Don’t Panic – Or Dark Matter and How to Find It

It’s ok. We can all stop panicking. They’ve found Dark Matter, or at least found something dark that may lead to them finding something that shows something dark. That may matter. Or not.

Dark Matter, for all you non-physicists out there, (or for all you physicists out there who think physics is something to do with science), is invisible, very very difficult to find, constitutes a great deal of the universe, is difficult to pinpoint, put your finger on, touch, smell, hear, understand and essentially makes the world go round. Does this remind you of anything?

There have been a number of methods for trying to find Dark Matter:

Look in the sort of places where Dark Matter likes to hide (these include space, dimly lit bars which resemble black holes, the internet and under the bed (that’s if you’ve merely mislaid the D.Matter rather than having lost it or never found it in the first place)).
Use a Dark Matter Detector (these include the darker reaches of the soul, the sleeve, and something that looks like an internal organ or possibly is an internal organ).
Pretend you aren’t looking for it and hope you happen across it.
Look for something that resembles Dark Matter and simply pretend it’s the real thing (a very popular alternative).

Never confuse Dark Matter with the Dark Ages although as the Dark Ages approach those who have mislaid, lost or never found Dark Matter tend to get even more confused than they already are.

I’ve been fumbling about in the dark with someone who matters and am just as confused as ever. But at least I’ve stopped panicking. Because I now know that it is possible to find Dark Matter. In theory. Or something that resembles it.

How to Stop a Man Fancying You and then the Opposite

I know, jumping the gun a bit, but, just in case.

Because this is what might happen:

I finally get a man to fancy me. We go out, we stay in, we get married, we live happily ever after. And then, well, what if I’m fed up with him, or he turns out to be not Mr Right, or a serial killer, or someone who leaves toast crumbs in my shoes? There will be no solutions left (aside from divorce, murdering him or disguising him as a hoover and hiding him in the cupboard under the stairs ) aside from getting him not to fancy me.

Prepared or what?

So - How to Stop a Man Fancying You Using Newton’s Law of Cooling:

The law states: The rate of change of the temperature of an object is proportional to the difference between its initial temperature and the ambient temperature

In our case we obviously want to reduce the temperature of the object. Simply a matter of reducing the ambient temperature. There are a number of ways of doing this:
Hide all the object’s clothes.
Turn off the central heating (also saves the planet as well as your sanity).
Move to Alaska (this may not work as the men to women ratio is about 6.456:1.3 ).
Make a suit out of those ice-cube bags and put it on him when he’s not looking.
Throw a bucket of cold Ribena over him.
Blow on him.

It may be the case that the object objects to being cooled by any of the above methods. Objects can be stubborn like that. The last resort is to simply point a pair of heated curling tongs at him and tell him to fuck off.

Now I’m thinking that surely if this works for stopping a man fancying you, science being what it is, the opposite approach should engender the opposite effect. And since, at the moment, I’m still on the opposite end of the process and conveniently an object is coming to my house tomorrow. I have a cunning plan:

I’m going to –
Turn my heating back on
Wrap us up together with woolly jumpers, long johns and my hot water bottle (which has a cover like a baby rabbit; that should help).
Fill the bath with hot chocolate and throw us in.
Curl his hair.
Hug him whilst in the throws of menopausal hot flushes ( I knew those would come in useful for something).
Blow on him.

I don’t think he’ll spot what I’m up to will he?

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.

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.

How Not to Solve Another Great Science Mystery

I am on a crusade to link science with life and life with science (you probably noticed that). Thus, using only some common sense, some imagination and a small carrot I have solved yet another of life’s great mysteries. Physicists and blog writers have been pondering this question for many a passing moment.

This is the question:

Does Dark Matter Exist?

This is what happened:

One day man looked up into the night skies. Woman was busy doing useful stuff like feeding babies, growing stuff, inventing crochet and reading philosophy. Man noticed something. That the universe was holding itself together. Man believed in gravity (mostly because they had proved it through the phenomena of falling balls).

The problem was that there didn’t seem to be enough stuff to make enough gravity to hold the universe together. So, and here’s the brilliant part, they invented more stuff. But they couldn’t see the stuff. So they called it Dark Matter. There is still a deal of debate amongst physicists as to whether Dark Matter actually even exists.

This is the digression:

The problem with physicists (and I know because I just made scrambled eggs for one) is that they seldom consult the ordinary woman on the street (or in the kitchen cooking scrambled eggs). Common sense is not a prevailing attribute of this breed of scientist. My physicist, for example, can do some very difficult sums, write a lot of letters and symbols on pieces of paper and strew the aforementioned pieces of paper around the house, she can even do a back somersault on a four inch beam, but ask her to discover the use of dusters, pour water from a jug just into a glass and not onto the table, or make scrambled eggs, and she is completely flummoxed.

