Wednesday 30 April 2008

The One with the Not-Dead Bird

There’s a bird. In the house. Not dead. There are cats. In the house. Also not dead. This is a problem.

It all began one bright spring day. We were feeling bright and spring-like and so were the cats. One of them (and I’ll mention no names so as to protect the innocent) caught a bird and brought it into the house.

Actually it all began before this particular bright spring day, it started in the dead (and this word will be coming up again soon) of winter. When I decided in my wisdom (which is what I like to call my disturbed mind) that what our house really needed were some nice fluffy, innocent, cute loveable man/baby substitutes. But just like real life (this isn’t real life, this is my life) the men/babies turned out to be not fluffy, innocent, cute and only sometimes loveable. They turned out to be hair-droppers, furniture-defacers and hardened killers.

In days of yore when I had a man and babies I spent many a wonderful hour/life dealing with delights such as –
Live nappies
Lively mud on surfaces
Mud on live people
Underfoot Barbie accessories
Living physics experiments
Mostly alive man
and
Underwear

Now I have man/baby substitutes I deal with such delights as-
Dead mice
Dead shrews
Dead worms
Dead birds
Dead fluffy toys
And
Deadly fear
of dead things.

But the thing about dead things is that they are static.

There’s a bird in the house. Not dead. Not static. There are cats in the house. Also not dead or static. I have isolated the two genres with a cunning use of doors, shut cat-flaps, rope and chewing gum.

I’ve left what doors I have left (after isolating the cats) open. I’m hoping the bird will leave of its own volition.

At the moment it is in the hall saying
‘meep meep meep meep tweet’.

This is progress. Earlier it was entirely silent. Then it was only saying ‘meep meep meep meep’. ‘Tweet’, I feel is a good sign. A sign of recovery. A sign of new life and perhaps a will to leave the premises of its own free will.

So meanwhile I wait. I cannot open any doors for fear the man/baby substitutes will meet the not-dead bird. I cannot close any doors for fear the not-dead bird will not meander home with an extra ‘tweet’ on it’s lips but will decide to stay and turn into a dead thing. I have a deadly fear of dead things. My deadly fear of dead things has left me in a live-bird in the house situation.

Help.
Meep meep meep meep tweet?

Friday 25 April 2008

How to Tell If a Man is Single Using Kepler's Laws of Planetary Motion

There’s someone in Australia that I’m a bit worried about. I don’t know who it is. A woman I highly suspect. So we’ll call her she. She is confused and bewildered, as are most of us. Or most of me. She has been trying to find out how to tell if a man is single. By reading this blog. Yet I’m yet to inform my confused public how to tell if a man is single. But I’ve been there. So in a reverse piece of Googling I feel beholden to pontificate upon this subject:

How to Tell If a Man is Single Using Kepler's Laws of Planetary Motion

Kepler was a chap. So already we can infer he knew something of the matter. He married a 25 year old woman who was already widowed twice over. Already we can infer that he was a reckless chap. And married.

He invented some relevant laws about bodies moving in orbits about two focal points which we might apply here to answer our question.

Law 1: A body might move in an ellipse with two focal points. So what we need to discover is does the body in question obey a Keplerian orbit or does he adhere to the old fashioned ideas of Aristotle and Ptolemy?

How to test:
Does the body in question move elliptically? Tip: The essential difference between an ellipse and a circle is the degree of squashiness.

Law 2: The body moves faster when away from the foci.

How to test:
Measure the exact speed of entrance and exit. Next measure the staying rate. Which is greater?

Law 3: The body moves faster if the foci are further apart.

How to test:
Move yourself further away from where you suspect the other focus is. Tip: If you think the other focus is on the far side of town then you go to Antarctica, Timbuktu or Rhyl. Repeat Test 2.

Obviously there is some maths involved here. If you feel you are not good at calculations then use an observational technique:

Does the body in question come straight to you from any given point?
Does the body in question give a straight answer?
Does the body in question leave straight away?

Finally, if you find yourself asking yourself ‘Is he single?’ you probably already know the answer without reference to any sort of science.

Wednesday 23 April 2008

How I’ve Found my Perfect Career

I’ve finally found my perfect career. Well paid, interesting, high-flying.
This is what I’m going to be:
An astronaut.

Don’t think I’ve gone into this without any research. Or much research. Or a passing piece of research. No, I’ve dug trivially into the ESA (European Space Agency for you non-astronaut types) website to discover if I’m properly qualified for the job.

This is what they specified:

Youth – between the ages of 27 and 37. Is that youth? Still some people say I look as young as 38 which is very near 37. My mental age is in single digits as is my emotional age. So, when averaged out I’m about 27.5757. Perfect.

Experience - They must have experienced Real Life – I believe my life has been as genuine as the next space woman’s.

