The Storm

The caterpillar was climbing up the twig that protruded from the trunk of the Flamboyant tree, almost to the wall of Alexander’s hut, munching the edges of the sweet leaves as it went. It ate continuously, only stopping when it got too dark to see the leaf. Dawn saw it start eating again. It rained, the caterpillar didn’t stop eating. The wind blew, the caterpillar didn’t stop eating. The sun shone, making the middle of the day very hot until the leaves started to wilt but still the caterpillar carried on eating. 

It didn’t stop eating until,one day, it felt a different urge come upon it. It stopped eating. It extruded a thread and then dangled from the twig. It dangled, dangled and waited as its body absorbed the nutrients from all those leaves and, as it did, it slowly changed form inside its protective case. 

*

Andrew Higginson was a meteorologist at the Woods Hole Marine Oceanographic Institute on Cape Cod. Today was a big day for him. A tropical storm had been forming for several days in the Caribbean and today there was a meeting of the specialists, with Andrew in the chair, in room 115C to discuss the issue and the storm prognosis. 

Andrew had worn a suit and tie as he was the chairman but the other six men were dressed in ‘student shabby’ with overtones of ‘tropical indolence.’ This meant that they all wore sandals or flip flops, surfers shorts and Tee shirts. A couple went even further and had the 70’s haircut, which meant a pigtail. ‘A right bunch of scruffy pirates,’ thought Andrew. They certainly didn’t look like dedicated scientists at the top of their field, as they unarguably were. 

The exception was the smartly dressed woman sitting at the end of the tale. She wore a black, all-encompassing dress with vivid red geometric patterns embossed on it, all topped off by a long,  flowing golden scarf. No one knew who she was and why she was here. She was Dr Constanza Grant-Price, ‘Connie’ to her friends. She said nothing, but listened intently to what the others reported and jotted neat notes on her A4 pad with a 0.5 mm fine-point drawing pen.

It was the 15th August, right in the middle of the North Atlantic hurricane season so a rapidly forming tropical cyclone was not unexpected, but this one seemed to be getting larger than normal but still didn’t seem to be building with the usual speed.

Once they were all seated, the coffee machine severely depleted, Andrew stood up and pointed to the first Keynote slide showing on the screen, shone from the projector mounted in the ceiling.

‘This satellite picture shows tropical storm “Ira”. You can see the anticlockwise swirl and the size across the centre. It is a larger than average storm and its parameter ratio is within normal limits but there is one strange thing in its development.

As you know, these storms normally follow a similar pattern even though they vary in the quantity of entrained energy so they grow at a daily, known, rate. This one is different however. “Ira” is growing more slowly than normal and the rate of change is slowing down. If this rate continues on its present path, it will stop growing in six days time.

I’ll now go around the table asking each of you to give your view of your own specialist area as it relates to this incipient . After we have all the data from each of you, I will open and chair a free discussion to try and get to the bottom of this.

Shall we start with you Tom? ‘

‘OK. As you know, my speciality is ocean water temperature. Our measurements show that the upper 50 metres of the ocean under the developing cyclone is, at 28^oC, well above the cyclone genesis minimum of 26.5^oC. This means that, from my point of view, the cyclone should be developing, driven by the energy it is gaining from the warm ocean,’

‘Thank you, Tom. You next David.’

‘Using the Emmanuel model of Maximum Potential Intensity I have found that the limit of intensity, using the ocean temperatures that Tom has given me, is very high so we potentially have here a very intense storm - “Ira” should be a big one! If it slowing down and appears to be heading for a zero-growth stasis, then that is very strange and outside of our normal parameters.’

‘OK, thanks David, do you have any ideas James?’

‘Well, err, as you all know, I deal with the Coriolis force and its effect on the tropical cyclogenesis. In this case, the storm centre or the surface expression of the storm centre - the epi centre if you will - is about 1900 km North of the equator. This easily meets the need for the epicentre to be at least 500 km from the equator to allow tropical cyclogenesis, so there is nothing unusual there - in my field anyway.’

‘Thanks for that contribution James.’ said Andrew. ‘Have you managed to identify the low level disturbance that set ‘Ira” off in the first place, Paul?’

‘There is nothing of note, Andrew, so we have to assume as usual that it was the depression last week in the ITC.’

‘In English, please Paul.

‘Oh, sorry - ITC is just a TLA ( three letter abbreviation ). It means Intertropical convergence zone.’

‘Now we come to the vertical wind shear. Anything unusual that you have seen recently? Viv?’

‘No, the vertical wind shear has been fairly weak over the last couple of weeks between the tropopause and the ocean surface so ‘Ira” should have been free to develop massively upwards.’Just the normal temperatures and pressures, I’m afraid, nothing unusual.’

‘Well Graham, we are all relying on you to come up with something surprising, you are least representative of the six parameters required for a tropical cyclone generation. What have you got for us?’

‘At first I thought it must be the upper level jet stream that was slowing down the storm’s development but that was normal for this time of year. I then checked the data for weaker wind speeds and higher minimum pressures - a baroclinic initiation, we call it. That was also normal.So I have to tell you that there is no favourable trough interaction that I could see.’ 