These are the answers:

So, Dark Matter – does it exist?
Yes, most definitely. Think coal, chocolate, the insides of Wellington boots and the works of Sartre.

Does Dark Matter hold the universe together? –
No. If it did then
1. We would see it if we used one of those very stylish torches advertised in Sunday supplements that shine a very long way.
2. We wouldn’t understand a word the universe was saying.
and
3. The universe would smell quite different, a bit like warm feet pudding.


Then, if not Dark Matter, what exactly is holding the universe together?

And this is where physicists are really going to kick themselves for never having asked the woman on the street, in the kitchen or me before.

The answer is so blindingly obvious. It is the same thing that holds everything else together, is the answer, is all you need, makes the world go round and is a triumph of imagination over intelligence. Love.

After all, gravity, essentially, is the mutual attraction of two bodies.


Next week: Does Dark Matter? The sex lives of the stars.

How Not to Flush

I’ve fitted a Delchem Flapper Flush Valve. Life is full of new experiences.

This is what happened:

It was Saturday. Generally a day of rejoicing jollity and joy for I had retrieved the Physicist and all her worldly goods from the clutches of academia to be once more clutched to the bosom of her loving parent.

(a word of advice to loving parents – don’t clutch your Physicists to your bosom in front of the assembled Oxford masses – it embarrasses them and has a dishevelling effect on both your outfits)

However, whilst I was enjoying the joys of the M4 and the mass movement of the undergraduate masses an evil force was at work in my house. That very evening things began to take on a life of their own. Or rather give up a life of their own.
The remote control had lost control.
The lights in the sitting room no longer lit.
The DVD player refused to play.
The TV screen took on a suspicious shade of green.
And, worse, the toilet refused to flush.

Now, being a woman of resourceful resource I can cope without TV, DVD and anything that involves a capital V (including HMV, Henry V and VD) but, after a while, a non-flushing toilet becomes uncomfortable, smelly and Anthea wouldn’t approve.

Now, being a woman of resourceful resource I set about the thrilling task of mending the toilet. This is what happened:

To access the cistern I had to remove-
22 pieces of tongue and groove panelling
Attached by 66 screws.
2 lengths of skirting board
Attached by 14 nails.
The carpet
Attached by magic.
And
Most of the skin on my fingers.

This is what I discovered-
The flushing mechanism was broken.

Now, being a woman of resourceful resource I continued on my quest and removed –
6 litres of water
A ball cock (yes that was the highlight)
3 pipes
A flushing mechanism.

This is what I discovered-
The flushing mechanism was broken.

I showed the flushing mechanism that was broken to the physicist. She agreed. Broken. Those Oxbridge educations are certainly outstanding.

But never fear, all is almost well. We went to the shop and bought a wonderful new invention in toilet flushery – The Delchem Flapper Flush Valve.

With a name like that who could fail? Only ten hours later I flushed excitedly. I intend to contact Mr Delchem and propose as soon as I have reassembled the bathroom.

How Not to Treat a Wormhole – or The Future in G-spots

I have solved yet another great mystery of science.

The Theys of the New Scientist are sometimes a tad blinkered. Or possibly they don’t read the New Scientist. Yet I have discovered that with the right interpretation, analytical technique and slightly skewed reading there are many more answers enclosed in this bijou publication than it might first appear.

This is what happened:

It was reported that Geneva was to be the beginning of time. To be more precise 2008 Geneva was to be the beginning of time. Because soon, in the very heart of this majestic, pretentious and expensive city, they are going to make a wormhole. The first ever wormhole here on earth. Exciting eh?

Wormholes are handy for a number of reasons –
For worms to live in
For the quick transport of worms from one place to another
For baby worms to hang out
For teenage worms to hide in for a smoke
And
For time travel.

So, all time travellers will be able now (given that construction of the aforementioned wormhole goes according to schedule and budget) be able to visit 2008 Geneva.

Here comes the interesting bit – What would a traveller from the future want to take away as a souvenir from 2008 Geneva? Chocolate? Swiss Army Knives? The spurty fountain that for some reason lives in the lake? Possibly. Yet possibly not. For surely the travellers from a distant time would be after that very elixir of life, not slightly overly milky chocolate, not small red items to break one’s fingernails on, not even ejaculating lakes (although almost). No, any sensible traveller from the future would be looking for what we are all (or me anyway) are looking for – the perfect orgasm.

