Quick Change.

 This very morning it’s quiet in the streets of Kiev. President Victor Yanukovych is nowhere to be found, the police have disappeared and the protest leaders are in control. The dramatic images of Independence Square http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/ukraine-whats-happening-and-how-will-it-end-9139199.html (scroll down) have a look of apocalypse about them. I knew seventy or so protesters were killed, the police used live rounds etc but I wasn’t prepared to see an apocalypse. I’m struck by incredibly limited vision of news cameras. Like our own eyes only having a small circle of actual acute vision news photographers are always looking for the best shot to ‘show’ the story, at least the news story they’re focused on. So in a sense the momentum of the news story dictates the focus of their lens. It’s likely in Kiev just a few streets away from Independence Square life, or at least the look of it, is quite normal. What the protesters have created in that square, consciously or not, is a film set for the media. Black smoke from burning tyres smudges the buildings, central monument and protesters into a homogenous acrid grime and makes the clean police uniforms look even more alien and sinister. Somehow like a boy coming in from football covered in mud the look belies the simplicity of a bath to put things right. How this situation will evolve I’ve no idea but I find it interesting that you only need to create the look of devastation the width of a wide-angle lens to tell a story, a story that the media will flock to and that might to even make a president flea. Whatever our technology or status all of us are narrow vision-ed emotional beings: show us the pictures and we will create the narrative. 

Billiard Maths.

When I get down to play a shot I don’t really have a clue what to aim for. Obviously if you want the object ball to go right you hit it on the left side, but by how much? So I thought I’d work it out. Here’s the diagram to instantly improve your game. At the top the object ball (dark) is hit by the white ball (light) to go off at 50*. The large (light) circle shows the centre of the white ball as it hits the object ball. When the white ball approaches from a distance to get a 50* angle between the white and object balls you need to aim its centre line approximately half the radius away from the edge of the object ball. To get 30* you aim for the edge of the object ball. The bottom (dark) object ball and vertical lines show the different distances from its centre to get the angles from zero to 90*. It’s relatively easy to estimate the fractions of radius required but they’re not a simple proportion because we’re dealing with circles. This is fine when the white ball approaches from a distance but when it’s closer you have to take into account the angle between the ball centres and the line of the white ball to hit the object ball off to one side. This gets bigger the closer they are together and the lines of number show what you need to take off from the basic lines at closer distances. So for example where aiming for the edge of the object ball at distance gives 30* at 1 foot it only gives a 25* angle (30 – 5) or at 6 inches 20* (30 – 10). So to use the diagram estimate the angle required and distance, calculate where you need to aim the centre of the white ball centre as a fraction of the object ball radius required. Either that or just hit the bloody thing and hope for the best. I have yet to try this whole thing out. 

The Driver’s Door of Life.

Anyone who owns a Renault Scenic will know that though brilliant in most respects, our Dorothy being a spiffing example, they have no control over their windows. It’s a borderline personality disorder. I’ve witnessed a parked one beeping its horn with the front windows going up and down like a frantic semaphore signaller all on its own. They can be up when you park it and down in the morning, go up and not down, down and not up and generally work or not work according to the whimsical will of some automotive deity. Anyway I took her in for an MOT yesterday knowing and ignoring that the driver’s window is currently not working and hasn’t worked in months. It was strange then that it was three inches open and immovable when I picked her up. Not very secure especially to the overnight rain. I set about it this morning but couldn’t get one particular bolt out. No socket would fit. I decided to take it to the garage figuring they got me into this mess. The man was very helpful, he dashed inside for a socket: it didn’t fit. He disappeared again and came back with a handful: none of them fitted. He went in again to find some extra slim sockets that would do the trick. While he was away I remembered a snippet from a forum that further enhanced the Scenic’s reputation for electronic bewilderment. I opened the door and then tried raising the window. It worked. When he arrived back with several more sockets, none of which worked by the way, I sheepishly pointed to the closed window. He thought for a minute and suggested a very logical possibility; a break in the wire that bends when the door opens. He obviously doesn’t know Scenics very well. It’s apparently more likely to be dampness in the Temic module, which must be true because I read it on the Internet. OK so what the hell is the Temic module? 

Sherlock Fingers Gove.

Glancing at my monthly page views I notice per country the numbers equate roughly to the size of their surveillance operations, USA 123, Russia 88, China 12. The UK at 108 looks a bit high for GCHQ but I still wonder if I actually have any bona fide readers who are reading this for fun and not simply trawling it for insidious intentions. But then Israel is conspicuous by its absence when even Estonia has 2, with 3 Serbs and 2 Ukrainians. I can honestly say I am no threat to Ukrainia or Uzbekistan but I’m seriously pissed off the secret services of the world aren’t taking me more seriously. I even peppered one post with all the trawl words I could think of and still no action. No knock at the door by men in dark glasses wishing to interrogate me. Seriously I’m getting lonely out here. Perhaps they’ve realised intelligent people aren’t a threat. We’re unlikely to get off our thinking chair to strap bangers round our vital organs. I mean it’s counter intuitive to blow your balls off for the sake of a belief occurring at the other end of your body, far better to blow your brain out to solve the problem. No I think the SSs are more likely to keep real terrorists in the public eye so they can keep tabs on them. Like Michael Gove. He’s far from intelligent and no right to a place in British politics but there he is apparently voted in by the people of Surry Heath time after ti… Wait a minute, who ever heard of Surry Heath? Where the hell’s that! What is it, like just to the left of Watership Down? On Google maps it’s not even a place, it’s just a council office on Knoll Road, GU15 3HD. See! It’s a front, a safe house where they keep the really dangerous terrorists where they want them. Gove is not the fun loving idiot politician we think he is, he’s an Al Qaeda stooge intent on bringing the UK education system to its knees in retaliation for our invasion of Iraq. There is no Watership Do..., sorry Surry Heath constituency; it’s all a front. And they say I’m not Sherlock Holmes. 