Andrew stood up and used his laser pointer to set a red dot on the screen. He highlighted the six parameters in turn and checked each one of as being within the normal range and so could not account for the slow and about to stop, development of the storm. The six specialist storm scientists started volubly defending their positions, each saying that one of the others must have got their data wrong, each defended their own numbers until there was quite a hubbub in the room and there was no resolution in sight.

The meeting wasn’t coming up with any solutions so he decided to close it and regroup at 1000 the following morning. ‘Have a think about it overnight and hopefully we will come to a conclusion tomorrow’ he half shouted at their departing backs. ‘Will you be here tomorrow Connie? he asked.

‘Yes, of course, I am just as puzzled as anyone but I am sure we will get it sorted out tomorrow.’

*

The dangle was coming to an end, there was movement inside the case. The case split at the bottom, the end furthest from the thread that was supporting it from the branch of the flamboyant tree. The tree had stood for many years on the headland overlooking Nelson’s Dockyard in Antigua. 

The caterpillar wasn’t interested in the history of the place. In fact the caterpillar had disappeared. It had metamorphosed into a different creature, one that was slowly easing itself moistly from the confines of its home. It managed to emerge fully and then carefully stretched out its long, weak legs. It stood there for some moments still folded up, as it had been made. Eventually the creature realised that it had wings and experienced an irresistible desire to stretch them out. It slowly and carefully did so. Its wings were revealed in all their black, gold and red glory, vivid patterns embossed on them. The creature waited, the wings drying and stiffening in the tropical sun.

After five short minutes the wings were dry and ready to use. The creature knew the time had come but was not aware of the consequences so it gave into its need. It jumped into the warm, gentle breeze. The butterfly flapped its wings and fluttered by the flamboyant tree that was its birthplace. It now had to search for a mate among the myriad others from the same tree, family tree, and lay the eggs that would be the start of the next cycle, the next generation.

*

It was five minutes past ten the next morning. All were there in the meeting room except Connie.

Andrew said,’Does anyone have any suggestions as to why ‘Ira’s” development is so slow and looks like it will not develop into a full cyclone?’

‘I do,’ said a voice from the opening door. ‘I have just come from the zoo physics department and we are fairly sure we have got the answer.’ Constanza walked to her seat at her accustomed place at the end of the table and sat down, arranging her notes neatly on the table in front of her.

Seven pairs of eyes followed her progress, all agog to see what she had found that they couldn’t unearth from all their data.

‘If I may explain Andrew?’ He just nodded, impatient to hear the denouement of the mystery.

‘You probably don't know either me or my department. My speciality is chaos theory as it applies to the living world. I study things like shoals of fish and flocks of birds and how they manage to fly or swim as a coherent swarm or shoal with no communication between the individuals.

I had a hunch last evening so I telephoned my colleague who is doing some field research on cyclical metamorphism, especially as it applies to butterflies on Antigua. He told me that the 13 year cycle butterflies were all emerging from their cases over the last few days. Their wing flapping has resulted in the effect, predicted by chaos theory, that it would have on the weather. They only live for three days, just long enough to mate and lay their eggs so I predict that ‘Ira’ will resume its development tomorrow and turn into a large tropical cyclone.’

The windows rattled in the increasing wind as Connie gathered up her notes and fluttered out of the room, leaving behind seven incredulous - and seriously miffed - meteorologists.

Effect and Cause

Professor Theodopolos Troodos-Ophiolite looked at his students over the top of his glasses. He wore half glasses, the top half was missing, thereby telling the world that he still had good long distance vision in spite of his advancing age. He was one of those people who took pride in thinking they looked younger than their calendar years. Few knew that he wore contact lenses to deal with his age-related presbyopia. It was also darkly rumoured that his sometime visible silver roots owed their existence to a man dye.

                His students belonged to the third year cohort who were grimly sticking with geology, in spite of the ridicule from their colleagues who were sitting back with many less lecture and tutor contact hours a year, reading Cider with Rosy or Under Milk Wood in the student union bar, with little care as to the rigour of the subject, just picking through the bones of other people’s creative work and writing vapidly critical essays.

                Theo was today talking of the recent, over the last ninety five years, discovery that the Earth’s magnetic field was declining in strength. The magnetic poles were also moving across the surface of the Earth, but that had been noted and explained as the effect of Coriolis forces in the planet’s molten core. It had been known since the sixties that a reduction in strength meant that the magnetic field was heading for a one of its periodic changes in direction, hence the well know expression that, ‘The South will be North and the North, South.’

                ‘It is expected that the ‘flip’ will happen this year, in the summer, while  you students are lazing your time away and your Professor will be busy marking your progress so far while working on next years’ lectures and using any spare time to look into this strange event. One effect that we have already worked out is that further effects will cause causes instead of the usual scheme of things where causes cause effects. We will just have to get used to the idea that the law of cause and effects will have been stood on its head.’

