). We will never know anything about life our ancestors prior to the big bang. We also know that we will, in all probability, play no further role in the universe. This one, and all parallel ones.

So, face it. Enjoy life and make it as peaceful and long-lasting as possible.

Forget what lies an unimaginable time ahead, or in the past. Focus on the present, give or take a few million years if you like, and get on with business.

I am quite sympathetic to the urge to research, discover and explain, but there are limits. Some things are just they way they are, whatever these ways may be, and there is not even a need to invent a God to explain any of that. Just life with it.  I do, and I recommend you do, too.

 

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397g

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ducklings-02For last Saturday’s supper, I made seared breast of duck, served with braised red cabbage and Pommes Dauphinoise, followed by caramelized pineapple with freshly made roasted almond ice cream.

Two Gressingham Duck Breast Fillets, the label on the packet states, 397g. I want mine just average sized, neither the monsters bordering the weight limit for duck breasts, nor some underdeveloped miniscule piece. I check with a second package, and a third, and a fourth: every single one weighs exactly 397g. What a coincidence.

I’d rather have them come at different weight than water added for constant weight and price. I can’t comprehend why anybody would find a constant weight preferable.

Balcony Tours

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cliffhangerI find it funny that my travel insurance policy explicitly excludes cover for “any claims or cost caused by you climbing, jumping or moving from one balcony to another, regardless of the height of the balcony.”

To think that this policy exclusion is probably based on one person successfully claiming cover caused by an accident caused in this manner…

 

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Guerrilla Weeding

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polluxI was curious how much longer it would take, but the wait is over: I got challenged and put to the question on my way home from the gym. “What are you doing there?” the man wants to know.

When I explained that I was picking Dandelions in this gentleman’s alleyway, "a weed to you and me but heaven for my Guinea pigs," he did what every decent man should do: His suspicious face melted away, replaced by a smile and an inviting gesture.

We had a brief conversation about the eating habits of Guinea Pigs, concluded with the repeated invitation to harvest dandelions in his alley way.

I like life’s little moments. There’s so much latent aggression in the streets of suburban London, and many people in the street look at me suspiciously when I bid them a good morning. Nice to know normality also remains part of suburban life.

 

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Evolutionary Mix

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dollIf memory serves me right, we were told that genetics work on the basis of dominant and recessive genes. How is it possible, I wonder, that genetics operate on dominant and recessive genes, but skin colour blends?

The family ahead of me in the queue consist of a dark chocolate coloured lady, her white man, and a milk-coffee coloured daughter.

Fascinating.

 

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Problem Solved (One Down Two to Go)

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badWeatherHere’s a brief update on yesterday’s post:

It appears that one of the three problems is solved, the problem of how to deal with the immediate riots happening all over Britain. Apparently, the revolution only happens after 17:00, in dry weather and, presumably, during the school holidays.

The best thing for now is a cold front with lots of rain.

 

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The Mind Goes Blank

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stopYou will already have heard elsewhere about the current riots all over England. I don’t know what to say. I tried to describe my thoughts in today’s post several times and failed each time; there are just too many facets to the whole picture. I join the ranks of those looking at the situation and not knowing what to do:

The police can go in with force and trigger even more anger and violence. They can’t stand back and watch either. Somehow, the police needs to solve the immediate problem. At least in London they seem to have managed through the night at relative quiet, but other parts of England were on fire. Even once the immediate problems are solved and the streets safe again, one wonders what’s next:

We’d lock-up several hundreds of mostly young people, giving them a criminal record in the process. An 18-year old for looting eight bottles of alcohol and 50 packs of chewing gum. A 14-year old for stealing an armful of mobile phone equipment. Others took TVs and DVDs, more alcohol, tobacco and chewing gum. Many will be charged for arson, burglary, theft, disturbance of public order, assault, assault on police, possession of offensive weapons, … (the list continues).

