Sweezus stood up in the shallows and looked for his shoes and shorts. He couldn't see them anywhere.
He looked up towards the carpark at the top of the steps. No one was there.
Even his bicycle seemed to have disappeared.
He climbed up the steps and looked to left and right. There was a surfer's van down one end of the carpark. He wandered over.
Hey! he said, to the half-wetsuited surfer who was fiddling with something round the back. Have you seen my bike?
Dude! said the surfer. Is your name Sweezus or something?
Yeah, said Sweezus. Well?
Those guys that were here. They said, if you came back, to meet them at the Port Elliot Bakery. They've got your clothes and your bike.
Oh brilliant, said Sweezus. That's just ...... gnarly.
Hey dude! I can see you're no grommet!, said the surfer. Wanna come out? It's gunna be epic out there.
I know, said Sweezus. I was just out there. I met these two whales.
Stellar! said the surfer.
Yeah, but I don't wanna go out again, I'm still wrinkly, said Sweezus. Where's this Bakery?
Inland, that-a-way, said the surfer. Man, you wanna borrow some shorts?
Oh! Hell yeah! said Sweezus, ever good at languages. Thanks, dude!
Sweezus borrowed a pair of Hawaiian-style Mambo shorts, and set off in the direction the surfer had pointed. It wasn't long before he reached the main road at Port Elliot and spotted a long queue of people snaking out of a building and onto the footpath. There was a delicious smell in the air. It smelled like a bakery. He thought he could see Belle et Bonne, and the others, near the end of the queue. He started walking towards them.
Then he remembered, he was potentially under arrest.
What should he do?
Showing posts with label bicycle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bicycle. Show all posts
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Ugly
An unexpectedly good story, Gaius! said The VeloDrone.
Unexpectedly? said Gaius, looking miffed.
Yes, agreed Le Bon David. Pity there wasn't a bicycle in it. You could have worked that up into something for Velosophy.
Thank you, said Gaius. But I do have an idea.
Go on, said The VeloDrone.
I am thinking of taking up where Sweezus left off, said Gaius. Now that he, or at least Mephisto, is back in the clink.
Not yet, said Victor, but he will be.
Exactly, said Gaius. I shall put my mind to rescuing him.
That's wonderful, Gaius, said Belle et Bonne. But I wouldn't say any more in front of Victor.
Ahem! Of course not, said Gaius. Ignore that, Victor. It's only a story.
No it isn't, said Victor. If I wasn't off duty I'd be after him right now. Look at him out there, getting closer and closer to the whales.
Oh gosh! said Belle et Bonne.
.......
Sweezus stopped swimming and came up for air. He was surprised to see that he was dangerously close to the whales.
Far out! said Sweezus, out loud. Don't eat me you guys!
Pop! said one of the whales.
Pop! Pop! Belch! said the other.
This can be roughly translated as :
This idiot thinks we eat humans, said one of the whales.
Let's give him the fright of his life! said the other.
They each turned a baleful eye towards Sweezus.
Ughh! Ugly! said Sweezus, under his breath.
Unexpectedly? said Gaius, looking miffed.
Yes, agreed Le Bon David. Pity there wasn't a bicycle in it. You could have worked that up into something for Velosophy.
Thank you, said Gaius. But I do have an idea.
Go on, said The VeloDrone.
I am thinking of taking up where Sweezus left off, said Gaius. Now that he, or at least Mephisto, is back in the clink.
Not yet, said Victor, but he will be.
Exactly, said Gaius. I shall put my mind to rescuing him.
That's wonderful, Gaius, said Belle et Bonne. But I wouldn't say any more in front of Victor.
Ahem! Of course not, said Gaius. Ignore that, Victor. It's only a story.
No it isn't, said Victor. If I wasn't off duty I'd be after him right now. Look at him out there, getting closer and closer to the whales.
Oh gosh! said Belle et Bonne.
.......
Sweezus stopped swimming and came up for air. He was surprised to see that he was dangerously close to the whales.
Far out! said Sweezus, out loud. Don't eat me you guys!
Pop! said one of the whales.
Pop! Pop! Belch! said the other.
This can be roughly translated as :
This idiot thinks we eat humans, said one of the whales.
Let's give him the fright of his life! said the other.
They each turned a baleful eye towards Sweezus.