                ‘Can you give us a practical example of this, Professor?’ asked a thin, pimply student, Michael Fish, who was known for achieving remarkably high marks.

                ‘Yes, Mr Fish, I can and I will. Assume we have a windy day. What will have caused the wind?’

                ‘The differential air pressure in the atmosphere resulting in a gradient so air will flow from areas of high pressure to those of lower pressure.’

                ‘Yes, well done, Mr Fish. But now it will be different. The result is the wind but the cause will be, amongst other things, wind turbines and waves. You will see that cause and effect will now have to said and written as ‘Effect and Cause’ as the effect now comes before the cause. You will note, of course that the second law of thermodynamics has not been violated.

                ‘But, where will the energy come from to turn the windmills,’ protested Michael.

                ‘It will come, of course from the Grid which is fed from power stations…-‘

                ‘…but doesn’t the power go back into the generators?’ Asked Ludmilla Karaoke.

                ‘No, you are confusing entropy with enthalpy, Miss Karaoke. Energy is not reversed, it is just that cause and effect are exchanged. Let me give you a simple example. If you are willing, I will show you what I mean. If you will kindly assist me, Mr Fish by standing out here at the front.’

Michael reluctantly walked down to the front of the lecture theatre and stood facing Theo.

                ‘Now, my intention is to slap you in the face, with your permission, of course, Mr Fish’ There was a collective gasp from the audience, it was unheard of for a member of staff to strike a student and was a sacking offence.

                ‘Well, ok, if it will help our understanding.’ Said Michael reluctantly.

                ‘I think we will all agree that the intention has been stated, I will now slap Mr Fish’s cheek, agreed?’ Asked the Prof. The students all nodded in agreement.

                ‘Now you will see a red mark slowly appearing on his left cheek. Please note that it is appearing before and without the slap. I will now slap him to complete the action. We now have cause and effect, but not in the usual order. The effect came before and caused the cause. Does everybody understand this? It is important to get a grasp of this before we move on to the next stage’

Michael was now very angry at being humiliated in front of his colleagues and swore to himself that he would exact some sort of revenge on his arrogant professor.

                ‘What would have happened if you announced your intention to slap him, the red mark appeared and then you changed your mind and did not slap him?’ Enquired Alfred.

                ‘Good question, Mr Wegener. Now we have to bring in the principle of quantum infundibulumarity and involve that pesky cat of Herr Schrödinger again, but that is a story for another day. It is something you can think about over the two days before my next lecture.

*

Captain Luc leaned on the guardrail of the port bridge wing and watched Professor ‘Theo’ as he looked out to the horizon from the TMA winch with a thousand yard stare of an experienced mariner. No one knew that Theo could not wear his contacts at sea, because of the salt in the air, so his distance vision was limited to the seagull soaring above the stern of the Jacques Picard, looking hopefully for scraps discarded from the galley. Theo was still playing the role of a young, early promoted, brilliant professor. Luc was bored, they had been following the same course for three days now and the sea was unusually calm, for the North Atlantic. This was possibly because of the theory that the Prof was investigating. Luc enjoyed the drama of a good storm.

 The ‘Picard was heading due East at six knots to avoid too much strain on the Extra Special Flexible Steel Wire Rope ( ESFSWR ) that was trawling the Towed Magnetic Array ( TMA ) close to, and parallel with, the sea bed more than two kilometres below the ship. The resulting signal was sent up the signal cable to the Electronic Magnetic Assembly ( EMA )in the control room where it displayed and recorded the strength and direction of the Earth’s magnetic signature imprinted in the rocks on the sea bed. They were now 10 kilometres East of the mid ocean ridge where new molten rock was being forced up from the depths of the Earth. It was quickly cooled by the sea water thus recording the direction of the magnetic field at the time.

The magnetic signal from the newer rocks could be seen as far weaker than the older rocks further away from the spreading zone. This confirmed what Theo had theorised in his lab, the Earth’s magnetic field was due to flip suddenly soon, possibly this summer if the trend line was to be believed. The problem now was how to improve the accuracy of that prediction because he knew that all hell would break lose when that happened. Ships and aircraft would get lost, ICBMs would suddenly be targeted on friendly sites and cities, hikers the world over would get lost – if they believed their compasses - and, possibly worst of all, geocaching enthusiasts would find that the coordinates on their hi-spec GPS receivers would no longer take them to hidden treasures.

*

Theo was back in his favourite lecture hall, 7b, leaning against this favourite podium and looking up at his less than favourite geology students – some of whom he regarded as being as thick as the ultra mafic rocks they studied.

‘Would you care to summarise where we had got to earlier in the week Miss Karaoke?’

‘You had just announced your intention to slap Michael’s face and a red mark appeared. You were then going to explain what would happen if you changed your mind and so didn’t supply the effect to cause the cause, as it were,’ said Linda.

 ‘Thank you Miss Karaoke. Yes, it gets difficult doesn’t it, maybe we need to invent some new words to cope with this confusion but I am confident we can do the job today with the ones we have and leave the invention of neologisms until another day.

