A Lego Space Tragedy - Act I

In the age of great heroes, the universe was ruled by a family of immortal gods led by thunderous deity Zeus. These gods dwelt in the lofty heights of Mount Olympos and watched over their mortal subjects on Earth, offering support or hindrance depending on their worthiness. But the gods were not always united in their judgments. Mankind became tired of their inconsistent approach to justice, and gradually turned away from the Olympians in favour of monotheistic religions and scientific thought.

But Zeus and his clan never went away. Angered by the betrayal of man, they cursed the Earth with rising sea levels, global warming and dwindling fuel supplies. When the resources ran out and humanity was forced to seek refuge in space, the gods were lying in wait to re-impose their authority.

Many years ago, noble King Kevin of the planet Phokis led a campaign of war against Gerald, king of the lush green planet Titanos. The great god Zeus was pleased by Kevin's actions, and led his army to victory.

"You have done well, Kevin," thundered Zeus. "Choose a wife from the women you have captured, and return to Phokis to father a great dynasty."

Kevin took the hand of the lovely Hermione, the prized concubine of Gerald, and returned home to follow Zeus's instructions.

Hermione bore Kevin two sons. The first, Mark, toiled hard in the arid soil of Phokis to earn his father's respect and prove himself worthy as his heir, while the younger son, sweet-natured Jason, delighted all who surrounded him with music to rival Orpheus and fantastic tales.

But just as the most glorious tapestry may be unravelled by a single loose stitch, so Kevin's happiness was threatened by a single troubling doubt. Mark, his oldest son, had been delivered a mere nine months after the war with Titanos. Might it be that his heir was in fact the son of his mortal enemy, King Gerald? The King sought the advice of his most trusted General, Alan.

"The problem could be settled by a simple paternity test, my Lord," advised Alan.

"That solution has occurred to me, Alan," said King Kevin, "but to meddle in genetic matters would incur the wrath of Persephone, goddess of fertility."

"That was well spoken," agreed Alan. "We must not refute the will of the gods."

And so the matter remained unresolved. The more Mark worked to gain his father's favour, the more Kevin was reminded of his uncertain provenance, and while he heaped praise on the idle but charming Jason, he could never find a kind word for Mark.

Mark was disturbed by his father's hostility. He turned to Hermione for advice.

"What have I done, mother, to deserve this treatment? I have striven to prove myself worthy of my responsibilities, and yet I constantly come second to my brother in father's affections."

Hermione suspected that she knew the cause of her husband's attitude, but did not wish to plant the seeds of doubt in Mark's mind.

"Your father loves you in his own way, Mark," she said. "But he is a great hero and ruler, and we must not expect him also to be emotionally articulate."

Mark left silently, inwardly cursing womankind and all its conciliatory ways. He would devise a plan of action to resolve the situation for himself.

The next day, Mark left the palace early, and travelled to the Oracle, a mystic hole in the ground with miraculous powers of prophecy. The priestess who dwelt there was said to be a conduit for the predictions of the god Apollo.

"Welcome, stranger," said the priestess. "I foresaw your arrival."

"Greetings priestess," said Mark, sinking to his knees. "The accuracy of your predictions is renowned. I seek your advice on a family matter. Since childhood, my father has spurned me in favour of my brother, and I wish to know whether I am destined to inherit my rightful role as King of Phokis."

"Very well, my prince," she muttered, falling instantly into a trance.

The priestess's voice took on a strange quality as she spoke the words of immortal Apollo. "The winds of fate are blowing against you. You will make an enemy of Zeus, your brother will usurp you, and you are destined to die by the hand of your father."

With that, the woman awoke from her daze. "Bad news, stranger," she remarked.

"Yes," agreed Mark.

Mark returned to his father's palace in a disturbed state of mind. Overwhelmed by exhaustion after years of wasted labour, he marched past his usual tasks and collapsed into bed, where he fell into a fevered slumber.

As he slept, the merciful goddess Athene looked down upon him from the cloudy heights of Olympos. Although her brother Apollo had prophesied his downfall and death, she felt a degree of empathy with this cursed man. She too often had difficulty in gaining the respect of her powerful father, the all-powerful thunder god, Zeus. She decided to offer him counsel in a dream.