Scientifically Minded – I am the Relationship Physicist after all. They suggest that a degree in science might be a boon. Well I have a degree in miscellany which is surely better. And my daughter will have a degree in physics so that must count.

Patience – anyone who has waited this long for Mr Right has proven that not only do they have patience but they also have idealism, unrealistic expectations and excessive optimism.

Bravery – anyone who has waited this long for Mr Right has proven that not only do they have bravery but they also have idealism, unrealistic expectations and excessive optimism and extraordinary bravery.

Prepared for strange lifestyle – Already there.

Psychologically sound – Well, I sound psychological.

I have written the covering letter for the application:

Dear ESA,
I want to be an astronaut because I believe I will be ideally suited to being an astronaut. The suit will be ideal to cover any unfortunate bumps that exist on my body. The weightlessness will ideally cover my usual lack of balance. The long hours stuck in a confined space with only a few young, experienced, scientifically minded, patient, brave, prepared and sane astronauts will ideally be ideal for my idea of an idealised life.

The applications open 19 May, mine will be first on their spacemat.

Friday 18 April 2008

How Not to Impress – Or Compost is Sexy

It came to pass that I was showing someone that didn’t know me very well around my garden. Someone I quite wanted to know better. Sometimes I should know better.

This is what my garden usually looks like:
A pastoral idyll
A woodland glade
Sissinghurst
A garden

You know how it’s easy to take for granted what you see every day. Until you find yourself seeing it through someone else’s eyes.

It turned out that this is what my garden consisted of:

Paths with broken dragons who wanted to be real dragons when they grew up but remained stolidly concrete.
A compost heap.
An unmown lawn that had turned into a purple meadow.
Another compost heap.
An artefact made of breezeblocks and red render that wanted to be a bench in the Gaudi style but never quite achieved its ambition.
Dandelions.
A garden structure made of old ladders and guttering that wanted to be a Zen Japanese Tea House but had long since passed its ambition.
Another compost heap.
A greenhouse housing not greens but a thousand demi-johns with gross mysterious algae floating about in them in the post-post-modern grunge style.
Another compost heap.
More compost heaps in the art nouveau/vieux style.
A tin bath filled with mouldy water and old leaves in the Emin style.
Another compost heap.
Erosion.
Corrosion.
Exposition.
A compost heap.

I’ve just consulted Wikihow as to how to make a good impression on a man. Strangely there was no mention whatsoever of dandelions, compost heaps or mould.

I’ve also just consulted Google as to how to tell if a man fancies you. There was an awful lot of mention of me. And no mention of compost.

Since many people set such store on internet expertise I thinking that a bit of reverse experteeism could work here:

The most attractive thing a woman can have is a great number of compost heaps.

Sexiness and the ability to compost are practically synonymous.

Thursday 17 April 2008

How to Keep a Man Fancying You

I have been dubbed ‘The Relationship Physicist’. I am wearing this moniker with pride, pleasure and a small blob of blu-tac. My continuing mission to discover the truth of relationships through the unbending laws of physics and to bend the laws of physics to the slightly limp rules of relationships continues apace. Or at least continues at a pace slightly slower than light speed and slightly faster than snails’.

Today’s question, brought on by a bout of perspicacity, is:

How to Keep a Man Fancying You

Or

How to Conserve a Relationship/Attraction Using Standard Laws of Conservation

There are various laws of conservation, the better known being about not dropping litter, annihilating rainforests and good husbandry. Which includes good wifery and good loverery. My remit, however, requires me to maintain that spurious air of science. So let us look more deeply into the real deep physical aspects:

How to Apply the Laws -

1. The Conservation of Energy –Move very slowly to avoid exhaustion. Eat plenty of sugar. Don’t get out of bed.

2. The Conservation of Linear Motion – Remember, linear is not the only way. Plenty of folk enjoy oblique, spoonerisms, roundabouts and, (if it’s your cup of tea/coffee/Horlicks), tortuous.

3. The Conservation of Angular Momentum – fairly obviously this is applicable only when a correct/preferable/plausible angle has been achieved. The usual technique is to discuss baked beans, Tory politicians or fish.

4. The Conservation of Electric Charge – this is the most and veryest important. It is well known that without that spark any relationship becomes mundane and flat, not to mention flaccid. It is a challenge to conserve the electric charge but a good battery, capacitor, or close positioning of appropriate electrodes is popular. As is the Tantric practice of static.

5. The Conservation of Probability states that nothing is certain. Even should you most assiduously adhere to the above laws of conservation, assiduous adherence cannot be guaranteed.

Sunday 13 April 2008

How Not to Be Transformed

I’ve had a strange day of transformation.

This is what happened:

The physicist must return to her seat of learning. Mostly because she has exams and her seat at home has become so covered in calculations, biscuit crumbs and cat hair that she can no longer discover exactly where to put her bum.