Here comes the really clever bit - a more careful reading of the New Scientist has revealed that in fact the time travellers have already been and removed the souvenirs. And why no one except me has noticed this is quite inexplicable. In that very edition, probably on the next page, was the now infamous article about the missing G-spots.

That is where they all went. And this is backed up totally by scientific and anecdotal evidence – It has been shown that 70% of G-spots are missing. When my G-spot was stolen I was actually in Geneva. AND the man who stole my G-spot has also gone missing – back to the future obviously.

How Not to Shop for Valentines Day

I’ve just been to ASDA. It’s 11pm Feb 13. The supermarket was very full. Of bewildered and confused men.

This is what happened:

The supermarket was very full. Of bewildered and confused men.

I tried to help by standing next to the flowers and coughing politely at the men buying the cheap chrysanthemums whilst gently fingering some blood-red roses. I then stood dreamily by the very largest and most expensive chocolates licking my lips in what I imagined to be a seductive manner (I fear it may have been misinterpreted as my having a bad cold). I indicated helpfully towards Tom Jones CDs and wiggled my hips to the memory of ‘What’s New Pussycat’.

All in vain I fear. I’d like to apologise to the women of Cardiff for my lack of influential powers.

The queues were long and sinuous. And male. I closely observed the nature of the purchases. This is what the average (I suppose they were average for I didn’t have my x-ray specs on) ASDA shopping man thought would turn their loved ones on:

Man 1: A single sad lily and a box of frozen fish-fingers.

Man 2: Cheap chrysanthemums and some batteries.

Man 3: Milk.

Man 4: A card of the most hideous nature depicting kittens and little hearts

Man 5: Air freshener, toilet cleaner, hoover bags, rubber gloves, champagne, roses, black forest gateaux a bumper box of condoms, and (I kid you not) a kit for moulding your own chocolate bunnies.

Naturally, after having paid for my bananas and kiwi fruit, I followed Man 5 home.

How Not to Find Out if You are Still on the Rebound

A man called Newton (also a keen fruit-catcher and turner of base things into gold) declared one sunny day (it might not of been actually sunny but it enhances the story) (pathetic fallacy) in a deep sonorous voice –
‘Every action has an equal and opposite reaction’.

This is what’s known as ‘being on the rebound’.

The consoling thing about science it that it can be applied to all situations. Because it is inherently true. Possibly.

So, this is today’s question (we have temporarily put aside the ‘how can I tell if a man fancies me?’) (pathetic fallacy):

‘Am I Still on the Rebound?’

Here’s where the science comes in. ‘Every action has an equal and opposite reaction’. Ergo if one body falls in love the other body falls out of love. The difficulty is discovering exactly which body is yours.

Case 1: You fall in love. Your partner falls out of love. Therefore, according to Newtonian physics you will then react by falling out of love and your partner will have the equal and opposite reaction which is probably going to the pub. To this you are compelled by science to become tea-total. In response your partner must become an alcoholic.

Case 2: You fall out of love. Your partner falls in love. With someone else. You are then compelled to react by falling in love again, in all likelihood with your partner. Who is now your ex. His equal and opposite reaction will to be to fall out of love with the pub and become tea-total. And you are driven to drink.

Essentially anyone can see that this is an awful tangle. The laws of Newtonian physics are solely responsible for all the divorces and drink-related problems that have occurred since Newton was in britches.

Yet the question is answered quite clearly and unequivocally. Given that ‘Every action has an equal and opposite reaction’ then the answer is obviously ‘never’. Rebound is perpetual motion.

This is why Einstein was compelled to invent Relativity.

How to Tell if a Man Fancies You – Or Can Cosmology Prove if a Man Fancies You?

Recent advances in theoretical thinking have been used to good use to attempt to prove a Very Import Thing. That God Exists. Or That God Doesn’t Exist. I can’t quite make out which.

The Argument goes thus –
1. Whatever begins to exist has a cause.
2. The universe began to exist.
3. Therefore, the universe has a cause.

(Have you noticed that when proving some theoretical point in philosophy it is the norm to have three bits – Statement. Statement. And a neat little bit on the end that starts with either ‘Therefore’ or ‘Thus’? And yet, like life, one is left yearning for more. For a neat little bit that explains what the hell is supposed to be going on.)

Now we all know that proving whether God exists or doesn’t exist is very important. It’s a task of the utmost urgency and relevance to modern life. We all appreciate that and think that philosophers and physicists and the like are generally underpaid saints (if God exists) or underpaid geniuses (should God not exist). And these academics are worth every hour and strain on one’s suspension used driving them and their collection of ‘Physics Today’ magazines, cuddly toys that sing ‘Old MacDonalds Farm’ and plethora of stilettoed heeled boots to and from the aforementioned academic institutions.