Riding down on the wave of a sunbeam, Athene entered Mark's head through his ear and spoke to him soothingly as he tossed restlessly between the sheets.

"Do not be afraid, Mark," she said. "You may yet escape your destiny if you follow my advice. If your brother Jason is disposed of, he cannot lay claim to your throne. Your father would surely never murder his only surviving son, and in the absence of Jason, would surely grow to love and honour you as you deserve."

After delivering this divine reasoning, Athene retreated to her heavenly abode.

Mark awoke possessed by a sense of great calm. Killing his brother would certainly resolve many of his problems, and if the gods willed it, he was in no position to refuse.

But as the day wore on, and Athene's persuasive mist lifted from his eyes, he began to doubt whether he could commit fratricide. Although Jason was lazy and irritating, he was a kind child and impossible to dislike. He would have to find some way of getting rid of the boy without bloodying his hands.

One of the projects Mark had been preparing was a space shuttle that would gather data from nearby planets. Mark had planned to use it to find useful natural resources, but now an intriguing dual function presented itself: he could use it to launch his brother into space exile.

When the shuttle was finished, Mark promised to show his brother around the site. Jason was most impressed.

"Dear brother," he said. "If only I could match your powers of ingenuity and reasoning. Alas, I am only a foolish boy who spins unlikely yarns and strums upon his lyre. I have never told you this, but I admire you deeply."

Mark was unmoved by his brother's speech. Athene had cast her spell upon him, and he was powerless to resist her imprecations. He unsentimentally shoved Jason into the rocket's cockpit, then calmly sealed the door and initiated the launch sequence.

Upon learning of Jason's disappearance, the King was deeply upset. Although he could prove nothing, he suspected that Mark had somehow been involved in disposing of his brother. He confided his fears to Alan.

"My years of suspicion and hostility towards my eldest son have come back to haunt me, Alan. I fear that Mark's resentment of my favouritism have led him to commit a terrible act of treachery."

"It is not impossible," said Alan.

"I have no evidence, so we must proceed as before. We must assume that Mark is now my only son. But promise me this, my faithful friend: if Jason ever returns to Phokis alive, Mark must be killed."

"If that is your wish, my Lord," said Alan.

Kevin handed Alan a sealed envelope containing his wishes. "No-one else must know of this, Alan," urged the King.

Meanwhile, Jason's rocket cruised through the inky vacuum of space. From his seat in the heavens, Apollo glimpsed the shuttle and recognised its lonely passenger.

"Father Zeus," he cried, "is that not Jason, son of Kevin, King of Phokis, in yonder space chariot?"

Zeus squinted through the window. "Indeed so, my son. He is destined for great things; what reason could he have for drifting alone through the darkness of chaos?"

"I suspect treachery, father. I once prophesied that Jason would usurp his older brother Mark and take his father's throne. Perhaps Mark has exiled him in an attempt to subvert my prediction."

"What manner of hubris drives a man to defy the very gods?" raged Zeus. "This man Mark is too weak to have acted alone; he must have been assisted."

"I have seen sister Athene speaking to him, Father," Apollo confessed.

"Bring her before me."

And so Zeus interrogated Athene about her involvement.

"Daughter, what is this I hear of your relationship with the wretched Mark, Prince of Phokis?"

Athene could not meet Zeus's gaze. "He was wronged by Apollo's prophecy, Father. As the eldest son, he should have the right to his father's inheritance."

"Daughter, that was not well spoken. What right had you to contradict the wishes of your brother Apollo?"

"He is only my half-brother, Father. Why should he have authority over me?"

"Silence, child. King Kevin is a loyal worshipper of mine. He did not trust his oldest son, and I decreed that Jason should take his throne. Do you wish to defy me also?"

"No, Father," muttered Athene.

After dismissing Athene, Zeus pondered his options. "My impertinent daughter has meddled in matters that do not concern her. Now we must rectify her mistake and bring about the conclusion that destiny has foreseen. What say you, brother Poseidon?"

Poseidon mused for a moment. "Let us steer Jason into the hands of his father's enemy, King Gerald of Titanos. Jason was not yet born during the great war, so they will not know who he is. Perhaps they will take the kind-hearted boy under their wing."

"You suggestion is righteous, brother. In due time, Jason may lead the armies of Titanos against his perfidious brother. This revenge would be exceptionally pleasing."