You will remember Herr Schrödinger’s cat that languished in the box in a weird unclassified state so that it was neither dead nor alive until the opening of the box ‘forced’ it to choose to live or die – in other words the opening of the box collapsed the wave function. We now have a similar situation, Mr Fish’s face is in a state of proto slapping. It shows the red mark that would be caused by a slap but it does not hurt or show permanent damage until the effect, ie the slap, is carried out. I won’t carry on to prove this demonstration because, as you know, the striking of students by staff is not allowed by this university. I do, however have another, perhaps more striking demonstration for you – and I believe it is not against the rules of this institution.

‘I have here a hand gun which is loaded with one bullet. I will shoot myself in the head. The proto bullet hole will appear, but as long as I do not have the intention to carry out the threat, I will suffer no harm.’

 The mark of a bullet hole slowly appeared at the Prof’s right temple but he did not appear to be harmed at all; he carried on with his lecture with no hesitation and did not seem to be in any pain even though the stigmata on the side of his head would normally be enough to bring about a swift death.

   ‘I trust that is enough of a demonstration to convince you that we are now in a new paradigm’, said Theo as blood dripped slowly onto his collar. ‘I will now turn to the concept of infundibulumarity that I mentioned earlier and explain how …’

   The professor stopped talking and slid slowly to the floor – dead.

Michael smirked silently to himself, his idea that the intention to carry out the action didn’t have to be by the person carrying out the effect had been proven to be true. He was also aware that an undiscussed intention did not carry any fingerprints or DNA that could prove his guilt.

The coroner ruled at the inquest that the Professor’s unfortunate demise was a clear case of suicide.

Technology

The cave was warm and dry, but outside it was very different. The rain came down in gert big lumps and thunder echoed around the mountains. As the storm grew closer, lightning became more frequent and zagged to the earth, striking several trees on its way. Some of the trees succumbed to the onslaught and breathed their last as they crashed down onto the floor of the forest and lay there, gently barking. They wondered what they had done to deserve such destruction, not realising that causality was not an issue. The thunder faded as the storm moved away and night descended, dark and calm.

                The morning dawned bright and freshly washed. A pallid, liquid sun slowly burnt off the mists generated from the saturated ground, now clinging to the trees that had been spared by the storm that was a poorly-remembered distant nightmare.

                Ugg stretched in the morning dampness to get the knots out of his ancient joints, he was seventeen, looked over at his elder brother Ogg, who had not yet stirred. Ugg and Ogg were twins. This was an unusual event when most births resulted in a death before two years and twins were considered to be bad luck because there were usually two deaths close together. They had survived the births, a few minutes apart, the usual childhood diseases and accidents, grown up together and were now approaching old age. Their mother was already dead, having reached the ripe old age of thirty two. Their father was now thirty five and clearly had little more time to live. He was the chief of the tribe so Ugg and Ogg had come to the high mountain to find slabs of rock that would be used to build his cist tomb where he would be buried with what the archaeologists far in the future would call grave goods. His favourite club, some food to sustain him in the afterlife and his collection of bowls.

                Many trees had fallen into the combe that they had planned to use as an easy route back to the village so their choices were to heave the slabs over the tree trunks or move all of the trees. They decided to try to lift the first slab over a tree to see if it was possible. It was a struggle to get it up on the tree but then it stared to roll, taking the slab with it. When all the motion stopped they saw that the rock slab had moved twice as far as the tree – with little effort. They decide to try it again with the next tree. It worked again except that, this time it stopped because one of the tree branches stuck in the ground.

                The two brothers looked at each other with a growing understanding in their eyes. Without talking, they each took their flint axes and started hacking the branches off the next tree down the combe. They then pulled the slab onto it and rolled it down to the next tree. They repeated this until they got down to the grazing grassland near the village. They then got the idea of putting the tree trunk that they had left behind in front of the one they were using so that the slab just carried in rolling. They rushed into the village and grabbed a couple of young boys to help them. They explained what they were doing and soon had the five slabs for the cist down to the village from the mountain high above.

                They explained all of this and how they had done it to the village elders who grumbled and said that no good would come of this new technology and, anyway, it would never catch on – they hadn’t thought of it.. The young ones were very enthusiastic, however, and insisted that Ugg and Ogg show them how it was done.

                Mugg watched all this while he thought about the possibilities and how this technology could be developed.  Why did you need a complete tree trunk, he mused, why not cut the tree into a roller that was only as long as the slab was wide so it would be easier to navigate down the combe.

                Why not use several rollers to avoid having to keep stopping because you had run out of tree and why not… Mugg had just invented the first thought experiment.

                The problem with this, of course, was that there was no way of steering and the rollers often jammed on small rocks in the way. They soon found that fat trees worked better than thin trees so they cut down the biggest tree near the village. They then cut discs from it which they fixed to each end of the roller. Then Mogg suggested that they cut holes in the discs and fitted them over the roller ends. This allowed them to fix the roller and fix branches lengthways. They had built a cart!

