It takes eight seconds for light from the sun to reach our rock; although if you live in Britain you might question that figure. In fact you might snort: “Ha! Eight months more like!” and grin inanely like a child expecting validation before realising that even if it did take eight months we’d just be getting our sunshine a bit later. Like receiving our Christmas cards in September.
Although saying that – and assuming we’re not reducing the speed of light itself – it’d be a hell of a lot colder here as at current speed/distance light would travel from the Sun to Pluto and back 430 times in eight months which is using the figure for the farthest distance the two bodies get from each other as Pluto has an eccentric orbit which means that sometimes it’s closer than Neptune but by then I’d realise I was staring off into the middle distance whilst eating the skin next to my fingernails and the distance between my date’s body and the barman’s would be rapidly decreasing. Continue reading Stealing fire from the gods to beat the winter blues and big pharma: A happy review of a SAD box→
Back in December, along with several billion pushchairs, I visited Edinburgh’s pandas. Four months later and one mating season already given up on, I decided I didn’t care what everybody’s favourite asexual bamboo aficionados were up to; instead I wondered how all the other animals were feeling.
My Mother once said to me, “You can go to Australia on your own but you can’t go down the corner shop.”
I find that succinct in a way no GP, shrink or bar-room confidant as yet has managed.
I can’t seem to get out of this slump but the show goes on around me so rather than hide in Hyrule or Modern Warfare or – God forbid – an actual book, I gave it my best today. This morning began at 7am and saw me presenting my second solo radio show for ClickTeesside – ‘Your Campus Radio.’ Continue reading God is in the Radio→
The following notes from the pub are a waste of my time and yours. Consider yourself warned.
If you think it’s a rhetorical question it isn’t, and vice versa; if you find it offensive, it’s meant as a joke; if it makes you go all tingly down below in your sexy parts then I have pornographic movies in my apartment, and lubricants, and amyl nitrite.
There would be words here, the words would tell you things, there would also be links. That one takes you to tside.co.uk which is where the proper-serious-correct-and-checked-by-a-teacher-so-it’s-not-shit-and-libellous-like-most-of-the-stuff-on-here will, in future, be found.
I should be reading the 12th chapter of the phenomenal page-turner Essential Public Affairs for Journalists, or actively seeking to contain my growing impression as an agoraphobic misanthrope, or working on the news-writing exercise, or doing some laundry, or perhaps even working out as I listen to current affairs via iPlayer; but no, I feel the need for another extraneous ramble.