But like so many of the academic endeavours endeavoured by our academics these days they are simply NOT addressing the question that people really really really want to know the answer to.

This is the question:

How Do I Know if a Man Fancies Me?

So, being the mother of one of the aforementioned academics I feel it is my duty – nay, my obligation to use whatever methods come to my disposal to answer THE question.

So let’s apply a little reality to the philosophy –

1. Whatever begins to exist has a cause.
2. The Question began to exist.
3. Therefore, the Question has a cause.
4. Therefore the cause is that the man fancies me.

Note how I have added that essential forth part that makes everything totally clear.

In my case of course it was all already totally clear – he doesn’t.

Not Crème Brulee

I’ve had my first request for a blog post. This is exciting. It happened last night in the pub. The request I mean. ‘It’ could be construed as something far more exciting which is generally not happening in my life. Thus a request for a blog post leaps up the rankings of generally exciting events with all the alacrity and enthusiasm displayed by a flea when it catches sight of a piece of naked flesh. Which is probably similar to my alacrity and enthusiasm at the same sight.

So, a blog post. The request.

Crème brulee.

Now, my requestee claims to be a reader of my blog. But somehow I wonder. What, I’m asking myself does crème brulee have to do with thinly disguised analogies for sex? Or thickly disguised analogies for sex? Or sex?

However I realise after a smidge of further wondering where crème brulee fits into the scheme of things – it’s like custard. Ah ha!!!

I begin to prepare some cunning experiments to test the properties of c.b. Things like swimming pools full of the stuff to test the old sink or swim non-newtonian liquid thingy. Large bowls on vibrating plates to enact the spooky wobbly wibbly thingys. Huge vats with ginormous weights balanced on top to apply however many g’s it takes to rule the world.

I am slightly flummoxed by the lack of this particular culinary delight with which to experiment. I am, I discover, much to my chagrin and mild surprise, crème brulee –less. The cupboards are empty of the stuff. The fridge contains no crème, no brulee. The wardrobes, similarly are rich-desert-less. As is even the shed. Although the camels may have eaten it.

I am left with no choice but to create my own large quantities of crème brulee on which to experiment. I am in no way defeated by the fact that I have very few of the ingredients and specialised tools required for the creation of crème. I can substitute along with the best of them.

Here is the recipe I found on a well know encyclopaedia site:

3 pints heavy cream
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ tsp salt
1.5 tsp vanilla extract
12 egg yolks

Here is the recipe I used:

3,000 pints of heavy water
340 cups of granulated dust (found under kitchen cabinets)
No salt (as it’s bad for you and I ate it all on my dinner earlier)
150 tps extract of tumble dryer
I thought the eggs were probably not important

This is what I discovered using scientific methods (stirring):

Crème brulee is not a non-newtonian liquid.
I can swim.
Crème brulee when vibrated does not get excited.
I do.
Crème brulee when put under pressure doesn’t flinch in the slightest.
I do.
Cardiff City Council do not offer a free crème brulee disposal service.
Camels do not eat crème brulee.

A special thanks to my requestee for involving me in this evening’s entertainment. If anyone else has any blog requests I ask only this – please supply the correct ingredients. Otherwise fuck off.

Does anyone know what camels eat?

How to Prepare for Uni

Sorry to all my loyal readers for my absence. I was away. You noticed that. And also I was here working. You may not have noticed that.

So what’s been occurring? The Physicist is preparing to be on her way out. Snotty cat is on his way out. The Beloved is out. The Lawyer has a new blue coat. The aforementioned have been awarded capital letters for their titles.

Re the Physicist, she is off to Uni, to continue her life as a physicist, mostly to do physics. Of all forms I imagine. However, it transpires that even scientists need to eat when they have arrived at their chosen venue of study.

‘Can we go buy stuff I need for Uni?’ came the cry from the kitchen.
‘And a coat?’ came the cry from the sitting room.
Now, having already taken out a second mortgage to pay for the Amazon bill I wondered just what it was that was needed for uni. Surely textbooks the size of small hadron colliders and a new pen was sufficient? It transpires not. So we went shopping. This is what happened:

We went to Tesco Extra Large and Very Difficult to Park. I grabbed a basket. I was informed that a basket was too small. I grabbed a trolley and trollied off after the physicist who was heading in a determined and scientific way into the deepest bowels of Tesco Extra Large and Very Difficult to Park. The Lawyer was hot in pursuit.