                The older generation watched all this with some bemusement. They kept a wary eye on the gods in case this wasn’t allowed and they would be smitten. No smiting happened but less people were needed to do more work so more crops were grown and the village flourished in spite of the old ones shaking their heads and predicting that no good would come of it.

                Ugg and Ogg’s father lived to the magnificent old age of thirty seven and was dully buried in the stone cist. His was the first funeral ceremony in the history of the Earth where the body was taken to the grave on a cart.

                Mogg and Mugg now had some spare time so they concentrated on developing this new technology. They found that smearing pig fat around the centre of the discs reduced the wear on the rollers so both the discs and rollers lasted longer. They then tried tying a bullock to the front of the cart to pull it along. Mogg and Mugg were the first technicians and showed that greater productivity in the fields freed up others to become specialists and showed the way forward for the human race. It was a long time before they had the idea of allowing the front discs to go in different directions to the rear ones and so make a fully steerable cart.

                The old ones, those over about twenty, couldn’t adapt to these new ideas so they carried on working in the old way. Their day passed by and the new technology was developed through the generations at an increasing rate as the young ones accepted the new technology as normal and the older generations passed on.

                This was to be the way of the world.

*****

It finally wheezed to a full stop, Southbound on the M6, a mile short of Hilton Park Services. Isla was anxious. ‘Do you think I should call the AA?’

                ‘Why not, we have been paying them for years. Let’s see what they can do.’ Said Ted.

Isla did so and reported that rescue would be there in under thirty minutes. They got out and arranged themselves on the grassy bank just behind the crash barrier. Ted got the thermos out of the car so they could enjoy a cup of coffee, while they waited.

                A yellow van with a light rack flashing on top drew to a halt just in front of Flossy and a young man with a well-developed belly heaved himself down from the cab.

                ‘Stay behind the barrier please sir,’ he said as Ted struggled to get over the barrier to talk to him. ‘You cannot be serious, are you really still driving a Morris Minor estate with wood on the back? I haven’t seen one of these for years.’

                ‘She has given us very good service for many years and has been very reliable,’ protested Isla. ‘We call her Flossy.’

                The AA man snorted. ‘I’ll see if I can winch her up on the back and then I’ll take you two and, err - Flossy - to your home where I’ll drop you off. I can’t do any repairs on Flossy as we don’t carry tools now, just this wrist computer. If you climb up and make yourselves comfortable in the back of the wagon, I’ll get Flossy winched up.’

                Ted and Isla couldn’t manage to climb up until Andy showed them the small fold-down step on the side of the van. Ted wanted to sit up the front, just like his inner child told him but Andy told him it wasn’t allowed, EU safety rules.

                Flossy was safely tied down and they set off on the drive South to Dursley where Isla and Ted had lived for over thirty years.

                ‘Do you think Flossy is repairable?’ asked Ted.

                ‘It will cost you about twice that of a new car. I suggest you go and see what is available. You will save money overall as the costs to run a new one are much less than the old fashioned petrol driven things like Flossy. You will probably find that it, er she, will not be allowed on the roads after next year anyway – EU rules on pollution etc.’ explained Andy as he battled with the traffic through the Wednesbury section of the M6.’

                They eventually arrived home and Andy off loaded Flossy onto their driveway.

                ‘Good luck with your new car,’ said Andy, as he shook hands with both of them after getting them to sign his pick up paperwork. He drove off in his nearly noiseless van, with a cheerful wave.

*

‘Poor Flossy,’ said Isla as they sat on the bus that would take them to the garage that had always looked after their faithful Morris, ‘I feel quite guilty having her replaced.’

                ‘Don’t get upset, now, it is just a car,’ said the more pragmatic Ted.

They got off the bus and walked around the corner to the garage. It was gone. A sign over the padlocked gate said, Closed due to EU regulations.

‘I knew a lot of garages had closed but I thought old Bert would carry on forever,’ moaned Ted.

‘Just like Flossy, I suppose,’ mused Isla,’ do you think it will apply to us soon? Put down because of EU regulations?’

‘No, we’ll be ok for a couple of years yet. Let’s go to those new car showrooms down on the Gloucester Road.’

*

They were ushered in by a young man with red braces, gleaming, slicked down hair and a suit that was different to anything that Ted would ever wear.

                ‘How may I help you, Sir and Madam?’ as if he was talking to a couple of dimwits.

Ted did think of playing up to him by asking him to repeat everything and calling him ‘young man’ but he thought the time wasn’t right. He explained their situation and ended up asking how much Flossy would be worth as a part exchange.

                ‘We don’t take the old petrol or diesel clunkers,’ he said unkindly, we only take ten year old nuclear models under EU rules.’

                ‘You had better explain,’ said Ted grimly. This was worse than he had imagined.

The salesman started with his ‘old people’ spiel.

