Big Waves
So, here’s the trick, grab the detritus left over from the big bang, you know; loads and loads of the lightest element Hydrogen; and loads and loads less of the six times heavier element Helium and roll them up into a ball. Invoke Gravity. Retire to a safe distance. Let there be Light. Now, wait a bit…
Stars pop out all over the place, supernovas explode, and in the midst of all this maelstrom of activity, three Helium’s come together. He He He. The universes’ first laugh. Helium is made up from 2 protons, 2 electrons and 2 neutrons. When 3 Heliums come together in heat you get 1 Carbon which has 6 of each of the above. Therefore Carbon has the Number of the Beast, none other than you would expect from the basic building block of life. So, we wait a bit more…
Three planets from the star that will be named the Sun by a species of a particular arrangement of the Number of the Beast, we find a planet still hot on land and cooler in the oceans that the moon pulls round and back as it revolves around the earth. Over time the rocks are broken down to sand and clay by the tidal forces. Amino acids are deposited from the sea onto the clay and left there, cooked, washed, cooled, filtered, stirred, cooked, washed, cooled, filtered, stirred, cooked, washed, cooled, filtered, stirred.
This is the first organic chemistry laboratory. The beachhead of Life
The organic reactions in clay can be directed in particular ways due to restricted space, necessity being the mother of invention. On at least one beach, maybe more, the potter’s clay made the first replicator RNA or something like it which in turns gave us the mortal coil DNA, that loose reverse conjunction, the natural selection to join one sentence to another. Unzip the zipper D N A and off we go. Let there be Life!
Now, spin that planet round that star all the way to the year of our word 2005. In the middle of the North Sea, on a ferry from Newcastle to Gothenburg, a very particular half century old arrangement of the Number of the Beast is talking to a wolf. It’s Independence Day. July 4th Not, you may note, American Independence Day, no, that’s been crushed under the heel of the worst administration, coupled with the least educated people, in American history. But that’s by the by. This is my Independence Day. Now, about that wolf…
The wolf in question is a Norwegian schoolteacher with whom I’m talking and drinking. Tuborg is the drink: Danish. As I’m going to Sweden and Finland then that takes care of Scandinavia.
After that I’m off to St.Petersburg, and Moscow, then fly to Berlin, train to Prague then fly back to Newcastle, but I’m getting ahead of myself, a habit, I might add. Maybe that comes from where I live. I live at tree top height and that changes your perspective a bit. Looking east for instance, might as well seeing as how I’m travelling in that direction, Blackburn’s over there, but I can’t see it, because it’s in a valley, but, I can see beyond it, and what’s beyond it appears closer than it really is, because I can’t see the intervening distance that’s in the valley I can’t see. See. Now, I tend to look at people this way. There’s an Ani Difranco song called As Is about taking someone as is and the lyrics at one point go like this: ‘when I look down, I miss all the good stuff, when I look up, I just trip over things…’ In other words she looks at him straight, and I guess that’s what I do. So if I don’t like what I see I look beyond. If I like, and reciprocation can be fun, I’m liable to keep such people in view. Actually, thinking about it, I guess I moved to this flat in order to get the same perspective in my eyes that I already had in my head. At this height of course you can look down without missing the good stuff and look up without tripping over things, which is something I can’t do at work, because safety, safety, safety, safety, safety, safety, safety, is paramount at work and they are particularly vociferous concerning slips and trips and falls. They are trying to outlaw accidents.
Ah, whither Serendipity? If I was to follow work rules to the letter at home, I would never get out of my bed in the morning, because it’s just too damned dangerous a world out there kiddo. Mind you, most people die in bed, at least before the Iraq war, in which case I wouldn’t go to bed in the first place because it’s just too damned risky! Standing, could fall over. Sitting, unable to get out of the way of the roof caving in. Maybe a balloon. Hindenburg. Helium filled, yes that’ll do. Phew! May I propose the Helium test? He He He. Everybody has to inhale Helium and utter threats in a Helium voice. Anyone who doesn’t laugh, kill them. These people are just too miserable to live. Problem solved. To do…
So, they’re trying to outlaw accidents, though not war, wonder who does the risk assessment for that? Anyway the misery quotient of species still too high and here am I in the middle of the North Sea, waves starting to build, July 4th, in the year of our word 2005, talking to a wolf. We’re talking about the Iraq war. Ulf, his name, which means wolf he tells me, can’t understand what the hell Blair is doing supporting Bush. This is something I get throughout the trip, no one seems to understand why Blair’s done this, and that, in the year of our word 2005, includes me. Roll the planet round the sun to 2006 then I do begin to work it out but that can wait. So, at the time I can’t explain to Ulf why Blair’s supporting too stupid to ride a bike Bush but what I can say is that the majority of the British people are against this war and that I think Blair should be thrown out. Ulf agrees. We both agree that they are both war criminals and that they’ll never win. On 9/11 we both agree that the way the towers came down looked like a demolition job, wonder where the hell the US air force was, and are more than a little doubtful concerning the finding of Mohammed Atta’s passport at ground zero, yeah, right. There are holes in the official story big enough to fly planes through, I say.