Having settled on a plan, Poseidon guided the tiny spaceship through the rippling waves of space-time towards planet Titanos.

[Click here for Act II]

A Lego Space Tragedy - Act II

[Click here for Act I]

Years passed. Not long after the exile of Jason, King Kevin passed away, pining for his beloved son. As the King had agreed, Mark took the throne, and worked as hard as King as he had as a Prince. He bred horses that could breathe the stifling air of Phokis, and sacrificed a great many to Athene as a token of his gratitude. In addition, Mark married a beautiful noblewoman, and fathered two sons of his own. He was a just ruler, and well loved by his people.

As time elapsed, Mark began to dismiss the prophecy that hung over his head. His father, whom the Oracle had predicted would be responsible for his death, was now dead himself, and not much missed by Mark. His brother Jason had been missing for years, and although Mark did not like to dwell on the fact, was likely to have also met his death. There was little chance of the boy returning to claim his throne.

But the Gods had not forgotten their promises. The childless King Gerald had adopted Jason as his own when he arrived as a refugee on Titanos, and Zeus watched as the exiled prince blossomed into strong and noble young man. The time had come for him to fulfil his destiny.

Zeus called a conference of the gods. "This man Jason has suffered great wrongs at the hand of his brother," he declared. "We must now tell him to raise an army and return to Phokis to exact his revenge."

There was a general murmur of assent. Only Athene looked doubtful.

"Father, are you determined to humiliate me in front of my mortal subjects? It was I who advised King Mark to cast Jason into exile, and since then he has made many very satisfactory offerings and sacrifices to me. He is a good King. If Jason suddenly returns home to crush him, it will reflect badly on my divine authority."

"Perhaps you should have considered that before defying me and interfering with fate, Pallas Athene," Zeus scolded. "The will of Zeus will be done. Now, I must appear before Jason and tell him of his destiny."

As he had promised, Zeus presented himself to Jason.

"Jason of Phokis, I am Zeus," he announced. Jason prostrated himself before the King of the gods.

"My child, you were once a Prince of Phokis, but your envious brother cast you out. Your father is now dead, and Mark has taken the throne. Does this not enrage you? The prophecy of Apollo stated that you were destined to be King. You must now return to Phokis and fulfil that prophecy. There is no alternative."

"Merciful Father Zeus," Jason replied. "I have forgiven my brother for his wicked deed. I was my father's favourite, and perhaps I frustrated Mark by my idleness. Though it grieves me to learn of my father's death, I am happy here on Titanos with King Gerald, and have no wish to wage war on my homeland."

"Wretch!" exclaimed Zeus, "what kind of word has escaped your teeth's barrier? Of course you wish to have your revenge. It is the will of Zeus. You will raise the army of which I spoke, or I will smite your beloved Titanos with all the thunderbolts that heaven can provide."

Jason was persuaded by Zeus's reasonable words.

"In the meantime," continued the god, "I shall send an omen to your scheming brother."

With that, he lifted the shuttle that had once carried Jason aloft, and hurled it back through space to the planet Phokis, where it crashed into the desert soil.

Not long afterwards, one of King Mark's men reported the discovery of a smouldering wreckage not far from the palace. Mark went to investigate the scene, accompanied by Alan, his father's loyal confidant.

What he saw there brought bile into his throat. He immediately recognised the rocket that he had launched all those years ago. Gasping for breath, he wrenched open the door. It was empty.

Alan, too, was stunned. Was it possible that Jason was still alive and planning his return to Phokis? The deadly request of King Kevin rose from his memory like a savage leviathan from the deep. If Jason returned, he was duty-bound to end Mark's life.

"The return of this rocket is surely a sign from the gods," said Mark. "O, merciful Athene, make your intention clear."

But Athene remained strangely silent.

Shaken, Mark made his second journey to visit the oracle. He reasoned that there must be some further information to be gained regarding his future.

The priestess fell into her trance and Apollo channelled his voice through her once more. "The winds of fate are blowing against you. You will make an enemy of Zeus, your brother will usurp you, and you are destined to die by the hand of your father."

The prediction was unchanged.

"But priestess," Mark protested, "my father is dead. How is it possible that he will kill me?"

"The Oracle is never wrong, my Lord. Is it possible that your father is not the man you supposed?"