It started easily enough-
a hole punch, yes students need those;
a diary, again I could see the reasoning;
some glue, ok yes, even physicists may need to stick things with powers other than gravitational pull or electromagnetic force.

But then things started to get out of control, before I knew it our trolley, now steered by the lawyer (as I was busy holding my hands up in a gesture of incredulity) contained:
A toaster
A kettle
Duvet covers
Pillows
Sharp knives
Mugs
Bowls
Cork screws
And entire canteen of cutlery
Champagne flutes
A fridge
A bicycle (ok, she’s going to Oxford so that’s fair enough)
12 crates of champagne (to fill the flutes I guess)
A tin of baked beans (this I understood).

As we reached the checkout I asked
‘So, can you afford all this on your student loan?’
‘No,’ she said, looking at me as if I were from another planet ‘my loan is for stuff I need for uni’.
‘Ah,’ I said, extracting my credit card from my purse.
‘And don’t forget my coat,’ the lawyer added.
I’m glad that, compared to physics, the law is such a cheap thing to pursue.

How to Fight Chaos, Space-time Continuums and Stuff and Almost Win

I’ve been fighting chaos. This is what happened:

I woke up bright and early, or at least early, or earlyish. I donned by superhero attire of knickers and cape. The cape kept tangling in my knickers so I took that off. Then I didn’t feel it was appropriate to wander the house in just superhero knickers (nice as they are) as there were young men present. So I put on some superhero jeans and t-shirt. And went forth to fight chaos.

The chaos was lurking in an evil and mostly scary way in a small room we call the ‘den’. Possibly we call it this because it is where evil chaos hangs out. Or possibly we call it this because it is so small that it resembles a structure created with spare bedlinen by a child aged approximately five. In fact I have no idea why it is called ‘the den’.

So, chaos, lurking in the den. Imagine the scene if you will – a small room with a small bed and a small desk. Lurking under, over, betwixt, on, in-between, amongst, throughout, amidst and amid the small bed, desk and room is stuff. Serious amounts of stuff. A very very a lot of stuff. The sort of stuff that can only accumulate after fifteen years of putting stuff in a very small room with a desk and a bed. This is the sort of stuff that was there –

Photographs of babies, children and people one no longer recognises
Bank statements from bank accounts one probably never held
Dust
Paintings painted by small children who may or may not be one’s own children but are definitely not the children of Michelangelo
Files of hand-written college notes for qualifications one never used and therefore have forgotten and anyway the notes are totally illegible
Certificates for qualifications one never used and therefore have forgotten but now engender a brief feeling of pride at being so well qualified
Dust
Unrecognisable sticky things
Tents one has bought to go camping only it never stopped raining so the tents are still sealed in their original cellophane wrapping
More dust
Scrunched up old bedding that smells as if the cat has pissed on it
Cats pissing on scrunched up old bedding
Dusty unrecognisable sticky things

And more. Much much more. It is a miracle of space that all this stuff was in this very small room. I brought the physicist in to explain exactly how there could be more stuff in a room than the actual volume of the room. She muttered something about compression and space-time continuums and went back to her room where the amount of space and the amount of stuff actually make sense.

I took my best superhero deep breath and started. And continued. And finished only twelve hours, sixteen recycling bags, seventeen bin bags, and eleven boxes that I don’t know what the hell to do with later. I shall now have to rearrange all the other rooms in the house in order to accommodate all the very useful stuff (see above list) that I have rescued. But that’s ok because I have lots of time as I am now prisoner in my own home because I can’t get past the desk, the bed, the sixteen recycling bags, the seventeen bin bags, and the eleven boxes that I don’t know what the hell to do with that are blocking the road.

How to Tell if a Man fancies You Using Scientific Thought Experiments

I have a thingy. You know, one of those things that tell me how people find my blog. Mostly they find it by a miracle. It just drops onto their screens from the heavens. I bit like bird shit but less corrosive. But sometimes people google a question and it leads them here to this well know font of erroneous knowledge.

I have to mention, because it seemed impossible when I found out, that some poor demented soul googled ‘Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and yellow poo’ and were lead to this blog. I deny all knowledge of having written on such a subject.

The most searched for term that drops unknowing and unknowledgeable folk onto these pages is ‘How can I tell if a man fancies me?’ This, I consider a very important topic. One of life’s great questions like ‘Why are we here?’ ‘What is the meaning of life?’ and ‘Do Crunchy Nut Cornflakes make your poo go yellow?’ I will therefore attempt to elucidate further on the topic.