Ughh! Ugly! said Sweezus, under his breath.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The True Observer
Sweezus was unhappy. He didn't really have a plan to prove that he was tricky enough to be selected for Team Philosophe.
It's not fair, he thought. Farky can't even ride. What can I do to impress The VeloDrone?
Sweezus liked to think he was a methodical thinker. He made a list.
ONE: WRITE A KILLER ARTICLE FOR VELOSOPHY DEMONSTRATING SLIPPERY THINKING
TWO: IMPRESS THE VELODRONE BY RIDING FASTER THAN THE REST OF THE TEAM
THREE: PRETEND I HAVE CONTACTS IN THE TOUR DE FRANCE
Right! His first priority would be the killer article. He sighed. More writing. He sat down at his computer and began:
Concerning man, other animals and bicycles ( a working title )
I used to think that I knew right from wrong. That was until I met a dog called Farquhar. ( Maybe I should give him another name? This might not work in my favour. Oh stuff it.) One day I went to the Zoo with Farquhar.
I spent my time looking at the enclosed animals and trying to imagine what it would be like to be them. I thought it was the proper thing to do. Farquhar simply reacted naturally to what he saw. He was shocked by the skeleton of a former zoo favourite and terrified by the bats.
Imagine our different reactions had we seen a bicycle locked inside a cage. I would have tried to construct a narrative for the bicycle. That it was a monkey's toy, it had been abandoned, it used to belong to the elephant keeper, or something else to that effect.
Farquhar the true observer would have merely said, Meh! A bicycle.
Sheesh! said Sweezus, to himself. That's a bit too slippery. I've got myself into a right hole. Maybe I should go straight to Plan Two.
He stood up, and went outside to inflate the tyres on his road bike.
It's not fair, he thought. Farky can't even ride. What can I do to impress The VeloDrone?
Sweezus liked to think he was a methodical thinker. He made a list.
ONE: WRITE A KILLER ARTICLE FOR VELOSOPHY DEMONSTRATING SLIPPERY THINKING
TWO: IMPRESS THE VELODRONE BY RIDING FASTER THAN THE REST OF THE TEAM
THREE: PRETEND I HAVE CONTACTS IN THE TOUR DE FRANCE
Right! His first priority would be the killer article. He sighed. More writing. He sat down at his computer and began:
Concerning man, other animals and bicycles ( a working title )
I used to think that I knew right from wrong. That was until I met a dog called Farquhar. ( Maybe I should give him another name? This might not work in my favour. Oh stuff it.) One day I went to the Zoo with Farquhar.
I spent my time looking at the enclosed animals and trying to imagine what it would be like to be them. I thought it was the proper thing to do. Farquhar simply reacted naturally to what he saw. He was shocked by the skeleton of a former zoo favourite and terrified by the bats.
Imagine our different reactions had we seen a bicycle locked inside a cage. I would have tried to construct a narrative for the bicycle. That it was a monkey's toy, it had been abandoned, it used to belong to the elephant keeper, or something else to that effect.
Farquhar the true observer would have merely said, Meh! A bicycle.
Sheesh! said Sweezus, to himself. That's a bit too slippery. I've got myself into a right hole. Maybe I should go straight to Plan Two.
He stood up, and went outside to inflate the tyres on his road bike.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thought Provoking
That evening Farky bounced into the Velosophy office, where The VeloDrone and Belle et Bonne were working late.
Farky! cried Belle et Bonne. You're back! How did you like the Zoo?
A mixed bag, sniffed Farky. But overall I think it did me good. I now understand more about happiness as it relates to my own species.
Good, said The VeloDrone. Where's that article you promised?
Problem, said Farky. I can't write. Perhaps I could dictate it to one of you.
Of course you can Farky, said Belle et Bonne. Fire away.
Farky began:
There are two kinds of dog. One has never been inside a Zoo. The other has. I am of the latter kind. I was happy before I entered the Zoo. At the Zoo I was forced into bad behaviour. I stole a hat, and later, a pie. Outside the Zoo I met Horatio. He was named after someone in CSI. He is the wrong colour. He will never see the inside of a Zoo. He understood that I was better than him. He didn't know about the hat, or the pie.
Where is this going? asked The VeloDrone. And I hope you haven't forgotten the bicycle.