Mark's troubled mind was flung further into turmoil by this suggestion.

Desperate to settle the issue of his parentage, Mark confronted his mother.

"Kevin took me from Titanos less than a year before you were born," confessed Hermione, tearfully. "Before that, I was the mistress of King Gerald. It is possible that Gerald is your father. But no! You are surely Kevin's son; you have his likeness, his noble virtue. You must not be disturbed by gossip, my darling."

"This gossip comes from the gods, Mother," replied Mark. "All those years that Father shunned me, he did so because he knew I was the son of another man; a man who is now destined to bring about my death. This is extremely vexing."

Athene listened to this conversation with interest. If Mark could be convinced that Gerald was indeed his father, and that he posed a threat to Mark's life, it would not be difficult to persuade him to attack Gerald pre-emptively. If Gerald could be killed, Jason's army would lose its leader and Mark might be able to fight them off and retain his throne. That would frustrate Zeus's plans, and teach him some respect for Athene's tactical thinking. She quickly darted down to speak with Mark.

"Flashing-eyed Athene!" gasped Mark. "I am glad to see you; I am most desirous of your counsel."

"You have heard, then, that your true father is King Gerald of Titanos?" Athene fibbed.

"I had heard rumours, goddess; only now have you stamped them with the mark of truth."

"You must destroy him, Noble King. Even as we speak, he is leading an army to Phokis to overthrow your power. Strike him down at the earliest opportunity."

Mark did not have to wait long for his chance. The ships of Titanos soon assembled above the atmosphere of Phokis, and in accordance with the rules of engagement, King Gerald requested a formal meeting with King Kevin to declare war officially.

As Gerald turned to leave, Mark thrust his dagger deep into his ribcage.

"I am murdered," Gerald announced.

"Indeed so, Father," agreed Mark. "Now you will never have the chance to murder me, as the prophecy predicts."

"I am not your father, Mark," gasped the ailing King. "My seed is as barren as the cracked deserts of this cursed planet." These were his final words before the sleep of death closed over his eyes.

"Curse you, Pallas Athene!" cried Mark, for the goddess had indeed deceived him.

Athene was stung by the words of her once-loyal supplicant, but she was determined to proceed with her plan to undermine Zeus. She lifted the stricken corpse of Gerald from its resting place and brought it before Jason and the army of Titanos.

"Behold, warriors of Titanos," she cried. "Your leader has fallen to the might of King Kevin. This is a sign from the gods that your mission is doomed to failure. Retreat while the life force still surges within you."

At that moment, a brilliant streak of electricity pierced the sky. Zeus appeared before the awe-struck soldiers.

"Daughter Athene, your insubordination has gone too far. You should never have doubted my superior power." So saying, Zeus flung his daughter effortlessly back to the heights of Olympos.

"Now, noble Jason," he continued, "you must continue this battle and fulfil the will of Zeus."

Until this point, Jason had been reluctant to enter the battle, but now he stood before the men and gave a great war cry.

"Gerald was like a father to me; he raised me as the son he never had when I arrived as a stranger on his planet. Now I discover that my brother has murdered him in the most ignoble circumstances. Men, we will avenge our king, and I will personally ensure that King Mark pays for his cowardly bloody deed."

A great cheer rose from the heroic army of Titanos. Jason removed the pitch black helmet from the fallen Gerald and placed it on his own head.

The battle raged. Jason chopped his way through the battlefield until he came face-to-face with the man he recognised as his brother. Hidden beneath the opaque visor of Gerald, he knew he would be unrecognisable to Mark. Bent on revenge, Jason charged at the King with a deadly passion.

But Mark had always been the more skilful of the siblings. He deftly deflected Jason's attack, and threw him to the dust.

"Who are you, soldier, who would dare to attack the monarch?" Mark demanded, pointing his blade into Jason's chest.

Jason pulled his visor open. "Do you recognise me now, O, glorious King of Phokis?" he asked. "I am the brother you flushed into space to service your own grasping ambition. I was prepared to forgive you for that. But not content with separating me from my own dear father as a boy, now you have cut down the man who nurtured me through all my years of exile. Kill me if you will, but the gods will avenge me, mark my words."