Previously I wrote about how to use philosophical reasoning - http://ceciliamorreau.blogspot.com/2007/04/classical-proofs-or-how-to-tell-if-man.html . And don’t doubt that that method still holds true. However I have discovered a new way of finding out the answer to this question using a scientific method much favoured by famous scientists: the thought experiment.

The beauty of the thought experiment is that it needs no equipment aside from a brain. There are no messy test tubes, custard or costly particle accelerators. And you don’t even have to remove your brain and dissect it. You can use it in situ. Without harming it. Or not very much anyway.

Galileo used this the thought experiment to discover what happened when his balls dropped. Schrödinger used it to prevent his cat from shitting on the carpets. Einstein used it to discover special relativity. And that’s exactly my point. Everyone can use it to discover special relativity. Or, in other words, whether a man fancies you.

Note: there is of course also just plain everyday ordinary relativity, which is whether you fancy a man. But of course you already know that.

So, how does it work? Well, according to Wikipedia –

1. assume to be true what you think is false,

2. find a contradiction,

3. logically deduce that it is therefore in fact false.

Don’t Panic. All will become clear. We will now apply this to the real life situation:

1. assume to be true what you think is false: he fancies me.

2. find a contradiction: he never calls/emails/texts/writes/speaks/shags me.

3. logically deduce that it is therefore in fact false: what? Sorry? You think I’m Einstein or something?

Sorry try that last bit again –
3. logically deduce that it is therefore in fact false: he fancies me.

Ta da. Scientific proof. He does fancy you. Yay. Or perhaps not. If you don’t fancy him. Or he’s some sort of wierdo. Or stalker. Or scientist who uses thought experiments to find out stuff about real life.

NB for the sake of political correctness I would like to add that if you yourself are a man and hetrosexual none of the above holds true at all. Just fucking ask her.

How to Use Fiction and not Science to Fix the Freezer (or Not)

Something happened. I’m not sure how. But it could have been carelessness. Or it could have been the power cut. Many things, but mostly pregnancies, have been blamed on these two culprits. This was a case of ice trying to rule the world.

I noticed it first last night. The freezer door would not shut. Upon further examination it transpired that instead of the usual freezer contents: pizzas that are so thin on cheese that no one will eat them, blackcurrants from the bumper crop six years ago, the year before lasts’ chocolate mousse left over from a party, ice packs for purple feet, ice cream that is all sort of frosty on top, you know, the general collection of totally inedible stuff, there was ice. And only ice. Big white and slightly scary ice. Ice so large that it was creeping out and trying to reach the tumble dryer for some sort of ice/heat party.

This, I thought, was a problem. For two good reasons. One, how was I going to cook those blackcurrants that I had been meaning to turn into a delicious blackcurrant cake for the last six years? Two, how was I going to close the door? And three (ok three good reasons) since the door was open then the freezer motor was going completely mad thinking that it was its sole and crucial responsibility to bring the rest of the house down to freezer temperature.

Reason three won. Mostly because the beloved has a bit of a thing about how much electricity freezers use. Luckily the beloved is flying to Canada (to speak at conference about sustainability) using aviation fuel instead of electricity. But he’s coming back. On Thursday. And will not be happy to find the whole house turned into a freezer using about a million times more electricity than a normal freezer fiasco.

So, a plan was needed. The obvious sprung to mind. Turn off the freezer. Not so simple as it seemed. The freezer is attached to the fridge. To be precise the fridge is on top of the freezer and attached. Turn one off and the other one goes off. (It’s a metaphor for marriage; every house should have one.) The fridge is full of food we actually want to eat. That needs to be cold.

A rethink needed. I racked my brains for a solution. Being a bit of a traditionalist I looked on the bookshelves for a solution. You know, a book called ‘Freezer Monsters and How to Win’ or ‘Is Your House Being Taken Over By the Freezer?’ or ‘Come to Terms With Your Ice In Twelve Easy Steps’. Nothing. How odd. But my eye finally alighted on a helpful guide book. It advocated the use of a towel in any given emergency. Or even better, it transpired, as I read on, 42 towels. I have only 12 towels so decided to settle for just one for the moment. I left the other ones together to breed in the hope that in the morning I would discover 42 or more.

I held my towel. I approached the freezer. Quickly I cunningly shoved the towel between the fridge and freezer doors. It draped in a satisfying manner over the ajarness of the freezer door. The writer of that guide knew a thing or two, I thought. This was definitely going to stop my house from reaching sub-zero temperatures and using all the electricity available to the western half of Cardiff.

Everything was fine. The problem was solved. Until the physicist tried to open the fridge door. The towel fell off.

‘What’s this towel doing here Mum?’
I explained all of the above re my advice from the book.