                ‘As the oil started running out and a general world – wide agreement was reached on climate change in 2015, it was agreed that all cars, vans and lorries built after 2018 would be powered by nuclear. The petrol and diesel cars, vans and lorries would be phased out. All engines would be sealed, use the lithium fission process and be built by EADS as, obviously, the airline industry was in steep decline because of the huge rise in government taxes across the world to encourage people to use other, less polluting forms of transport. Security was also an issue as it didn’t seem a good idea to allow terrorists to buy up old cars and strip them down for their nuclear fuel to make a dirty bomb. The engine seal is alarmed with bluetooth link to a hotspot to the internet and thence on to special branch with GPS so the security breach can be shut down very quickly.

                All new cars can be driven in driver or driverless mode. The system is based on GPS which can either direct you to your destination or take you there, as you wish. ‘Some older people cannot cope with driverless cars,’ said the young man with a gleam in his eye.

                ‘I was driving and fixing cars while you were still in nappies,’ said Ted who was getting a little fed up with being lectured.

                ‘Well, yes but the fact is there is no maintenance required for the ten year life of the vehicle – everything is designed to last for ten years, even the tyres etc. At the end of the ten years or if you decide not to have a car any longer, it must be returned to an approved dealer and then sent to EADS for a complete refurbishment and refuelling. The fuel pellets are reprocessed in a secure facility in Broughton – the old aircraft factory in fact.

                The cars all have a common chassis, engine etc. the only differentiation is in the body which is put on top. There are obviously no crashes because of the navigation and distance sensors.

                ‘But with no servicing, no fuel, and no insurance, what has happened to all those jobs?’ asked Isla.

                ‘The people are all busy working on the organic farms, bee keeping or following their creative instincts funded by the government on minimum wages.’ Said Red Braces. ‘If the government can find the money to support bankers, why can’t it do it for ordinary people?

                Of course you will have to have a left hand drive because the UK will change over to driving on the left next year – an EU directive. But to make it easier for old people we will be doing it over two consecutive weekends, commercial vehicles on the first weekend and cars on the following one.

There was a silence, ‘but doesn’t that mean…?’ asked Isla hesitantly.

                ‘Just a joke,’ grinned Braces. ‘I think that is about it, do you want a car?’

                ‘How much are they?’ asked Ted

                ‘Totally free under the EU job creation directive.’

                ‘It all seems too good to be true, said Ted.

                ‘That’s because you are old,’ said the odious young man, ‘the world is changing and you old ones are getting left behind.’

Ted stood up, looked the young man in the eye and asked, have you ever done any boxing?’

                ‘No, of course not, it’s too barbaric.’

                ‘Well I have’, said Ted, looking down at the young man spread-eagled on the floor.’ Come on Isla. Let’s go home and I’ll sort Flossie out, I am probably the only guy left in Dursley who can do it, even if I haven’t got any red braces. When we can’t keep Flossy going any longer we we’ll walk and cycle everywhere. Until then, we’ll call her a vintage classic.’

                ‘Good bye young man, I should get a doctor to look at that bruise. Do you plan to tell your mates that you got it from an old man?’

The Loch Ness Monster

Doctor Henry Lancaster slowed and then drew his VW pop-top into the layby overlooking the loch. It was his first sight of Loch Ness so he was impressed by the beauty of the calm water framed by the mountains on the other shore. He caught himself scanning the water surface for any ripples or other sign of an unexpected presence. He grinned to himself. ‘If it was that easy, there would be uncountable accounts of sightings over the years,’ he told himself.

                Starting the engine of his old, but reliable VW, he set off on the loch-shore road again until he saw a boat pulled up from the Loch with an old man sat on a stool beside it and a sleeping dog on the beach by his side.

                ‘Boat and boatman for hire, please ask.’ Said the sign propped up against the boat.

Henry stopped. ‘Are you free?’ he asked.

                ‘Aye, I’m free, I’ve been waiting for thee

                Myself and the dog are all agog

                To hear why you want a boat

                We’ve been watching since you were a mote

In my eye to see

                Why you want to float, in a boat, on the Loch?’

Henry was a little taken aback by this. He wondered if this old man with his sleeping dog was quite right in the head or was he just a very bad poet. The man and his boat was exactly what he wanted so he thought he would press on and risk getting trapped in a boat with a nutter – at least he would have the dog to talk to, he liked a bit of doggerel.

                ‘I would like to hire you and your boat for a week. I am a palaeontologist from Brecon University. I am carrying out some research into plesiosaurs. I am trying to prove once and for all that there is no monster in Loch Ness and, even if there was something unusual here, it is certainly not a plesiosaur. As you know, it is difficult to prove a negative, but I feel I have to try. Have you always been a boatman?’

                ‘I used to be a shepherd,

but I kept on losing me sheep.

So I taught my dog to count them.

Then all he did was sleep.’

After a long and somewhat difficult conversation because the boatman usually talked in verse, they agreed that the he would take Henry wherever he wanted on the loch for a week. He introduced himself as Hamish McGonagall, one of the Skeltonic poets. He was proud that he was descended from the greatest Skeltonist of them all, William McGonagall.

                ‘The story of the Tay Bridge disaster

                Was documented well by the master

                It may be too long

                And the language so strong.

                But it just makes you read it all faster.’