Accompanying the physicist back to the aforementioned seat are all her precious worldly goods and chattels and ball gowns. They must be transported by car. By me. So I decided to clean the inside of the car (ball gowns are pernickety souls).

And then I decided to clean the outside of the car (ball gowns are pernickety souls). And discovered a deal about why men clean cars. Something about all that rubbing and polishing of bodywork and the ‘vroom vroom’ noises (that was added by the boy next door) (I said ‘tra la la’).

I discovered that I liked cleaning cars. This is worrying stuff. Especially when you add in the rest of the day’s activities which included:

Doing things with screwdrivers
Playing in mud
Inserting my hand down my trousers to adjust my underwear
Not brushing my hair
Not shaving
A conversation about football
Farting
A conversation about exactly what roads to drive on
And
Mislaying the hoover.

I was, until today, of the opinion that I wanted a man. Now it turns out I may be a man.

Luckily I have a cure. I will go and sew another thousand twinkley beads onto another ballgown. Not only that but the girl next door has just presented me with a DVD of ‘Enchanted’ and a tiara to wear whilst watching it. I’m putting it on now.

Thursday 10 April 2008

How Not to Take Advice – Or How To Get a Man To Fancy You

There are a number of things I’d like to know, these include, (obviously),
‘How to tell if a man fancies me?’
Why would I want a man to fancy me?’
‘How to get a man to fancy me?’
‘Wherefore art thou Romeo’
and, the thing that I really really want to know:

‘How the hell do I get the fucking cat hair of every last piece of furniture/item of clothing/person in the house?’

I have cats. I love them. Mostly.

The times I don’t love them is when they bring me things like dead things, half-dead things and things that really should be dead. And when they eat the Physicist’s Very Important Friend’s blueberry muffin. And the whole hair thing.

But I have an answer. Or rather, I have something that has the answer. My google iPage ‘How To’ gadget.

I typed in ‘How to Remove Cat Hairs’

This is what happened:

The first article told me to get a roll of sticky tape and roll the tape on my hand and roll my hand on the hair.
I did that.
Now I’m typing one-handed.

The second article was entitled ‘How to Get Cat Hair Off Your Tongue’, it went thus:
1. Swallow the cat hair half-way, so it is still in your throat.
2. Move your tongue along where the hair is, to move it on the side of your mouth.
3. Get the hair on the tip of your tongue.
4. Pick it off with your hand.
I got as far as 1. I tried 4. and removed most of my tongue with the tape.

The third article was entitled ‘How to Shave a Cat’. Now that sounded like a sensible solution. A certain amount of flailing and general cat tussling ensued. However the cat, for reasons best know to itself, objected.

Another solution was to bathe the cat. Same problem as the shaving really.

Now, not only is every surface of the house covered in cat hair, so am I.

Finally it offered me ‘How to do Animal Makeup’. I painted my face as a cat, I am covered in fur.

I googled ‘Do Men Like Cats?’

A certain Franny Syufy assured me ‘Real Men Love Cats’

Fucking sorted.

Tuesday 8 April 2008

How to Tell if a Man Fancies You Using Superstition Alone

There are days on which science just doesn’t work. Those sort of days where cats fall upwards, quanta are visible to the naked eye, and naked men are invisible. Or possibly not there.

These are the sorts of times where one has to turn to superstition alone the answer the big questions in life, like 'Why am I here?' 'Why do I hear?' 'Can one hear y’s?' And, of course that old chestnut ‘How Can I Tell if a Man Fancies Me?’

Although, just so you don’t think that the above chestnut is the only form of nut people google to discover my blog, recent queries have included:

‘How to hoover woodlice.’ (I’ve referred that to Anthea)

‘Does everyone have a G-spot?’ No. And, as of the moment they turn the Large Hadron Collider on, no one will.

‘How do you to find a G-spot?’ OS maps are traditional, modern folk use Sat Nav, I advise thoroughly searching the entire body as it’s simply more entertaining that way. Whatever the method you use do it soon before they make the black hole. Not that black hole, include that one in your search.

‘What to do in the sauna?’ Not break your foot.

‘Morreau naked.’ If you really want to see me naked I’m on public view in the changing room of the gym most nights, on the book cover and if you require a private viewing please make an appointment. Reciprocosity expected/anticipated.

And, of course that old chestnut ‘How Can I Tell if a Man Fancies Me’.

The thing about superstition, as opposed to science, as a method of discovery is that it is a lot more straight forward.