What bicycle? said Farky.
There has to be a bicycle in it, said Belle et Bonne. Had you forgotten?
No, no, said Farky. I haven't finished:
This made me wonder about the nature of dog happiness. I had not liked the Zoo. I would have preferred to have ridden a bicycle around the outer perimeter. I would have begun at the entrance, cycled through the Botanic Park following the zoo walls, crossed the Hackney Bridge and returned via the Linear Park river trail. From there I might have heard the gibbons calling. Finally I would have returned to the entrance past the speaking posts that beg for money. Of course I would have felt no obligation to give the Zoo any money. However, as I cannot ride a bicycle, none of this is ever likely to happen.
That's brilliant Farky, said Belle et Bonne. So thought-provoking!
Not bad at all, said the Velodrone.
Thanks, said Farquhar MacTaggart.
Farky! cried Belle et Bonne. You're back! How did you like the Zoo?
A mixed bag, sniffed Farky. But overall I think it did me good. I now understand more about happiness as it relates to my own species.
Good, said The VeloDrone. Where's that article you promised?
Problem, said Farky. I can't write. Perhaps I could dictate it to one of you.
Of course you can Farky, said Belle et Bonne. Fire away.
Farky began:
There are two kinds of dog. One has never been inside a Zoo. The other has. I am of the latter kind. I was happy before I entered the Zoo. At the Zoo I was forced into bad behaviour. I stole a hat, and later, a pie. Outside the Zoo I met Horatio. He was named after someone in CSI. He is the wrong colour. He will never see the inside of a Zoo. He understood that I was better than him. He didn't know about the hat, or the pie.
Where is this going? asked The VeloDrone. And I hope you haven't forgotten the bicycle.
What bicycle? said Farky.
There has to be a bicycle in it, said Belle et Bonne. Had you forgotten?
No, no, said Farky. I haven't finished:
This made me wonder about the nature of dog happiness. I had not liked the Zoo. I would have preferred to have ridden a bicycle around the outer perimeter. I would have begun at the entrance, cycled through the Botanic Park following the zoo walls, crossed the Hackney Bridge and returned via the Linear Park river trail. From there I might have heard the gibbons calling. Finally I would have returned to the entrance past the speaking posts that beg for money. Of course I would have felt no obligation to give the Zoo any money. However, as I cannot ride a bicycle, none of this is ever likely to happen.
That's brilliant Farky, said Belle et Bonne. So thought-provoking!
Not bad at all, said the Velodrone.
Thanks, said Farquhar MacTaggart.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The Twittering Machine
The philosophers are in Adelaide, for the Fringe. Marie and Belle et Bonne are waiting for The VeloDrone and Le Bon David at the backpacker hostel where the four of them are staying.
The VeloDrone and Le Bon David enter the common room.
The VeloDrone: Hello my dears! We've just seen a wonderful show. It had a bicycle in it!
Le Bon David: And it was free!
Marie: What was it called?
The VeloDrone: The Twittering Machine. A man sat on a bicycle, a bell rang, a birdcage came down over his head and he began tweeting like a bird.
Belle et Bonne: That sounds very silly.
Le Bon David: Oh, that was only the beginning. He got off the bicycle and set up an elaborate machine. Then he put his finger into a mousetrap.....
Marie: Why would anybody put their finger into a mousetrap?
The VeloDrone: In the interests of science, my dear. The snapping of the mousetrap set off a series of events involving a mechanical duck, a bow and arrow, a boxing glove, a basketball, a mop and other things too numerous to mention. The series of events ended with four eggs dropping simultaneously into four glasses of water.
Le Bon David: A brilliant demonstration!
Belle et Bonne: Of what? You two are easily pleased. But you did better than us. We went looking for the installation on level two, 50 Rundle Mall.
The VeloDrone: Isn't that Spotlight?
Marie: Yes, how do you know? Oh, is that where you two bought the material for your costumes?
Le Bon David: The ill-fated costumes.
The VeloDrone: Who knew it would rain in Adelaide on Fringe Opening night ? Anyway, how was your installation?
Belle et Bonne: Almost indistinguishable from the other bolts of cloth and dummies. Basically that was what it was.
Marie: Yes, disappointing.