‘Why don’t you just get a knife and cut away the ice?’
I explained all of the above again.

She took a knife. Attacked the ice monster with the ferocity only a victim of A level mania can muster.

Why is it that children never believe a word one says?

‘It’s not working.’

I explained all of the above again.

‘I know, I’ll heat the knife.’

Physicists, honestly. She boiled a kettle. She poured boiling water into a jug. She heated the knife.

‘It’s not working.’

I explained all of the above again. She spilled the jug of water. Grabbed my towel and used it to mop up.

She turned to me in despair.

‘Have you got another towel?’ I redeemed a towel from the pile of fornicating towels and handed it to her. She shoved the towel between the fridge and freezer doors. It draped in a satisfying manner over the ajarness of the freezer door.

‘There,’ she said, quite pleased at this solution.

‘Well done dear.’

A triumph of fiction over science I think.

How to Understand Entropy and Its Effects on Everyday Life

We have been trying to understand entropy, the physicist and I. Also known as the second law of thermodynamics. Not the physicist, entropy.

She couldn’t care less about the first law of thermodynamics because, in case you didn’t know, it states that ‘if you heat bodies up they get hotter’. Physicists are not as interested in bodies as I am. So we steer clear of that sort of thing. You know, things to do with actual real people.

Or the third law for that matter – ‘If it gets very cold everything freezes’. State the obvious or what?

Although the fact that there is a zeroth law of thermodynamics is quite interesting. Even the law itself: ‘if two bodies cuddle up to a third then they will all end up the same temperature.’ I find that rather fascinating and would be interested in further research if anyone knows anyone who would care to fund this sort of scientific endeavour please get them to contact me. Preferably when the weather gets a bit cooler. Volunteers for the project also welcome.

So, entropy, the second law. Essentially it states ‘things fall apart’. That everything goes from a sort of together state to a sort of untogether state. Life is crammed to the gunwales (wherever they are) with examples of this sort of thing. Here are just a few things that simply fall apart over time –
brains
relationships
houses
shoes
bodies
umbrellas
doorknobs
expensive headphones
inexpensive headphones
all headphones
catflaps
lists

Although all this is well within the realms of human understanding the physicist posed a tricky question –
‘Well, if all things comply with the laws of entropy why is it that it is possible for me to tidy my room? Surely thus I am defying the laws of physics?’
We didn’t go into the laws of statistics at this point and discuss the probability of her tidying her room. Although that may have been a conversation high on the mother/daughter probability stakes.

I saw her point. How was it possible? On her physics paper there was some discussion as to how timelines were inexorable and irreversible. There was even and example of how if you break a vase it remained broken.
‘But I could glue it back together,’ the physicist stated.
I understand now why her teachers describe her as ‘challenging’. What they mean is she asks questions whose only answer can be ‘how the fuck should I know?’

But not to be defeated we did a great deal of thinking. And research. And philosophical discussion. And thinking.

And lo, we discovered a little known fact about entropy. Which goes thus: ‘If you expend some energy you can reverse entropy.’

After this significant discovery I was compelled to ask the question. Re the room tidying. It turns out she only does theoretical physics.


P.S. If you are wondering about the broken foot saga, I was going to put up a post about how I had defied the laws of medicine and gone to see a band last night and done one-legged dancing. But then everyone would know what a complete fool I am. So I’m not mentioning that and pretending I have spent the whole weekend discussing physics with my foot resting gently on a pile of cushions.

The band was great though http://www.myspace.com/spasmbanduk
And neither of these enthusiastic dancers is me. Especially not the one in the expensive M&S skirt. Which unfortunately isn’t very in the picture. But it isn’t me anyway so how could you hope to see my skirt?

How Custard May Actually Take Over the World

There have been some disturbing developments on the custard front. The fun is over. The physicist now fighting at the forefront of knowledge in order to write up the project. Various anomalies in the theories have come to light. Graphs that are supposed to wiggle one way are wiggling in ways only understood by understanders of second order differential equations. And not even by her. In a last ditch attempt to prove the ground-breaking (or should I say custard-breaking) theory she is resorting to having to use various powers that ordinary souls are completely innocent about. Since we are those ordinary souls I will keep you (and myself) in the dark about these powers, let it only be said that there is a great deal of formulae and superscript and strange Greek lettering involved.

But this is not the worst of it, not by far. I have, only today been handed a confidential DVD containing photographic evidence of how Custard may, and probably will, take over the world. Since I don’t believe in the confidentiality of science, I am publishing this herewith.

