Passeport.

Recently we have started to drill for Oil off the coast of Britain. I know, this may sound like a shock to many, seeing as I work in the British Offshore Oil Industry, but earlier in the week the Ocean Guardian, a drilling vessel that I have seen people flying to from Aberdeen Heliport, made it’s way 8000 miles from our hallowed waters and landed its self in a whole buzz of controversy. We are drilling for oil off the coast of the Falkland Islands.

We claim sovereignty over the islands. They are part of Britain as much as the Channel Islands are, and each person living there has a British Passport. They use the pound (the Falklands Pound, match to the Sterling) and we went to war to save them from occupation from Argentina in the 1980s, winning and saying the Argentina “Nope, these are our lands”.

However, there’s oil – Argentina want it, and so do Britain, and there’s a claim that the islands sit on the Argentinean continental shelf (the exact same argument we are using for the west of Shetland, natch) but Britain rules it, and under the current UN laws we have the right to the oil. There’s no chance of there being a second War at the moment, seeing as Argentina are weaker than they were in the 80s and Britain is stronger.

The only way for the Islands to change without military intervention (the UK government won’t secede the island for a start) the islanders would have to want to change it back. But they won’t because, since 1983 and the war, they’ve had British Passports and Citizenship.

In a conversation with a friend about passports it’s clear that the UK and USA passports are the best in the world. No Visas to Europe, or most of Latin America (maybe not Argentina for the UK, huh?) and for the UK all the Middle East (USA passports aren’t accepted in Iran at all, and vice versa) and the common wealth. They are closely followed by the Canadian, Australia and New Zealand passports, as well as most other European countries. The Visas waived in most countries for entry.

Why would you give up the right to be “British”? I mean as a technicality, not as a nationality. That they are “British” is just a term in the same way that it’s a term for me, as a label for where you come from, but it’s a citizen ship that works all around the world and is a good thing to have – nothing to diminish the Argentineans, who I personally think have a pretty strong case for ownership of the islands, but the British passport is something that is a good thing to have, whether or not you actually feel British.

The result of Oil in the Falklands is a good bounty for the UK, as it’s got a massive potential for a lot of oil and gas. Maybe I’ll work there in the future. But I honestly don’t see the Falklands being given up by Britain any time soon, and I don’t see Argentina making a move for them either. As long as they drink tea and complain about the weather (which, from Wikipedia seems as shit as ours) they are all right by me.

That's why my previously mentioned friend is well on her way to being "British", like it or not.

Googolplex

I love infinity. It’s such a strange concept, highly intriguing, and genuinely something that I like to sink my teeth into mathematically. Thinking about it, it’s such a simple theory and one that anyone who is taught basic mathematics must quickly realise and I distinctly remember finding out about it. What’s the biggest number you can think of? Add 1 to it and boom, you have the theory of mathematical infinity.

The practicality of infinity is bullish, to say the least. If we assumed that our universe is infinite, then suddenly everything is possible. I mean everything. Anything that is probable, is true, and has happened, somewhere. If we exist, then, in theory another one of us exists in a certain place in the universe. This actual means, that using probabilities, we can work out how far we would have to travel to meet the next version of ourselves. Which is 2^10^118 m (after some fun calculations that I won’t detail) which is pretty big. It has to be the case if our universe is infinite. So there is an infinite amount of space, so an infinite amount of worlds, and as such an infinite number of me and you and everyone else. Strange? Yeah it is. Kind of freeing actually.

Also, it means that there is no side to the universe. Or centre. Of up or down. It just is there, forever, recurring forever and ever. That’s a good way to think about it.

Or is it? If you think about our world, we know it’s not infinite. We understand now it’s a globe and that’s the reason it goes on forever. Tell that to an ant. It sees the world as flat, with very few dimensions other than the ones it knows. It can’t perceive the difference in horizons, nor can it perceive the shape of the world, and as such, it is infinite and continues on forever, infinitly. But you return back to where you were without turning around. That makes sense to us because we’ve seen the Earth, and we know the shape of it. This might be the way the universe is designed: a shape that not yet we can understand in our 3 dimensions of space and 1 of time, we cannot fathom that how there can be more than these four dimensions, but there might be – it’d mean that going in once direction forever would get you back to where you started, like Earth.

It’s a strange thought that too, that it might not be infinite in real terms, but to us it is.