The VeloDrone: Perhaps you have the wrong attitude my dears. You need to enter into the spirit of things, at the Fringe. Everything is fun, fun, fun. And now I think we should all put on our raincoats and go and visit the Garden of Unearthly Delights.
The VeloDrone and Le Bon David enter the common room.
The VeloDrone: Hello my dears! We've just seen a wonderful show. It had a bicycle in it!
Le Bon David: And it was free!
Marie: What was it called?
The VeloDrone: The Twittering Machine. A man sat on a bicycle, a bell rang, a birdcage came down over his head and he began tweeting like a bird.
Belle et Bonne: That sounds very silly.
Le Bon David: Oh, that was only the beginning. He got off the bicycle and set up an elaborate machine. Then he put his finger into a mousetrap.....
Marie: Why would anybody put their finger into a mousetrap?
The VeloDrone: In the interests of science, my dear. The snapping of the mousetrap set off a series of events involving a mechanical duck, a bow and arrow, a boxing glove, a basketball, a mop and other things too numerous to mention. The series of events ended with four eggs dropping simultaneously into four glasses of water.
Le Bon David: A brilliant demonstration!
Belle et Bonne: Of what? You two are easily pleased. But you did better than us. We went looking for the installation on level two, 50 Rundle Mall.
The VeloDrone: Isn't that Spotlight?
Marie: Yes, how do you know? Oh, is that where you two bought the material for your costumes?
Le Bon David: The ill-fated costumes.
The VeloDrone: Who knew it would rain in Adelaide on Fringe Opening night ? Anyway, how was your installation?
Belle et Bonne: Almost indistinguishable from the other bolts of cloth and dummies. Basically that was what it was.
Marie: Yes, disappointing.
The VeloDrone: Perhaps you have the wrong attitude my dears. You need to enter into the spirit of things, at the Fringe. Everything is fun, fun, fun. And now I think we should all put on our raincoats and go and visit the Garden of Unearthly Delights.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Basilios
May we hear the story? asked Belle et Bonne.
Certainly, said Saint Nicholas. It all happened a long time ago. I used to be the Bishop of Myra, you know, in the third century. But this story takes place many years after my death.
I thought you said you were in it, said Wittgenstein, irritably.
I am, said Saint Nicholas, as you will see. It happened on my feast day. The people of Myra were attacked by Arab pirates from Crete. They took many prisoners including a young boy named Basilios. Basilios was sold to the emir, and became his cup-bearer, because he could not speak the language.
Hah! said Wittgenstein.
What do you mean Hah, Mr Wittgenstein? asked Belle et Bonne.
Cup-bearer, snorted Wittgenstein.
Please, said Saint Nicholas. The boy could not speak the language and so could not divulge any of the emir's secrets.
Hah! said Wittgenstein.
Do go on, Saint Nicholas, said Belle et Bonne.
The following year, back in Myra, it was my feast day again. Basilios's mother would not join the festivities, being still too upset at the loss of her son. Instead she stayed at home to pray. Suddenly her son, who at that moment was serving wine to the emir in a golden cup, was whisked away and returned to his mother back in Myra, still holding the golden cup. And who do you think was responsible for that?
Saint Nicholas looked at Belle et Bonne.
You! she cried. O well done! And how lovely that he was still holding the golden cup!
Well done indeed, said Wittgenstein drily. May I make an observation?
If you must, said Saint Nicholas.
I was only going to say, said Wittgenstein, that I know where you could introduce a bicycle.
Certainly, said Saint Nicholas. It all happened a long time ago. I used to be the Bishop of Myra, you know, in the third century. But this story takes place many years after my death.
I thought you said you were in it, said Wittgenstein, irritably.
I am, said Saint Nicholas, as you will see. It happened on my feast day. The people of Myra were attacked by Arab pirates from Crete. They took many prisoners including a young boy named Basilios. Basilios was sold to the emir, and became his cup-bearer, because he could not speak the language.
Hah! said Wittgenstein.
What do you mean Hah, Mr Wittgenstein? asked Belle et Bonne.
Cup-bearer, snorted Wittgenstein.
Please, said Saint Nicholas. The boy could not speak the language and so could not divulge any of the emir's secrets.
Hah! said Wittgenstein.
Do go on, Saint Nicholas, said Belle et Bonne.