"I have come too far along the tragic road of fate to allow you to live, Jason," said Mark, with steel in his voice; "I must not allow the prophecy to be fulfilled." He raised his sword to deliver the final cut.

Jason closed his eyes against the vision of oncoming death. After a few moments, he opened them to see that Mark had fallen to his knees, and was clutching his chest in mortal agony. Behind the King, a stranger withdrew a blood-stained dagger from Mark's back.

"Athene..." Mark gasped, shocked by his untimely demise, "Athene led me into all my sins. Forgive me, brother."

"It pains me to deliver the mortal blow to a good King," said Alan, for it was he who bore the regicidal blade, "but we must all take responsibility for our actions as men, and not seek to cower behind the seductive charms of the gods."

"Alan..." uttered Mark, feebly. "Why?"

Alan produced the document that the late King Kevin had given to him years ago. He slit the envelope open using his murder weapon, soaking the envelope in Mark's freshly spilt blood.

"It was your father's wish that you should be killed if Jason ever returned to Phokis." He held the letter before Mark's dimming eyes. "Here, it is written in his own hand."

"Killed by my father's hand," Mark whispered. "Then the prophecy was true, if ambiguously phrased."

Kind-hearted Jason grasped his brother's knees, sending forth oaths to duplicitous Athene. But Mark's body was inert with death.

And thus peace-loving Jason ascended to the throne of Phokis. Since King Gerald had died with no sons, he had bequeathed the title of King of Titanos to Jason, the boy he had rescued and raised from childhood. Jason united the two warring planets in a new age of cordial relations, and destiny was fulfilled.

The gods themselves were pleased with the outcome. The will of Zeus was seen to be done, and Athene was humbled into daughterly subservience, as is only right and fitting.

"I hope you have learned the futility of challenging my power, Athene," said Zeus. "Mortal men are nothing but the pawns of my unassailable will, and you will never comprehend the omnipotent machinations of my mind. A son must give honour to his father, even if the father does not reciprocate this respect. The same is true of daughters, no matter how divine. You were wrong to subvert this natural order. Have you learned your lesson, or must I cast you down to the depths of Hades to spend an eternity being mauled by the devil-dog Cerberus?"

"I have learned, father," said Athene, penitently.

"Good," Zeus concluded. "Now, it is time for the sons of the late King Mark to honour their father by rising up against their usurping uncle Jason."

"But surely that will only undo the harmony you have worked so hard to achieve, father."

"Have you learned nothing, after all? Do not dare to question the will of Zeus."

And so the cycle of fate continued along its tragic circuit for the people of Phokis and Titanos, locked into a blood feud passed from the great King Kevin to his descendants. The gods continued to intervene according to their whim.

Seek not to comprehend the reasoning of those powers higher than yourself, for that way lies misery. A man is like a leaf which, upon falling into the stream, is swept and dunked by eddies and currents of divine will on its inexorable journey to the infinite sea of death. Pour libations to great Zeus, then, and be thankful for his merciful providence, lest he dash you against the rocky banks of misfortune.

Surrender to the tides of fate, for destiny cannot be altered by the trivial actions of mortal man. That is the lesson of King Mark of Phokis.

Quantum flux

While we're on the subject, one of the unexpected benefits of quantum mechanics has been the resurrection of the slightly obscure term 'quantum', which just means 'an amount', or possibly 'a particular amount'. Quantum mechanics was given its name because the theory shows that particles can only have energy levels that come from a set list of distinct values, and can't take any of the values in between. These 'packets' of possible energy are called quanta. Not very exciting.

But it sounds exciting. It's got a 'q' in it, which helps. Exotic letters can really add mystique to what would otherwise be dull terminology. As Bender from Futurama puts it: "Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer extortion - the 'x' makes it sound cool." Not only does 'quantum' sound cool in its own right, it also appears in intriguing word couplets like "quantum leap", "quantum tunnelling" and "quantum teleportation". You can understand why people might want to jump on the band wagon.

But Quantum deodorant? Literally all this means is 'a certain amount of deodorant'*. Quantum dishwasher tablets? Does that mean that the crockery is suspended in a state of being simultaneously clean and dirty until you open the dishwasher to observe the outcome? Or does it just mean that the tablets are made from three separate bits? I need to have this clarified.

High-tech deodorant? Roll on the future. (Sorry.)