Numerically though, infinity makes a mockery of us even more. Imagine a list of every number. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 etc. Take only the even numbers. 2 4 6 8 10 etc. Which is the bigger list? Well, that’s the problem. Because, they are both the same. You’d think that the even list would be shorter, but no because of how we count. If we were to count the even list, they’d match up like 2-1, 4-2, 6-3, 8-4 etc, all the way up. This means that a list half of infinity is still infinity. Confused? You will be.

Take the infinite hotel problem. Imainge a hotel with an infinite number of rooms that is full. There’s no way I can get a room, right? Not true – all you'd have to do is move the rooms up one. Move room 1 to room 2 and so on, meaing that there is always room at an infinite hotel, even if it is fully booked. Then imagine an infinite number of people leave, you’d think the answer would be that the hotel would be empty, right? Not true. Even if 4 people stay, an infinite number of people have left… so ∞ + 1 = ∞ BUT ∞ - ∞ = anything. Crazy!

The most common analogy for infinity is the Monkey-Typewriter thought experiment. It demonstrates an infinite universe quite well. However, its not so much the fact that the monkey has the time to do it, it’s the improbability that it will happen that infinity sorts out. The equal probability of the Monkey typewriting is a man buying a lottery ticket each week and winning each week for 29 thousand years straight. That’s improbable – highly improbable – but still, possible.

Anyway, I think the number Googol is ace: 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.

A googolplex is this number as the power of 10:
10^10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000

…Which is such a large number that you couldn’t even write it in the universe without running out of space – even if you wrote a zero on every single particle in the universe, you still wouldn’t have enough space. That’s a big number.

Sometimes people are right.

So i have changed the title head thing. Smaller is better, but colourful is also better. So it'll change every week, on a Wednesday, to my next colour. Kinda of like a mood stone or something.

Swimming

Or drowning slowly. I suppose there is a strange affinity with the sea, and water, that humans have. We drink it to stay alive, we use it to cook, wash, clean, we long to be be in it, near it, swimming in it, and it’s really pretty to look at, but we cannot be in it for a long period of time as it will kill us. It’s the biggest unchartered area on our planet, stupidly called Earth, and all because millions of years ago our ancestors decided that “enough was enough” and we had to leave the hostile world of the water.

It was probably the stupidest decision we’ve ever made, save for loosing most of our hair. It’s a strange place to leave, the sea, it being so full of life and space and, essentially, everything that we would need. If only our evolution had let us leave, maybe we’d be sentient beings in the sea. Maybe I’d be writing this about how it’d be “so much better on land”.

As a grown-up I can swim moderately. My stamina doesn’t allow for long periods of time to swim, and that’s my problem I suppose. It comes from a lack stamina naturally really, something that my football is working to solve. Playing week in week out actually has helped and has given me a second wind so to speak, but swimming for some reason is still the hardest work out my body has to do – it’s because it’s the best work out you can do, I suppose, aerobically, but I find it slightly boring at points.

In fact, I find most exercise boring. Running on a treadmill is rubbish – I am not built for running. I don’t enjoy it, will never enjoy it, and can’t see any reason to do it. With my lack of football this week I feel I have to go and run, to get some aerobic exercise, but there’s a lack of guilt when I don’t enjoy running.

So I go swimming, which feels like I am doing more and feels better when I finish. I have a sense of accomplishment because I feel that we aren’t mean to be swimming, but we are meant to be running. As land mammals running is what we do best, and has kept us alive, so I feel like I am doing Darwin a favour, so when the Flood comes I can tread water for 30 minutes before perishing.

Basically I am writing this to try and justify my lack of running at the gym. I do weights and swimming, and maybe go on the cross trainer, but I just don’t do running. It’s shit. I’m shit at it. I don’t enjoy it. Swimming is wear it’s at. Or ice skating. Or eating Kettle Chips whilst sitting in the flat drinking tea.

Things I Am Good At

Modesty, according to the some, is something that is a good thing. I suppose it is a good thing… I mean, if everyone pretended that everything they did was incredible, and then said so, I’d probably want to kill everyone. According to the dictionary that I have just looked up to check that I actually did know what it meant it means “having or showing a moderate or humble estimate of one's merits, importance” which is what I thought. And that’s something I don’t really think I am good at – I cannot really say with certaintiy that I know what words mean. My vocabulary is something that isn’t bad by any means, but sometimes I just don’t know what words mean. Or how to spell them. But that’s not the point of this post, it’s supposed to be an exercise in modesty.