They decided that they would leave the dog on the shore, having jointly agreed that they would leave a sleeping dog lie. Henry did wonder why a sleepy sheep dog would tell lies but he didn’t ask Hamish for fear of finding out what rhymes with ‘sheep dog.’

            ‘Do you believe in the Loch Ness Monster,’ asked Henry rather bravely after they had been on the water for a couple of hours.

            ‘Have you ever imagined a world with no hypothetical situations?’ Asked Hamish somewhat Delphically.

                ‘Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’’ asked Henry, trying to get away from metaphysics – it was not his subject, he was a simple old bone man.

                ‘Maybe,’ said Hamish

Henry sat in silence for a while, his brain was starting to hurt.

                ‘Have you seen the monster?’ Henry tried again.

                ‘That depends.’

                ‘What does it depend on?’

               

                ‘I call the monster Beauty

And beauty is in the eye of the beholder

But when you have something in your eye,

ye cannae see anything

So I haven’t seen Beauty but I see beauty all the time.’

‘Right, that’s true’, agreed Henry, who was getting somewhat baffled and frustrated about not getting a straight answer to his questions.

‘Do you think there is a monster in the loch.?’ Henry wasn’t going to give up yet.

‘If I think, ‘yes’, does that create a monster or

If I think ‘no’ it blinks out of existence?

Does the life of the monster depend on me?

Am I responsible for its creation?

Doesn’t bear thinking about.

Too much responsibility.

Henry decided that he would give up for the day and change the question. ‘Do many of the monster hunters you have taken out on the Loch believe that the monster really exists?’

‘I’ve found there are three type of Monster hunters – those who believe in the monster and those who don’t.’

Henry waited for the next line, but none was forthcoming.

‘If there is a monster in the loch, do you think it might be a plesiosaur?’ asked Henry, trying a different tack, even though the wind was light and the boat didn’t have a sail. ( He wanted to have a try at this Skeltonic stuff ).

Somewhat surprisingly, Hamish answered with a logical argument.

                ‘The youngest plesiosaur has been found in Cretaceous strata that is about 65 million years old. That works out at 6.5 million generations if you say that the plesiosaur parents are about ten yours old on average when their offspring are hatched. This is plenty of time for dinosaurs to have evolved into something else.  As the youngest dino fossils have feathers on them, we think they evolved into birds and flown away from Loch Ness. But, if they stayed around here, you would have to look for birds.

Remember that there are two great rules of life:-

                1 – Never tell everything at once.

                Did you see that seagull fly past us just now?’

Alien

Jared left the party that was busily transferring from the lounge to the kitchen for drink top-ups and nibbles. He walked through the open patio doors out into the warm velvet evening with the cooling zephyrs whispering as they gathered up and shook the dust from the curtains. He lifted his eyes to the blackness of the night sky and focused on the disc of Venus rising over the horizon to the West. He was strangely drawn to Venus but couldn’t really understand why. He was vaguely interested in astrology and cosmology but not more so than most of his peers so he could find no reason or anything special about Venus to explain it. It had been the subject of much ribald banter from his best mate, Joe, when he had mentioned it so now he kept it quiet and just looked at her when he had a few quiet moments to himself, as now.

                Joe came up and tapped him on the shoulder, he was always the life and soul of any gathering he was at. ‘Come in and join the fun instead of moping out here by yourself,’ he said.

                ‘OK,’ said Jared, ‘I wasn’t moping, I was just relaxing away from the crowd for a minute.’

                ‘Whatever, get this down you, ‘said Joe, thrusting a glass full of suspicious liquid into Jared’s reluctant grasp.               

Jared slowly followed Joe towards the noise of the throng inside He wasn’t very good at parties and hadn’t wanted to come until Joe had persuaded him. He always felt like an outsider, an observer, never really part of the crowd, just like Colin Wilson, not part of the mainstream, a little bit different. He didn’t manage to lose himself in the enjoyment of the moment, he thought of himself as a Bristolian, ‘sleeping with one eye open.’

*

They had grown up together and got on well because they liked the same things, football mainly. They supported the same team, Bristol Rovers, and lived close to each other in South Street, Bristol. They were nearly inseparable, so much so that everyone called them ‘the JJ twins’ as no one really knew which was which.

Once they had both saved up enough to buy a bike each, they could set off on expeditions of adventure, across the River Avon by the old railway bridge now carrying the cycle path, through Victoria Park and the tunnels of the Cumberland Basin road system and out into the glorious country of the Ashton Court Estate – now owned by Bristol Council and so open to all. They both enjoyed these trips as they could play in the woods, look at the herd in the deer park, run up and down the grassy slopes and race each other as they swooped down the steep grass slopes on their bikes and then get an ice cream, if they were flush with cash, from the van, parked by the side of the car park. They then often lay in the grass while licking their 99’s telling each other what they were going to do with their lives. Joe was going to join the Royal Navy and travel to all those exotic places he had heard about while Jed didn’t have any idea of what he wanted to do, he just wanted to find out more about the world – and Venus, but he kept that part to himself, he was a little weary of his peers saying he was obsessed with Venus. He was secretly certain that a different destiny awaited him, different to anything that Earth could provide.