We tire of the war criminals; Ulf tells me how wealthy Norway is because of sensible investment of the North Sea Oil money, as a Scot, this is particularly pertinent, or should that be impertinent? No, it’s not Ulf’s fault, nor Norway’s come to that, but given the way that ‘Scotland’s oil’ was used to pay for deliberate high unemployment by the Thatcher government, hmm, war to get re-elected, privatisation, Bush isn’t anything if not original. Anyway because of this everything’s expensive in Norway. He lives close to the Swedish border and those who do pop over the border because stuff’s cheaper in Sweden. Sweden’s not exactly cheap I say. Cheaper than Norway says Ulf. The Swedes go to Finland for cheaper stuff he adds. Oh yeah? Where do the Fins go then? Russia? Why don’t all the Norwegians move to Sweden, Swedes to Finland, and Fins to Russia. Then the Scots could move to Norway so England could call the entire island England which they’ve always done anyway. On second thoughts no, they’d ruin Edinburgh. Daresay wouldn’t be too easy getting the Fins to move to Russia. Another beer? Sure.
Rock and roll or what? The waves really were mounting now, had to weave my way to the bar, straight lines were totally out of the question, which is as it should be. No such thing as a straight line anyway. Not really. Gravity makes sure of that, Cheers.
Ulf tells me he has a gun, for shooting wolves. The wolves attack the sheep so the government give money for any wolves shot but they give more money for sheep savaged by wolves says this wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’ve an image of the tethered goat in Jurassic Park. A sheep in wolves clothing mayhap. All depends on your perspective perhaps?
The wolf teaches children. A fair tradition I do recall. Company of Wolves? What about Romulus and Remus? Weren’t they fostered by wolves? Or was it foxes? Can’t remember. Could look it up but I can’t be arsed. Hell, think am right anyway, if not, well not lying, just a mistake. Anyway, the Romulus story’s just a myth, so could be a mythtake, with a lisp. Why do we do that? Give a human foible a name that those with that particular foible can’t say. A lithper can’t dethcribe hith or her condition, hang on let’th change that to her and hith condition in the interetht of the fairer thex, lithp-like ath it were, fairneth and balanthe in one fell blow. What about dyslexia? How the hell could a genuine Dyslexic read the word? Talk about adding insult to injury. I mean no one with a lisp or dyslexia would ever come up with those words because they couldn’t. Now, take Jonathon Ross, or wossie as he’s known. Jonathon knows his condition. So there is one thing I can guarantee. He never reviewed Requiem for a Dream directed by Darren Aronofsky. No way jose.
So he teaches kids, primary school. He tells me he loves the opening minds of children, those moments when understanding gleams in their eyes. That’s what keeps him going. Plus the fact that Norwegian wolves get far better paid than their counterparts back in the UK. We carry on with a magic mix of conversation, consternation and concern whilst nature shows its’ unconcern for us who sit enthralled, enticed, uncertain. A couple more beers and the wolf wants forty winks. I need food, so we agree to part and meet later in the top deck bar.
I lurch my way towards the restaurant; this ferry’s being tossed about the North Sea like a toy. What a swell party this is. We humans are so damned puny compared to nature, this is shock and awe, but I’m not worried, in fact I feel strangely energised by the storm. Mind you I have been thinking about this trip for some time and now that it’s actually started it’s no surprise that I’m a bit energised. I’ve learned one thing for sure, and that’s that I don’t get seasick. The waitress dances the first half of a figure of eight as she fetches my meal to my table then she completes the none too stable octet on her return to the kitchen. I ate. Eight in fact is my favourite number so I’m impressed by the motions of the waitress. This storm makes it easy to eat because stomach and food meet half way, a kind of maritime agreement perhaps, set up in the past, maybe to make sure that evolvers could eat in the bit in between the shore and the sea.
I think eight’s my favourite number because I’m a chemist. You see, apart from those two elements that started the whole thing off, Hydrogen and Helium, all other elements strive to have eight electrons in their outer shell. Indeed you might well say that almost all chemistry is governed by the seeking of the number Eight. So here’s how it works. Sodium, a metal, drop it into water it goes nuts, wouldn’t want to pop that in your mouth. Chlorine, a pale green gas, extremely poisonous, wouldn’t want to breathe that baby in. Sodium has one electron in its’ outer shell and could do with seven more. Chlorine has seven electrons in its’ outer shell and would like to have one more. So they share their electrons. Number eight achieved. Add a violent reactor in water to a pale green poisonous gas and you put it on your chips. Salt of the earth. The achievement of the number eight makes them happy little chemicals. We could call it, indeed I’m going to call it, chemical cooperation, because that’s exactly what it is. Cooperation, remember that word? Recall the concept? Is it still in the dictionary?
...to be continued...
Jim Barrass