I think I am all right at some things. I attribute this inherent modesty in me to my parents, who didn’t lavish praise, and nor did they criticise excessively, but gave me a balance of “Good work” and “Look at what the fuck you’ve done” in a well attribute measurement. For example, my success at school was always played up because it would, in theory, mean I would want more of that… and my success at Scouts was met with less praise initially for fear of making me want to leave… or at least, that’s how I see it now. Interestingly, even for someone who was a Scout for almost 10 years and in the Scout movement for around 15 years, there were times I wanted to quit. Peer pressure from friends not at Scouts was an important factor in this… but my parents managed to “force” me to stay. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay them for this insistence. The above gave me a general normal lack of impetetus to want to thrust my talents to the front.

That’s why job interviews are the hardest part of becoming an adult, and I am glad that, really… in theory, I’ll never have to another one like a student again. The extolling of my virtues always made me feel uncomfortable. Still, there are things I cannot deny that I do well. I think I am personable. I haven’t really fallen out with anyone in a long time, and my most recent falling out that was of great consequence, whilst still has ripples of friendship ruffling about it, last only a few weeks and I know how it was my fault. But this is because I think I can make friends pretty easily and, whilst I sometimes stuggle to find banter with strangers, I can do pretty well once a hook has been found, or a common ground. I also think I am kinda funny, in a way. At least, I can make my friends laugh, and more often than not make myself laugh. Sometimes, I can send my self into a tsunami of laughter that I cannot really escape from, which is stupid, childish, and probably a little insane, but I don’t mind and my friends and family who have witnessed these rolls of laughter just let me get on with it. Sometimes, they will be forced by the gravity of my laughter to be pulled into the fun and start giggling themselves.

I am allright at football too. I mean, I’m not good, but I have the mind that lets me see what I want to do, I understand the game, and I know what I do, but sometimes I can’t make myself do it. The lack of my overall skill, I feel, is helped by an okay understanding of the game and what affect someone who, like me, might not get much of the ball and how they can help those who have it. I’m good at hill walking, rock climbing and badminton, I suppose too. And Ice Skating.

Which neatly brings me to the actual point of this post; I can ice skate. It’s a talent I picked up after an inspired moment of madness in my teens when my group of friends started going. Suddenly it was every single Saturday, for 3 hours, and then a burger king afterwards for dinner. It was a staple part of my diet that Saturday, and the speed, skill and balance gained from such a competitive and friendly past time is something that will never go away. The last time I ice skated was around a year ago and this weekend I will skate again. Maybe I can use my extreme skating skills to impress an ice hockey coach, just like I used to pretend back when I was young.

A&E

I went to accident and emergency last night for the first time in a long time. I was playing five a sides and had the ball catch me full in the face, dislocating my jaw and rendering me unable to complete my cheese burgers. That was the final straw, and as such, I called NHS 24 and then drove to the hospital. Firstly, I thank to lord for the NHS, as it is the greatest thing about being British, no question. There is not one person in the UK who would really bemoan the healthcare, especially when they need it.

Right now my cousin is in hospital seriously ill (but getting better) and as is my gran, so my trip was the third thing to end us up in hospital, but much less severe. But I had never been to late night A&E on my own, and with Steve already in bed, I had no choice. It was even his shot that caused the incident.

Sitting there, at 1am, with several other people perpetually waiting, each of us wondering the order in which we would be seen, gave a sort of strange perversion that bordered on insanity – I love watching people… and these people, these patients of the night, were utter compelling.

There was the couple who had to wait, even after a prolonged wait at the G Docs for help. They were quietly fuming. The man who came in after me had a problem with his toes, saying that his toe nails had came off. There were several next of kins awaiting the call to come into the main wards to see their loved one in a state of illness. As a note I had to say my father was my next of kin, which was interesting as he lives 156 miles away. Maybe I should’ve put someone within driving disatance… and not so lazy as not to take me to the hospital. In anycase, the wonderings of a bored mind are something that I can deal with it, even without music, and the dealthy quiet of the waiting room was actually soothing in a way I cannot describe.

An ederly woman picked up a coin, look at me, smiled, and then walked over to a couple who had came in after their son had been admitted with “stomach pains”. She gave them the coin and said “Here, take this for good luck”. It was poignant and sweet, and humbled my dark festering soul.

I am seen to quickly I suppose, and shown the door after getting my jaw reset. Agony like none other I had experienced before, and the mere thought of having to do it again has made me consider the advice the doctor gave me: hold your jaw when laughing, coughing or yawning.

I just sneezed and almost passed out from the pain, so that’s a tip for free.