*

One day they cycled to the end of Beggar Bush lane, intent on getting as far as the old quarry that they had heard about. Their intention was to explore the quarry and then return home via Brunel’s suspension bridge. They knew that if they got off their bikes and walked across, it would be free. They hid their bikes in the hedge and then, after crawling carefully through the wire fence, they clambered down the quarry benches, past the signs that stated, This is a dangerous quarry, not a playground. KEEP OUT. They were young so, of course, nothing would happen to them. They had the carefree feeling that they would live forever. It was easy climbing down the benches as vegetation had taken hold on the rock faces, giving hand holds on the way down. They were soon on the quarry floor and could see into the tunnel that went under the road to where the old crushing and coating plant has once produced the material for surfacing the nearby M5. They wandered around for a while, exulting in the freedom to be in a space that was once under many metres of solid rock and where a very rare sample of Rhodocrosite had been found by the Russell Society.

They tired of exploring after a while and sat in the sun to unpack their rucksacks to plunder the plastic boxes of marmite sandwiches and swig from the plastic bottles of fizzy drinks. They had a rest for a while and then climbed up the benches to emerge at the road where their bikes had been stashed. They cycled back along the road, past the traffic lights and were soon at the Western abutment of the Clifton Suspension Bridge. They dismounted to save the cost of the toll and to look at the magnificent view down along the Avon Gorge. It was a Wednesday so there were very few people around and almost no traffic. The Samaritan’s free phone was unused – no one was keen to kill themselves on a sunny spring afternoon when the birds were singing.

*

‘I want to explain something to you,’ said Joe.

                ‘Wassat?’ asked Jed, not really interested in talking, his eyes were on a group of jackdaws circling in the rising air currents near the cliffs, probably looking for likely nest sites.

                ‘Please listen to me, it is very important,’ said Joe. ‘I am not what I seem, I am an alien.’

                ‘OK,’ said Jed, going along with the joke. ‘Prove it to me then.’

Joe climbed up on to the parapet wall and started to climb over the anti-suicide wires.

                ‘Stop,’ said Jed, I believe you’

                ‘No, you don’t, you are just saying that to get me down. You have to really believe me.’ He climbed down the other side, the outside, of the suicide wires and stepped out into space. He stood there on a column of seventy five metres of fresh air, the tide was in.

Jed looked at him with his mouth open, ‘Wha, wha, what are you standing on?’

                ‘Nothing but air,’ said Joe. Now do you believe me while I tell you a story?’

                ‘Well, yes,’ said Jed, but will you please come this side of the wall and sit down with me before you start, you know I have no head for heights.’

Joe climbed over the parapet wall again and then sat down with Jed on the kerb.

*

‘It’s a long story but it goes like this. I am a member of the Space Guard. There are about three hundred and fifty of us around the world and I just happen to be here in Bristol. The reason I have to tell you about it is that I know that you have been having visions and a strange attraction to Venus. This is because our communication net with our area headquarters on Venus has been leaking a little and infecting you. We had to hide our office in the methane clouds on Venus because you humans are getting to know Mars and so we would likely be noticed.

                Our job is to see if you survive the predictable crises that life goes through on any planet and to see if we can learn any lessons by watching you cope with them. We have monitored the near extinctions through history that would have sterilised most planets but there was always just enough life left to repopulate – sometimes in greatly different forms as evolution filled the available niches. The recent wars and famines have decimated the human race but you struggled through. You got through the nuclear age without starting an atomic war and now you are facing climate change as you burn the Earth’s stores of hydrocarbons. The leakage of the communication between Earth and Venus was responsible for the Internet being developed by the way.’

                ‘OK, so say I accept that all this is true, where do you come from?’ asked Jed ‘what is the answer to climate change?’

                ‘I cannot tell you where I come from and also cannot tell you the answers, we are watching you to see if you think of different ones. There would be no point as you could not comprehend the data but let us just say that I come from a long way away in space and time.  Fermi got his paradox wrong. There are many trillions of us from billions of galaxies and the second part is not true only because you haven’t been able to see us – except for the occasional error in communications such as happened to you. We have been checking your race through your development and think that, should you survive the coming challenges, you should be ready to join the human family in about three hundred years of your time.

                Now I have to blank all your memories of this, and your obsession with Venus, so that we can both continue with our lives where we left off.’

                ‘Will you at least give me an hour to think about all this before you do that and will you answer all my questions?’

                ‘OK,’ said Joe. There’s no harm in that.’

They spent the next hour with Jed asking and getting the answers to all sorts of questions, including nuclear fusion, climate change and if the laws of physics as understood, we correct. He even asked if ‘42’ was the real answer to everything. He also got the answer to the puzzle of the unified field theory.

*

Jared stepped outside the party for a moment to get a breath of fresh air. He idly glanced up at the clear night sky and wondered if there were other people out there and if he would ever see one of them. He didn’t think so.

                His friend Joe, called him in to the kitchen to join him in a beer.