Then there's the new James Bond film, Quantum of Solace. This was apparently the title of one of Ian Fleming's short stories, but it does seem a little pretentious for a series of films whose previous attempts at linguistic subtlety culminated with Pussy Galore. Maybe they should simplify the title to 'A Little Bit of Comfort', and have 007 carrying his security blanket around with him next to his Walther PPK, like Linus from Peanuts. That really would be a brave new direction for the franchise.

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*Although to be fair, deodorant would be much less fun without all the silly names. Lynx are usually the best at coming up with these: "Mmm, you really smell like Gravity this evening, darling."

Change everything

Does anybody else want to go back in time and punch their younger self in the face? I think it would be a constructive use of time travel technology.

Split infinities

Sorry for the gap; I fell down a hole for a couple of weeks. Before this unfortunate occurrence, I was talking about Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives, a BBC4 documentary about quantum mechanics. It was an exploration of the theory concocted by the late mathematician Hugh Everett, which, so far as I understand it, posits that a parallel universe springs into existence for every possible quantum outcome in nature. If you're not a physicist, or at least a fan of Back to the Future, that might not mean very much to you. Luckily, Hugh had the foresight to father a son called Mark Everett, who is now the frontman of the mildly popular band Eels, thus providing a ready-made celebrity host for an accessible documentary about his work. Less luckily, Hugh didn't talk much to his son during his lifetime, which sadly ended prematurely when Mark was only nineteen. As a result, Mark's understanding of quantum mechanics is considerably less complete than his understanding of scuzzy pop-rock hooks.

Mark 'E' Everett from Eels has faced a huge amount of tragedy in his life. His quest to understand his father's work after the deaths of his entire immediate family was brave and rather poignant.

My own understanding isn't much better, mainly because I'm massively ignorant, but partly because quantum mechanics is weird. If it's right (and recently there have been some murmurings from physicists about a possible problem in its foundations), we have to accept that the universe is random, arbitrary and unpredictable. If you volunteer your services as a human cannonball, you expect to be able to predict your approximate trajectory, given information like the angle and velocity of firing, and the air resistance. If you found yourself performing a Scott Bakula-style quantum leap mid-flight, finishing up pasted against the roof of the big top instead of nestling softly in the safety net, you might be a bit surprised. However, with very small particles like electrons and photons, this kind of thing happens as a matter of course. There are usually multiple paths that such a particle can follow, each with a particular probability.

This probably isn't all that surprising. The theory of evolution relies on genetic mutation to provide variations of organisms that are accidentally better suited to their lifestyle. If nature was entirely predictable, these sorts of anomalies presumably wouldn't occur. What is surprising is that until you observe it, a particle exists in all its possible states at the same time. The most famous example is Schrödinger's cat, where a cat in a closed box dies if a radioactive element decays. Until you open the box to look, the cat is both dead and alive. So why should looking at it suddenly settle the ambiguity? Er, perhaps it's a combination of quantum entanglement and the very nature of human consciousness. Hugh Everett had a less vague suggestion: the cat is both dead and alive, but each outcome occurs in a separate universe.

Not content with inventing the world's most famous hypothetical cat, Schrödinger also came up with a famous partial differential equation. The cat was cuter, and easier to solve in spherical polar coordinates.

The more you think about this kind of thing, the more confusing it becomes, but I like the idea. If the universe branches out into multiple versions every time nature is presented with a decision, we'd never have to take responsibility for our actions. If you make a bad choice and hurt somebody's feelings, you could reasonably argue that you were the victim of quantum uncertainty, and that somewhere there's a version of you who did the right thing.

Your friend: You bastard! How could you do that to me?

You: Chill, baby. It wasn't me, it was the intrinsically probabilistic nature of the universe.

Actually, I think that idea is playing a bit fast and loose with the theory. The complex chain of processes involved in human decision-making is a touch more difficult to analyse than the radioactive twitching of a single atom. In the documentary, the universe was 'shown' splitting into two when Mark Everett made the decision to go in search of his father's scientific legacy, but I suspect that probably isn't quite how the theory works. There are some very deep questions under consideration here, and this fatuous blog probably isn't the place to explore them.