It started innocently enough with an ordinary school physics lab. A lab usually restricted to the normal pursuit of physics. Actually, no, it started earlier with an innocent physics teacher advising as to the nature of what constitutes an A level physics project. An informative and extensive list of probable, possible and practical conundrums for your probable, possible and practical physics student to undertake. Fine. Fair enough. Good teaching practice. But here was his mistake… he added a small but dangerous coda– ‘I doubt very much if you will be able to come up with anything different from these.’ Fool. Mad idiot. Didn’t he know? My physicist was in his class. Come on man, she’d been there for nigh on two years generally asking difficult questions whist trying to look innocent. It was trouble waiting to happen. Well, we know a lot of the rest http://ceciliamorreau.blogspot.com/2007/04/how-custard-could-save-world.html but these new dangers have only now come to my attention.

This is what happened to the innocent teacher and his innocent teacher friend:




this is what happened to the physics lab (the one in the green is the perpetrator of all this trouble) :


Ok, well this is obviously all bad enough. But it seems contained within the bounds of a secondary school physics lab. Ok, powder and gooey mess not popular with your modern-day over-regulated institute of learning, but surely not a danger. Well, maybe not. But there’s more. Start by carefully observing what is happening behind the well-meaning if a little deranged physicist. Yes, there are two more physicists. No, they are not conducting their own projects. Yes, they are filling balloons with Non-Newtonian liquids. Custard.

So far all innocent fun. But here is where it gets scary. The mad, messy and challenging one in the green lab coat, (by the way I never brought her up to do such things…I did try Barbie dolls and cute dresses, honestly) decided to further the knowledge of science by finding out what happens if you agitate custard.
NEVER AGITATE CUSTARD
This is what happened. It is well spooky. If you are faint-hearted look away now. If you don’t want to know the score also look away now.
If you need to know what present and future dangers are threatening the planet look now:




Score: CUSTARD 328 – GIRL 0
Advice – RUN AWAY. NOW.

How to Prove the Veracity of Quantum Physics Without Having To Leave Your House

The theory goes that when looking at very small scale objects and phenomena traditional Newtonian physics doesn’t apply. This can be proved easily and undisputedly by just looking around our own homes, or my home at least.

To understand the quantum world we must first understand a few basic laws of the Newtonian world –
1. If no one moves stuff then it tends to stay where it is.
2. Apples fall.
3. If someone moves stuff then other stuff gets displaced.

All this is easily shown in a domestic situation, in fact the cupboard under the stairs is the perfect example:

1. It fills up with stuff like plastic bags, apples, displaced aliens and small plastic parachutists. No one moves this stuff so it has stayed exactly there for a very long time. Years, decades, in fact that stuff was there before the house was built and some cunning ancient Welsh builders actually built a whole house around it.
2. If you drop an apple in this cupboard it ALWAYS falls (then it stays where it is proving law 1 again). I have never seen a dropped apple not fall. The only possible exception is if the apple in question is part of a group of three and being used to practice juggling. In this case it tends to fall upwards prior to falling downwards.
3. If by some very unlikely chance someone moves some of the stuff in the cupboard then the other stuff, especially the plastic parachutists and the rotting apples move with the swiftness of a child asked to do the hoovering to fill the gap.


Now to what you might (completely mistakenly) perceive as the trickier problem of Quantum physics. Again a few basic premise –
1. Very small things act very strangely.
2. If you don’t see it then it doesn’t actually happen.
3. Cats are elusive buggers.

Now, the Quantum world and the Newtonian world actually share the same physical space (the world). So obviously to prove the basic laws of Quantum physics we can look at exactly the same space (the cupboard under the stairs).

1, I should have previously mentioned that there are also very small things in the aforementioned cupboard. These include woodlice, those little twinkly bits that fall out of party bags, and dust. Well it goes with out saying that woodlice behave strangely. The twinkly bits always act very oddly in that just when you think you have cleared them off your party clothes/carpet/children they always reappear within seconds. Usually sticking their tongues out at you. And dust, one of the most mysterious of domestic products – where does it come from? Why does it bunch up in some places to make small mouse-like objects and why does it lay flat on other surfaces to shame you in front of your parents? And, most strangely, what is it for and why can’t we use it to power spacecraft?
2. If you don’t see it … well every parent of teenagers knows that story. But with reference to the cupboard, simple, close the door and none of this, even the Newtonian stuff is actually happening.
3. Cats just ARE elusive buggers.


I was going to go on to talk about the quantum strangeness other small objects such as socks, pens and mothers, but I think I have already proved my point.

Einstein didn’t actually believe in Quantum physics, but then, I’m thinking he probably lived in a flat and therefore was lacking the appropriate place to prove such theories.