Sensible people (including Camila Batmanghelidjh) suggested that budget cuts all over, closure of youth clubs and job cuts for street workers, general unemployment and so forth, all contributed to growing frustration, but one wonders what will help. Others counter that free education, healthcare, housing benefits, child benefits and whatnots are already provided for those in need. But, whatever your views are, you can’t take a megaphone and promise an angry crowd of petrol-bomb throwing looters Go back home and play with yourself! We’ll re-open the youth club some time in the next couple of months, then all will be well.

As a sofa- and self-appointed blog politician and critic, I am normally confident with my ingenious solutions. Here, however, I am at a loss how to solve the immediate problem, how to address the issues with the current generation, and how to avoid repeat performances in the future.

 

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Every Little Helps

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A duck farmer in a rice field, VietnamHere’s another way to help make this world a better place for all: micro financing. I recently stumbled across Kiva’s web site, and am both fascinated and doubtful. Here’s how it works: you or I invest a small sum, $25 upwards, and lend it to someone who asks for a small credit. This could be a farmer in Mali or a collective of women in Cambodia or anyone anywhere, really. Credit takers are poor, can’t afford a large load and would never get it from a corporate bank, so they take out a tiny loan through a micro financing scheme. Maybe $150 for a pair of new goats, or $250 for farming tools, or $500 to rebuild an irrigation drench to the rice fields. People taking out such a micro loan pay back over two years or so, in monthly payments that seem small to us. When you or I get repaid, we can take our money back out of the scheme and buy important things like a new mobile phone, or re-invest and give credit to somebody else.

You and I won’t earn an interest from this. Kiva, for example, finance themselves through different sources, so your $25 actually go through 100%. Well, that’s where the problem starts. While Kiva doesn’t take a cut, a local micro financing organization does. It’s not a corporate bank, but still, a business that reviews and approves (or rejects) applications for credit, and manages the collection of repayments. I understand that someone has to travel to some remote village to see if the applicant really is in need, and if the scheme of buying two new goats makes a good plan.

The part that I don’t get is that they take something in the order of 10% “for the cost of the money” – What? I thought I had just given you my $25, at no extra cost to you?

I like the idea of micro financing. It means helping people to help themselves, and it is much more personal than giving a big organization some money and never knowing what happens to it. If anyone knows more about micro financing schemes and the true cost of the loan to the borrower, please let me know.

Obviously, I don’t want to fund a scheme to feed a local credit shark in disguise.

 

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More Supermarket Adventures

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God knows what he might be managing. His donations box, probably. Here’s another one of those things I abhor about shopping in supermarkets. Actually, it might be two things, where one leads to the other:

First, find a manager. There’s always a handful of managers on the shop floor. You recognize them by their important appearance and general being-in-the-way. When appearing in a group of two or more, they can easily block off an entire aisle and prevent customers from being customers in the most oblivious way. Because they aren’t customers, they are managers.

Second, find a managing manager. This is one who speaks to, or speaks about, a member of staff. You recognize them by their complete disregard for privacy, discussing details of weekend compensation, shift duty and personal issues aloud, and in full earshot of customers.

The day isn’t far away when I will go and interrupt the managerial proceedings with an impromptu lecture in common sense, decency, and similar basic management skills.

 

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Beep – Beep – Beep

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Another bedside alarm clock for some: the protestant church in Freinsheim, Germany It’s a silly little thing, a bedside alarm clock. My trusted old one has fallen off the bedside table so many times now that all electrical tape in the world will soon fail to hold it together. While I applaud it for its remarkable durability and survival instinct over many years, it’s time that I should look for a new one (and knew this was a-coming, too).

It has to be battery powered and small enough to be taken along when travelling. Inexpensive, without frills. It needs a backlit display and a snooze function. Radio is of no use to me. Alarm cancellation or snooze activation by voice or movement is of no use to me. Retro design or some childish design won’t do. DCF-77 or other radio services are not essential when taking the clock on travels.

In other words, just a plain, normal, usable, and reasonably looking alarm clock.

Can it be so hard?

The choice is huge and includes a travel digital alarm clock silver finish with calendar, countdown and stopwatch? Dear lord. Stopwatch? Countdown? The mind boggles. Another one has a built-in torch, the third a thermometer.

None meets my basic and no-frills requirements though. Looks like I’m going to have to make my own.

 

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