Risking it all - theories, black holes and the end of the world

I do random bits for the eminently groovy bob magazine in Manchester (see www.bobmagazine.co.uk). In the latest issue there's a piece on the LHC - speaking to the very pretty Dr Brian Cox (pictured above... mmm, dreamy. In fact D:REAMy) about the myths, mystery and potential mayhem that fires around its 27km of underground tunnelling.

See http://www.bobmagazine.co.uk/images/issues/bob_issue_three.pdf for the full article. (As I'm new to this lark I have no idea how to put the links in properly - knowledge one hopes to acquire quick fookin smart)

This was written in response to some conCERN's (see what I did there) that were raised in and around the article. It never saw the light of day there, but it's a living and a breathing right here.

Risking it all

The question is; when it comes to the safety of the planet, is it worth taking even the smallest of potential risks?
The scientists at CERN, with their budgets of billions and backing of 20 governments, seem to think this is a moot point. They plan to prize open a cosmic door with their light speed collisions next April or May, no matter what fears there may be that the mother of all booby traps waits behind it.
And to be fair, you can‘t blame them.
Their colossal experiment has taken a decade to prepare, every theory they have about the foundations of the universe is reliant upon it and the staggering budget they’ve received will surely never be repeated unless they make their big money shot and consummate the deal. There is no backing out now.
What’s more, and here’s the key argument in their favour, they are the ones that are qualified to make the decision on its safety.
In fact, to be fair, they are the ONLY ones who are truly qualified – and that’s also a crucial part of the problem.
The doom-monger, or even just the neutral that’s prone to worrying about his ass disappearing down a black hole, will surely be ruminating over the possibility that they’re too close to the woods to see the trees. That their future’s are so intertwined with the LHC’s snaking 27km of tunnelling that they’ve lost their ability to think outside the tube.
Hence we see a bunker mentality emerge when anyone has the temerity to question the validity of taking a chance with an experiment on this scale - of basing activity that could impact on the entire planet on unproven theorising. The questioners become amateurs, lunatics or irrational conspiracy theorists, when in reality they’re only concerned citizens of a global community worrying about the futures of themselves and their families.
They deserve the right to express their opinions – their theories – and they deserve to get a true understanding of what’s going on before someone flicks the big switch.
If they don’t get that CERN will only have themselves to blame if a Simpsons-esque mob ends up marching on Geneva – replete with ‘down with progress’ placards – intent on smashing up the LHC with broken bottles and planks sporting rusty nails in them. And no one wants that.
What both parties should want is a more open, public discussion about the LHC.
Science is an esoteric field and therefore not inclined to popular democracy, but when we’re talking about planet shifting experiments maybe it should be (we all have an opinion on CO2 emissions and global warming after all).
We should be made to understand the processes that will take place there and the potential for calamity. CERN should be taking more time to communicate what it hopes to achieve and the dangers of not taking that step forward into the unknown. We have to discuss whether this is the right thing to do and assess whether any risk, no matter how small, is acceptable.
People tend not to get involved in fields like science because they don’t understand it and don’t want to be made to feel stupid by questioning the experts. With issues like the LHC however, I think it’s time that that pride took a back seat.
After all, I’d rather be a living, breathing idiot than a dead stupid fool. That’s one risk that’s definitely worth taking.

Norwegians go nuts for sun shocker. Exclusive!

As it's my first time between the blogging sheets I'm as eager as a fifteen year old and ready for action again right away. Although I'm well aware I may be popping all of my creative pips in one go, I'm going to shoot away regardless. So here goes.

I wrote this (for a Norwegian audience I suppose) a few weeks back when I first experienced some sort of semblance of summer here. It'll just go to waste if I don't use it and I think it does raise some interesting questions about the Norskies. See what you think anyhoo....


I’m used to being confused in Oslo. The language, the cost of living, the attractiveness of the people, the fact that your government runs the only shop selling anything stronger than beer (revolutions have started for less!); it all confuses the hell out of me.
But this weekend something happened that pushed my fragile mind over the brink and into the realm of utter bewilderment. The sun hit town.
Not only did it hit, it blazed down in all it’s big, life affirming glory and totally transformed the Oslo that I thought I knew. I’d heard the legend ‘Oslo er bedre om sommeren’, but I thought that was just something you told pathetic English people in mid-January when they complained that it was ‘so cold I think I’m going to die, right here on this bloody pavement’.
But it’s true – a little bit of sun makes a whole lot of difference; to the city, but especially to its people.
All of a sudden it was like somebody had literally put the lights on, bing. Moods were happier, music was louder, a Mexican wave of windows opening swept across the city blocks, but it was the parks – my God, the parks! – that made me think I’d woken up in the wrong European capital. They were madness.
Suddenly every bit of green was pink. The grass that had lain empty ever since I’d been here, except when it was entertaining it’s old friend snow, was awash with a sea of bodies that had spilled, as if by magic, out of every doorway in town.
There were balls flying through the air, barbecues burning, skin sizzling (both human and animal), confusing little games going on with wooden blocks and sticks (what’s all that about?), wheels turning, kids laughing, adults drinking and everybody, everybody, smiling like they’d just seen a long lost friend. In short, it was amazing.
Coming from Manchester, and Glasgow originally, I can relate to the fact that seeing the sun isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for you people, but I’ve never seen this sort of reaction to 20 degrees C before. At home it’s either a reason to drink more, or complain slightly less, but hardly an excuse to throw the biggest street party since the Queen’s coronation.
With my limited knowledge of the workings of the Norwegian mind, I’m going to hazard a guess and suggest that it’s because you’re a nation that appears to love being outside. That probably also explains why you lust after balconies (I’m sure my girlfriend Renate, the reason I’m here, would swap living with me for a nice terrace), think nothing of sitting in traffic for eight hours a weekend to get to your mountain/seaside huts and are so sickeningly bloody fit.
(Sickening for me that is, certainly not for you. I’ve had to start jogging since I’ve got here just to fit in. I feel like such a loser if I just go for a walk while everyone’s racing past me in those slim black bukkser that show absolutely everything that God gave you.)
Anyway, it was a nice change and showed me a side to the residents of Oslo that I’ve never seen before – in fact it showed me quite a few sides. You do like sunbathing, don’t you?
If summer’s going to be anything like last weekend then I think I could get used to it here. It might even be a whole lot bedre than being back in Manchester.

Starting this baby up

As I've got no friends in Oslo I thought I'd talk to this here blog page. Hello.

I'm a Scottish Manc who's made a tentative step across the North Sea pond to give Norway - home to my other half (en fin Norsk dame) - a try.

However, being a bit of a pansy I've been splitting my time between my traditional Manchester stomping ground and the new domain; thus keeping my freelance work going (barely, but more on that later) and ensuring that I have occasional human contact with people I can actually understand.

I'm trying to learn the language (asked one of my girlfriend's relatives how her two dicks were the other day - unintentionally of course... although she said they were fine; Low on batteries, but fine) and also to try and understand how people can charge £5 for a pint. As yet I'm failing on both counts.

Anyway, I'll chronicle life in a totally desultory fashion from now on. So feel free to read, comment or ignore and I'll go back to thinking about those two dicks. I would have never guessed...


Oh, by the way, the picture's a hut in Lofoten, Northern Norway. Read a book and find out more about it, cos I'm not going to tell you. Bye for now folks.
Or more precisely 'bye for now me', as I haven't told anyone about this bloody thing yet.