The following year, back in Myra, it was my feast day again. Basilios's mother would not join the festivities, being still too upset at the loss of her son. Instead she stayed at home to pray. Suddenly her son, who at that moment was serving wine to the emir in a golden cup, was whisked away and returned to his mother back in Myra, still holding the golden cup. And who do you think was responsible for that?
Saint Nicholas looked at Belle et Bonne.
You! she cried. O well done! And how lovely that he was still holding the golden cup!
Well done indeed, said Wittgenstein drily. May I make an observation?
If you must, said Saint Nicholas.
I was only going to say, said Wittgenstein, that I know where you could introduce a bicycle.
Monday, November 1, 2010
He Will Pay
Calm yourself, Simone! said The VeloDrone. Of course we will not publish it. You and I, we shall not even read it.
Oh yes we shall, said Simone, calming down at once. I most certainly wish to know what that man has written about me. Read it, Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne began to read:
Sometimes I have a very clear memory of things that have happened. For example it was only yesterday I ran my bicycle into a woman who was rounding a bend in a country lane. The woman was riding a bicycle exactly like mine in all respects but both her feet were pedalling. She wore a black and white striped hat, rounded at the top, like a pixie......
You see, said Simone tartly.
I see, said The VeloDrone. Go on Belle et Bonne.
The woman tumbled off her bicycle. I was obliged to bring myself to a sudden halt in order to go to her aid, although I did not see how I could help when I had a stiff leg, and in the process I too landed in the road with my outer clothing all askew. A crowd gathered around us as if from nowhere.......
A lie, said Simone. There was no crowd.
All to the good, said the VeloDrone.
........I was composing a mitigating statement with the object of speaking aloud when the woman stood up and straightened her hat, saying some words the nature of which I have forgotten, but it was clear she had broken a tooth. Look, said someone in the crowd, she has broken a tooth and it is the fault of this man. The crowd took on a threatening visage. Do not worry about it, said the woman, in fact this man has done me a favour. The tooth in question was chipped already, and I had resigned myself to living with the deformity, being a woman of a certain age......
Belle et Bonne stopped reading and looked at Simone, who had turned an alarming shade of puce. Simone nodded at her to go on. She gabbled the final few words.
......but now I must visit the dentist !
Well, said Simone heavily, that at least is true. And it is Beckett who will pay.
Oh yes we shall, said Simone, calming down at once. I most certainly wish to know what that man has written about me. Read it, Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne began to read:
Sometimes I have a very clear memory of things that have happened. For example it was only yesterday I ran my bicycle into a woman who was rounding a bend in a country lane. The woman was riding a bicycle exactly like mine in all respects but both her feet were pedalling. She wore a black and white striped hat, rounded at the top, like a pixie......
You see, said Simone tartly.
I see, said The VeloDrone. Go on Belle et Bonne.
The woman tumbled off her bicycle. I was obliged to bring myself to a sudden halt in order to go to her aid, although I did not see how I could help when I had a stiff leg, and in the process I too landed in the road with my outer clothing all askew. A crowd gathered around us as if from nowhere.......
A lie, said Simone. There was no crowd.
All to the good, said the VeloDrone.
........I was composing a mitigating statement with the object of speaking aloud when the woman stood up and straightened her hat, saying some words the nature of which I have forgotten, but it was clear she had broken a tooth. Look, said someone in the crowd, she has broken a tooth and it is the fault of this man. The crowd took on a threatening visage. Do not worry about it, said the woman, in fact this man has done me a favour. The tooth in question was chipped already, and I had resigned myself to living with the deformity, being a woman of a certain age......
Belle et Bonne stopped reading and looked at Simone, who had turned an alarming shade of puce. Simone nodded at her to go on. She gabbled the final few words.
......but now I must visit the dentist !
Well, said Simone heavily, that at least is true. And it is Beckett who will pay.
Friday, October 29, 2010
A Coincidence
That Samuel Beckett was a strange man, said Belle et Bonne, the following day. Did you notice, papa, that he didn't have a limp.
That's Samuel Beckett for you, said The VeloDrone, comfortably. Sometimes he limps, and sometimes he doesn't. It's something to do with existentialism, or absurdism. Or is it post modernism? I'm never quite sure of the difference.
It's something to do with not telling the truth, said Belle et Bonne, disapprovingly. I'm not looking forward to his story.