It's interesting stuff, though. Hugh Everett's theories were rejected outright by the scientific community in the fifties, and have slowly gained credibility over the subsequent decades. Science fiction writers have certainly embraced his parallel universes, Philip Pullman to Futurama. And let's face it, once an idea has appeared on Red Dwarf, it's only a small step to widespread academic acceptance. Perhaps we'll never know for sure how space and time operate, but at least we can console ourselves that Iain M. Banks will never be short of inspiration for his weighty sci-fi tomes.

Brilliant.

Some thoughts about science

Science is a difficult thing to like. It's technically quite difficult, and it insists on all kinds of pedantic self-regulation, which stifles free-thinking creativity in developing minds. A hip young scientist could come up with a dazzling new mathematical theory of nature, but the semi-fossilised custodians of science would insist on performing 'experiments' to check whether it bore any relation to reality. It's a total bummer that you can't just make it up as you go along. That's why, at sixth form college, I did media studies and English literature instead of physics and chemistry. My penetrating insights into Silas Marner and were much more culturally relevant than anything I could have discovered using a Bunsen burner and a petri dish.

Still, as the years go by, I can't help wondering whether there might be some convenient short-cut I could take to gain some rudimentary understanding of science, in order to appear less ignorant when such subjects arise in conversation at the dinner parties I frequently attend. Concerns over global warming and such apparently mean that one must be subjected to the indignity of listening to the opinions of scientists, and it's tremendously difficult to maintain an air of superiority when one doesn't have the first idea what they're talking about.

Luckily, the finest educators in the land have devised the apparently oxymoronic concept of 'popular science'. It seems to be analogous to 'popular culture' (i.e. not 'proper' culture) and 'popular music' (i.e. not 'proper' music) in that it favours hypnotic graphics and celebrity endorsements over puritanical tradition. You might legitimately ask how many celebrities as such are in operation in the scientific community. Richard Dawkins is quite famous these days, but the sight of him getting a bit cross with religious fundamentalists apparently wasn't sufficiently entertaining to lure people away from Ant and Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway. If you want to find an appealing host for your scientifically-based television documentary, you have to cast your net a bit wider.

One popular choice of late has been atomic physicist Dr Brian Cox. He's a handsome thirty-something northerner with a Tim-from-Ash popstar haircut and the unusual distinction of once having been a member of anthemic '90s feel-good dance-pop combo, D:Ream. This marks him out as a legitimate celebrity. Even if you think you've never heard of D:Ream, you almost certainly know their New Labour-endorsing hit, Things Can Only Get Better. Or at least the chorus. They also did a song called Shoot Me With Your Love, which sounds almost identical to the later (and more successful) Robbie Williams song, Let Me Entertain You. D:Ream thus have the double endorsement of having been associated with a now widely reviled slightly-left-of-centre political clique, and having been plagiarised by a depressive former member of Take That who now spends his days squinting at the Nevada skyline in search of UFOs. Dr Brian Cox is thus not only rather good-looking, but also extremely famous, and as such you should respect his views. I assume he also has a PhD in physics, unless he's some sort of Doctor of Pop, like Doctor Hook. Or the doctor from Doctor and the Medics.

Dr Cox and his pulsating sphere of thermonuclear energy.

A while ago, Dr Cox presented a Horizon programme about gravity. As everybody knows, gravity was invented by Sir Isaac Newton, when an apple fell on his head [cue graphic of apple falling on the head of a bewigged and bemused Newton]. Dr Cox visited Newton's Cambridge lodgings so that viewers could appreciate the unique laboratory conditions that allowed some fruit to fall off a tree. Sadly, noted Cox, Newton's inverse square rule of gravitational attraction didn't do anything much to explain what caused gravity to exist, only how massive objects behaved under its influence. It would be over two hundred years before Einstein's theory of relativity threw Newtonian mechanics out of the window and explained gravity in terms of the distortion of the fabric of space and time [cue graphic of space and time being distorted, like in Geometry Wars on the Xbox]. Blimey.

