The birthday of Mr ***** *****.

Even super heroes like to have birthdays where they get a badge with birthday boy written on it. My friend ***** is no exception. Tonight I enjoyed a fine night with ***** to celebrate his 40th. Being a super hero, he'd like his identity protected so I haven't used his real name. But here is a picture of some of us enjoying curry night at Wetherspoons.

                                
That's his girlfriend sitting opposite.


It was nice having Alan stay over as well, although he is a very high maintenance house guest. When I went to Asda to get some breakfast, he demanded that toast will be fine. When I asked if he wanted butter or margarine, he demanded that he didn't mind either way. When we got home and put the TV on, he demanded that he'd watch whatever I wanted to watch. Geez, now I know why my mum looks so stressed out when he visits.

                          

The G-Fonz/M-Fonz Principle.

The Singularity Bin.

Physics is one of my great fascinations, but I often find it difficult to make sense of some of the mathematics involved, so please forgive the vagueness of some principles I'm trying to talk about. I only get half way through the articles in New Scientist before they stop making sense, and I don't read Scientific American because it has too many lift-up flaps.

But physics intrigues me. Particularly the physics I don't understand. I enjoy making stuff up to fill in the gaps of my knowledge.

The CERN super collider is something I know a little bit about, but still don't completely understand. The scientists involved find some way of shooting protons or electrons or neutrons - whatever - around in a loop really fast, and if some collide, they can record what happens. It's said that there is every chance they could create a "micro singularity," or a "mini black hole." The scientific ramifications for this would be incredibly ramifying and scientific.

I understand the basics of black holes; they create so much gravity that even light can't escape, and therefore anything nearby gets drawn in and crushed. Black holes are where our current notions of physics stop making sense; they are too far away to examine and we'll probably die when we get there.

Due to its aforementioned gravity, everything you throw at a black hole gets compacted down to the size of a garden pea. During my investigations into their nature, I've heard a multitude of scientists quote such things as: "in a black hole, the Earth would get compacted down to the size of a garden pea," or "the sun will get compacted down to the size of a garden pea" or "our solar system would get compacted down to the size of a garden pea." I've read this so many times, that if I ever get the chance to visit a black hole, I'm going to take a pea with me just to see what happens.

And don't get me started on what peas were doing before the invention of gardens.

But anyway, Bubble Wrap was invented as wall paper, then got usurped into packaging material. These days it is used to jump up and down on. Marigold gloves were created for washing up but mainly get used for humorous chicken impressions. Micro singularities will clearly be of huge benefit to society, but until a significant saleable use within every day life can be secured, the funding will be minimal at best.

So let me tell you about my bin.

When I empty my bin, I remove the black plastic sack from its cream plastic receptacle. And I take the black plastic sack out to the garden (I buy frozen vegetables so someone else can find room for their rubbish, they are already rich from my pea money). Afterwards I put a fresh black plastic bag in its cream plastic receptacle, but even before bed time, it's full up again - the pleasure of such a chore is very short lived.

As a famous philosopher poet once said: "Emptying a bin is an activity that leaves one delightfully unsatisfied."

Hence, I give you, “The Singularity Bin.” It can hold an infinite amount of rubbish, and I'm more than happy to empty my bin once every infinity.

Infinity and boredom.

Boredom is contagious. I point this out to the many people from all over the world who(m?) I spend time chatting to on-line. They say they are chatting because they are bored. I point out that best way to become bored is to talk to a bored person.

This leads me onto the subject of infinity and the ever lasting soul. Whilst having an interest in the subject of religion, I by no means subscribe to any of its concepts. But infinity and boredom are two combined subjects I find fascinating.

Lets assume that our existence is just one part of an ever lasting soul that continues beyond our three dimensional lifespans and into eternity; we are beings in a multi dimensional universe (or Heaven if you're stupid) that existed prior to birth and continues after death. When we kick the bucket, push up daisies or are no longer nailed to the perch (thanks Monty Python), the universe, upon death, opens itself up to an omniscience of what we were before and what might have been afterwards.

If an afterlife were to exist, it would axiomatically suggest that it involves a complete understanding of the universe and its entire workings. Wouldn't this, therefore, create an element of boredom? If you knew everything, wouldn't you want to forget it now and then? Being an adult, it's a bit like wanting to be a child once more when things were simpler. 

My point being is that if we do have an ever lasting soul, we'd get terribly bored of it, and returning to a life in three dimensions with its inherent forgetfulness would be a way of spicing things up a bit. When I die and learn everything about everything, I can see it getting to a point where I say: "I might try being a slug for a while, it seems like a laugh." Saying that though,  I'd probably opt out of being a tortoise for the time being because it's too much of a commitment,

As Douglas Adams said "There is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.

                                                               

I'm not going to go mad on Dali because I don't know enough about his work, but this painting, Corpus Hypercubus, inspires me. Imagine those cross shaped paper things you folded into a cube at school. Turn that into three dimensions and fold it into four.

Unexptected Potato.

In the tradition of Samuel Pepys, Captain Oates, or any crew member of the space shuttle Challenger, I'm writing a blog.