Here are the top ten ways of discovering if a man fancies you using superstition alone:

1. If he crosses your path wearing black (especially black pyjamas, underwear, a black condom or a darkish colour negligee)
2. If he ties knots in his handkerchief, or his trousers look like they’ve got a large knotted handkerchief down them.
3. If he walks under a ladder carrying a penny that he’s just picked up (it also shows that he knows how to balance evil with good if that’s your sort of thing)
4. If he has a foot like a rabbit or a rabbit like a foot long.
5. If he is standing at the foot of a rainbow (a small warning here – leprechauns are infamously bad lovers)
6. If you see him shooting stars (again, a warning, if he is shooting very famous stars in a public place it really doesn’t bode well for a long-lasting relationship)
7. If he is 13
8. If he gets into the wrong, or even the right, side of your bed
9. If he itches your palm (or possible anywhere else)
10. If he breaks mirrors (of course you might not fancy him then)
11. If he knocks on wood (ok, wood fetishists may not be your cup of tea but at least he fancies something)
12. (my personal favourite) If he’s a chimney sweep and says ‘cor lurve, I really fancy you’ in a fake cockney accent.

Sunday 6 April 2008

How Not to Meditate

Last night I watched a program about meditation. I have found my true path in life, I shall follow in the steps of Kathy Sykes (for she too is a scientist). I have decided to become a more spiritual person.

Gone are all my previous aspirations to run a business, be very rich, general world domination and evil baddie laughter. Shunned are my desires for yachts, palaces, new tiles in the bathroom and a tin-opener that actually opens tins as opposed to just denting them in artistic manners. For therein does not lie the path to true happiness.

My new bywords are ‘calm’, ‘peace’ ‘que sera sera’ ‘carpe diem’ and ‘ex-libris’. Gone are ‘fuck’, ‘fucked’, ‘fucking’, ‘fucking hell’ and ‘botheration’. For therein does not lie the path to true happiness.

So instead I am meditating.

I’ve learnt a lot.

Here are a few meditation do’s and don’ts:

Do think of nothing.
Don’t think of what’s for dinner.
Do think of nothing.
Don’t think about the burning smells.
Do think of nothing.
Don’t let both you legs go to sleep so when you stand up you don’t.
Do think of nothing.
Don’t think about the smoke alarms’ unpleasant noise.
Do keep your mind very empty.
Don’t stop breathing.
Do remember that you die if you don’t breathe.
Don’t speculate about smoke.
Do keep calm.
Don’t wonder about the crackling noises.
Do not panic.

Gone are my desires for worldly goods, food, kitchens, houses. For therein does not lie the path to true happiness. Gone are my desires for partners, soulmates, sex, love, with only one small exception – firemen. For therein lies the path to true happiness.

Tuesday 1 April 2008

How Not to Get a Man to Fancy You

I have realised that I’ve been jumping the gun. All this time when I’ve been asking ‘How to Tell if a Man Fancies You’ I should really be starting somewhere near the beginning (traditional I know) and asking ‘How to Get a Man to Fancy You.’

I’ve done some research.

Looking at some basic Newtonian laws of the universe, I have discovered this:

‘Every point mass attracts every other point mass by a force pointing along the line intersecting both points.’

Obviously points are important.
As is mass.

It goes on to say
‘The force is proportional to the product of the two masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the point masses.’

So, we also discover that proportionality and distance and squares are fairly crucial.

Therefore (and I worked this out all by myself using extrapolation, logic and absolutely no calculus), according to Newton, the real trick of being attractive to the opposite mass is:

Be a large, comely ballet dancer on tip-toes and stand very near your target person holding an upside-down square.

I have actually been out in the field testing this hypothesis.

This is what happened:

I had trouble being large so I opted for being full instead. Part of the logic was that if sports people do carb loading then surely it would work for lonely people too. So I ate a large meal of pasta, roast potatoes and toast.

The comely bit didn’t come quite naturally either. Not to be defeated I settled for comedy as it was only one letter different and after all, it was possible, nay probable, that my target mass was short-sighted. Well I am anyway.

I had a tutu. Pink. Fucking spot-on perfect.

The tip-toes was slightly prohibitive because of the boots but I did my best by standing on a couple of willing molluscs.

The target bit was actually the most difficult as he simply didn’t seem to be around. This didn’t worry me because on a Newtonian Gravitational Scale nearby could be up to a couple of hundred light-years away.

My upside-down square was easy. I held, in my most sexy manner, a road-sign depicting a man with a large umbrella-shaped penis.

I waited. In the field. Wearing my tutu, my wellies, my red nose. Holding my sign. Waiting. Not very much happened aside from the snails becoming uncomfortable and deciding to go off for a bonk without me standing on them.

After a bit (about five hours) I realised what the problem was.

On a Newtonian Gravitational Scale, even if I was (and I was) stunningly attractive and exerting a quite frankly irresistible pull, the distance (which could be up to a couple of light-years away) my prospective target mass needed to travel was going to take some time. Possibly days. And that’s if he was running. Fast.

I am still waiting. But at least I’m not hungry. And the sheep like pink.