But you told him you were, observed her papa.
Belle et Bonne ignored this remark.
I don't know why you chose him to be the next contributor, she said. My friend Simone will be sending us her story soon.
Simone de Beauvoir! said the VeloDrone. That was months ago now. How long must we wait for this woman?
I don't know papa, but she'll surely write soon. I'll just check the inbox again....oh look, here's something from her, let me see......
You look alarmed my dear, said The VeloDrone.
Oh no! She's fallen off her bicycle and broken a tooth, papa!
Dear me! What happened?
She says she was riding along a country lane, when she turned a corner and crashed headlong into a man with a stiff leg, and crutches!
That's Samuel Beckett for you, said The VeloDrone, comfortably. Sometimes he limps, and sometimes he doesn't. It's something to do with existentialism, or absurdism. Or is it post modernism? I'm never quite sure of the difference.
It's something to do with not telling the truth, said Belle et Bonne, disapprovingly. I'm not looking forward to his story.
But you told him you were, observed her papa.
Belle et Bonne ignored this remark.
I don't know why you chose him to be the next contributor, she said. My friend Simone will be sending us her story soon.
Simone de Beauvoir! said the VeloDrone. That was months ago now. How long must we wait for this woman?
I don't know papa, but she'll surely write soon. I'll just check the inbox again....oh look, here's something from her, let me see......
You look alarmed my dear, said The VeloDrone.
Oh no! She's fallen off her bicycle and broken a tooth, papa!
Dear me! What happened?
She says she was riding along a country lane, when she turned a corner and crashed headlong into a man with a stiff leg, and crutches!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Waiting for Beckett
The VeloDrone was showing someone around the office. Belle et Bonne looked up.
And this is where it all happens, said the VeloDrone, pointing in her general direction.
Aha, said the stranger. Where what all happens?
Oh, said The VeloDrone, emails come in, emails go out, you know.
Papa! said Belle et Bonne.
Oh, hello my dear. Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Samuel Beckett. He has kindly agreed to write an article for Velosophy. This is my adopted daughter, Belle et Bonne.
Pleased to meet you Samuel, said Belle et Bonne. Are you THE Samuel Beckett?
I am indeed, said Samuel Beckett. And you must be THE Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne giggled. Yes I am, she declared. And papa is THE VeloDrone. Also THE Voltaire, she added.
Oh said Samuel Beckett, turning to The VeloDrone. I didn't realise you were THE Voltaire. And do you ride THE bicycle?
Of course, said The VeloDrone. As do you.
Yes, said Samuel Beckett. I am a dedicated bicyclist. At least I was until I got this stiff leg.
Belle et Bonne looked at him sharply, but he did not appear to be making a lewd suggestion.
You have a stiff leg? she said. How unfortunate. Does that mean you can no longer ride a bicycle?
Au contraire, said Samuel Beckett, who was rather good at French. It simply means that I can only pedal with one foot.
Does not the stiff leg act as a sort of brake? asked Belle et Bonne.
Certainly not, said Samuel Beckett. But you are pre-empting my story. My article for Velosophy will explain in full what I do with my stiff leg when riding.
Oh good, said Belle et Bonne, looking sideways at her papa. I can't wait.
And this is where it all happens, said the VeloDrone, pointing in her general direction.
Aha, said the stranger. Where what all happens?
Oh, said The VeloDrone, emails come in, emails go out, you know.
Papa! said Belle et Bonne.
Oh, hello my dear. Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Samuel Beckett. He has kindly agreed to write an article for Velosophy. This is my adopted daughter, Belle et Bonne.
Pleased to meet you Samuel, said Belle et Bonne. Are you THE Samuel Beckett?
I am indeed, said Samuel Beckett. And you must be THE Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne giggled. Yes I am, she declared. And papa is THE VeloDrone. Also THE Voltaire, she added.
Oh said Samuel Beckett, turning to The VeloDrone. I didn't realise you were THE Voltaire. And do you ride THE bicycle?
Of course, said The VeloDrone. As do you.
Yes, said Samuel Beckett. I am a dedicated bicyclist. At least I was until I got this stiff leg.
Belle et Bonne looked at him sharply, but he did not appear to be making a lewd suggestion.
You have a stiff leg? she said. How unfortunate. Does that mean you can no longer ride a bicycle?