Today’s Musing.

Richard Attenborough told me this morning, well me along with the several other people watching Life on Earth at 8.30 on a Saturday morning, that the humble dragonfly relives millions of years of evolution in a single night. It emerges in a frankly disgusting process from a slug to a brightly winged flying object similar to what NASA, GE, the CIA and NSA are currently working on. More of that later. But what an amazing thought, that the nine-month gestation period of my week old granddaughter was not growth from egg to embryo to Anwen as I had always imagined but the whole evolution of human kind occurring again in a massively condensed chronology, that her process from fertilisation to birth followed the progress of countless generations in the development of our species. Could each of her seconds equate to a million years of our metamorphosis? As cell begat cell might some ancient memory of division, assembly and purpose be creating humanity anew yet again in this beautiful baby? Enough of these rhetorical questions, you get my point. When American Indians use the phrase, “For all my relations” I begin to wonder if they’re asking me to consider these eons re-enacted in my own gestation. Interesting thoughts. Back to the NASA et al. They’re developing flying surveillance robots the size of a pack of cigarettes that can watch to see if we have a gun in the pocket of our pyjamas. I’m wondering if this God-like desire to watch over us is actually an aspiration in that direction. Are we reaching for his status? Did god dabble in such techery before he developed his omnipresence machine? But then he’s a liberal now; he’s long since past through his smiting phase. These days he’s far more, “Sure, I don’t mind if you want to do that but quite honestly if you ask me I wouldn’t if I were you.” I mean that’s just passive aggressive; at least you knew where you were with smiting. Maybe when the NSA develops omnipresence and Apple makes an app for it we’ll either all be in the cast of each other’s East Enders or have left this physical plain altogether. 

Sherlock Stiffmouse.

It has a ring to it don’t you think? I’ve just had this sudden realisation; I am Sherlockian. I mean I’ve long been a disciple of the rational calculation, like when the crew of the Star Ship Enterprise encountered thirty-foot gorillas brandishing sharpened telegraph poles were all set to risk life and limb to reclaim the slain body of their junior chiropodist officer under the aegis of spurious noble emotions, I was going, No! Tell ‘em Spock! No we high capability sociopaths have no desire to dabble in the brown waters of human emotion. The answers lie in observation and deduction. A dead body no longer has the required attributes of a chum. But alas we are branded heartless by the herd. And our powers of deduction are not appreciated. Only last night in the midst of an exquisite diatribe constructing the subtle nuances of some social phenomena, I forget what exactly, I was rudely cut short by comments such as, “you ramble on and on till we just lose interest.” Lose interest?! Where would the world be if Heisenberg’s audience lost interest? Did Plato get bored listening to Socrates? OK it may get boring listening to the expostulations of a brilliant mind when all PC Lestrade wants is someone to handcuff but someone has to do it. But thanks to the wonderful portrayal by Benedict Cumberbatch our human side can be glimpsed. We are not ‘showing off’ as Dr Watson puts it when we become enraptured by our own brilliance but must, as he suggests, curtail the exposition of it. It just becomes too much for the average brain to take in. But oh the loneliness of not being able to share it. Alas, like Spock, it is a cross even we rodents must bear nobly. Please do read my 5,000 word exposition on the magnificent aroma of various cheeses. 

Disputation Rules.

Paulinemouse always hold a NYE party on the first Saturday after it. Many Christians. Normally it takes me more than a bottle of wine to be scintillating but only two glasses with Christians. They do have a tendency to hold back. It’s a meek and mild thing. And the Anglo Greek element adds spice. It’s clear that where Greeks indulge in and enjoy an overt dispute we English approach them more covertly. Our weapons are concealed, indignation, disdain, the moral levers and emotional pulleys of offensiveness and being offended. To a Greek this is just not playing the game. They are Olympians and we are slippery oiled pigmies. Just such a dispute arose between Greek Lukemouse and a vegan feminist regarding the misogyny of the Greek inheritance system. Lukemouse entered the ring a dogged muscular wrestler, the woman a delightful faultless fairy, a contest of such dissimilarity that no joy or winner could ever form the outcome. Lukemouse tried to explain that ‘what is- is in Greek society’, that what has been carved in stone by countless generations is not open to personal bendiness. The woman having seen countless Disney princesses and clutching an imaginary wand, suggested that change required nothing more than a mere twinkle from its tip. Lukemouse explained the practical necessity of patriarchy when it comes to the fragmentation of poor farming land. The woman explained that patriarchy was the scourge of mankind and the impoverishing slavery of womankind. Lukemouse countered that in patriarchy it is beholden of men to look after women. The woman gave short shrift to this particular fairy tale. Right was clearly on both sides by this time like chaplains ministering to both armies. The woman left indignant and offended and I didn’t help matters by saying, “Shame, I was enjoying that”, to which I got an ironic, “Well that’s good isn’t it.”  I guess both won by their own version of the rules but it kind of showed how different our rules can be.