The following investigation required a trip to the States to drop in on the military unit responsible for the coordination of GPS satellites (according to Einstein, the rate that a clock runs at depends on its height and the speed of its motion). Then there was a visit to huge atom-smasher (perhaps my favourite scientific term, rivalled only by the sinister 'annihilation operator') to look for hypothetical particles called gravitons which might explain how gravity is transmitted. Of course, the science involved in the hunt for the sources of gravity is extremely complex, and can only be lightly touched upon for a few minutes in an hour-long documentary. This left plenty of time to devote to high-angle shots of Dr Cox gazing pensively into the sky, or low-angle close-ups of Dr Cox gazing pensively out of the window. This allowed us to share in his state of philosophical cogitation, and admire his bone structure. Physics was made sexy, and I loved it.

So much so in fact, that I made a point of watching the first terrestrial airing of Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives, another BBC science documentary with celebrity crossover appeal. It was a tale of family tragedy combined with a bizarre theory about quantum mechanics, starring (of all people) Mark 'E' Everett from the band Eels. It's not the kind of subject matter that lends itself to facetiousness, but what if, every time nature 'chose' a particular quantum outcome, parallel universes branched off from that point, one for each of the other possible outcomes? That would certainly make the existence of intelligent life in our particular universe less surprising.

I seem to have wandered into a large new subject area, and completely deviated from the track I started on. More on this later, maybe.

Fire in the hole

I heard somewhere the other week that many fire stations are throwing out their fireman's poles for health and safety reasons. Before I continue, I should say that I'm not sure about the veracity of this story. If I were a journalist, 'I heard somewhere the other week' wouldn't cut much ice with my fact-obsessed, scrupulously source-checking editor (I did consider a career in journalism once, even going so far as to do two weeks of work experience at a local newspaper. The editor was recovering from a nervous breakdown at the time, which gave me a taste of the stresses faced by even tinpot parochial rags with nothing better to write about than cracked pavements and abandoned shopping trolleys (the top running story during my time there was that it was a bit cold and snowy). Being a fairly sensitive type, I decided that I wouldn't be ideally temperamentally suited to the pressure-cooker atmosphere of the newsroom. As a result, I can afford to be a bit more reckless about the sources of my information. I just wanted to declare from the outset that this whole thing about fireman's poles might just be a figment of my imagination. I do devote a great deal of time to imagining fireman and fireman-related paraphernalia, so it's entirely possible).

So, poles. Poles are a feat of simple but effective engineering. You wrap yourself around them, and gravity does the work. If there's a more efficient, or more enjoyable, way of getting from one floor of a building to another, lower, floor, I'm not aware of it. If you're an old hand at the art of sliding down low-friction rods, you can even add a bit of a flourish by orbiting the pole balletically during your descent. Batman had a pole. The Ghostbusters had a pole. I'm willing to bet that the cast of ITV's fire-service drama, London's Burning, had a pole. Poles are a huge part of the romance of the firefighting profession. Remove the pole, and all that's left are the cool uniform, the gigantic cherry-red firemobiles, the swaggeringly phallic high-pressure hoses, the unquestioning adoration of women the world over and the warm glow of satisfaction that comes from regular life-saving. Not much of a consolation, especially when half your career is spent being pelted with bottles of urine by bored teenagers.

Other popular pole-related activities are pole dancing, pole-vaulting and Pole bashing, the last of which is popular among readers of the Daily Mail.

Actually, I don't really care about poles. I'd quite like one in my own house, but I think it would be difficult to make a large enough hole in the floor without hacking through multiple wires and pipes. I suppose I could replace the entire staircase with a pole, but then I'd need to find some alternative method of getting up to the first floor. Not really practical. On the other hand, I was watching a repeat of Grand Designs the other day in which a couple in their fifties bought a ruined four-storey mansion in the middle of nowhere (otherwise known as central France), and were quite cheerfully clambering up and down the scaffolding and rafters, so perhaps I'm just being defeatist. Or perhaps the couple in question were just insane. Kevin McCloud thought they were. "I think they're mad," he said. The husband was teaching himself carpentry in order to build the four staircases required. Mad. What he wanted was one long fireman's pole, and a rope ladder. That would have saved time and money, and been a great talking point for guests at their future B&B (the ones that survived, that is). "Je suis tombé par le trou dans le dernier étage! C'était très amusant."

Mangled French: effortless polyglot Kevin McCloud wouldn't let me get away with that. I just thought it would make a change from the mangled English that I normally serve up, and in the absence of any less idiotic ways to construct a conclusion for this meaningless, disjointed outpouring, it'll serve as a fitting final sentiment. Erm.

Fin.