Au contraire, said Samuel Beckett, who was rather good at French. It simply means that I can only pedal with one foot.
Does not the stiff leg act as a sort of brake? asked Belle et Bonne.
Certainly not, said Samuel Beckett. But you are pre-empting my story. My article for Velosophy will explain in full what I do with my stiff leg when riding.
Oh good, said Belle et Bonne, looking sideways at her papa. I can't wait.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Cat's Head Flower
The first of the unconventional flowers was the Cat's Head Flower. Of course it isn't really a flower, unless I redefine a flower loosely as a head on a pole.
Now, I have alarmed you. You think I have taken a photograph of a cat's head on a pole. But you should not take me literally.
This was a piece of street art, or more specifically, esplanade art, and a carelessly executed example. Imagine a short pole at the edge of a paved esplanade, next to a wire fence and some straggly bushes through which there's a view of the sea. Now you are thinking of the sea. But back to the pole.
On the pole is a sign. It is a pictorial sign. It would, had it not been defaced, have been a picture of a walking man, above a bicycle. The man is walking in the opposite direction to that in which the bicycle is going. The meaning of the sign is, This path is for both walking and cycling. The subtext is, You need to watch out!
But, someone has glued a black and white paper drawing of the head of a cat over the head of the man, using lumpy white glue. The cat is a cartoon style cat. Not a famous cat, such as Top Cat or Garfield, but a mixture of several cartoon cats. It has heavy black eyebrows, tigerish stripes, round eyes and cheeks, the rakish air of a pirate king.
The orientation of the cat's head is such that the cat is looking slightly back over its shoulder. This gives the impression that, instead of purposefully walking, as the original man was doing, the cat is performing a suggestive sideways shimmy.
I bet you would like to see it.
Now, I have alarmed you. You think I have taken a photograph of a cat's head on a pole. But you should not take me literally.
This was a piece of street art, or more specifically, esplanade art, and a carelessly executed example. Imagine a short pole at the edge of a paved esplanade, next to a wire fence and some straggly bushes through which there's a view of the sea. Now you are thinking of the sea. But back to the pole.
On the pole is a sign. It is a pictorial sign. It would, had it not been defaced, have been a picture of a walking man, above a bicycle. The man is walking in the opposite direction to that in which the bicycle is going. The meaning of the sign is, This path is for both walking and cycling. The subtext is, You need to watch out!
But, someone has glued a black and white paper drawing of the head of a cat over the head of the man, using lumpy white glue. The cat is a cartoon style cat. Not a famous cat, such as Top Cat or Garfield, but a mixture of several cartoon cats. It has heavy black eyebrows, tigerish stripes, round eyes and cheeks, the rakish air of a pirate king.
The orientation of the cat's head is such that the cat is looking slightly back over its shoulder. This gives the impression that, instead of purposefully walking, as the original man was doing, the cat is performing a suggestive sideways shimmy.
I bet you would like to see it.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A Mind of its Own
Well, what do you make of that, Vello? asked Le Bon David, when they had finished reading Einstein's submission.
I think, said The VeloDrone thoughtfully, that it's fine until he gets to his working formula. I didn't understand that at all. Did you?
No, not at all, said Le Bon David. Why does he call the bicycle BB for example? Is it because there are two of them? At least in theory. His own and the lady's.
Possibly. The VeloDrone looked doubtful. The thing is David, you have to remember his backspace button isn't working. He may have only meant to type one letter B.
Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that. Do we dare ask him to clarify it?
That would be rather embarrassing. In his eyes it would place us amongst the general community that he doesn't expect to understand it.
But we don't understand it, Vello. Look at the formula. "BB = PGG=M=0". He says P and G are what we think they are. What do we think they are? And how many Gs are there really supposed to be?
Let's look at this analytically, David. What do we know? Firstly his backspace button isn't working. Ironic really, for the great Einstein, don't you think? Secondly. The nature of the problem with the backspace button is not quite as straightforward as it seems.
What do you mean, Vello?
I mean, David, that sometimes he types an extra letter and the backspace button won't let him go back and delete it. That's easy enough to understand. But why then doesn't he use his left arrow key to go back to the space before the extra letter and simply use his delete button?
Perhaps that isn't working either.
How likely is that? But there is a third thing. Remember how he ended off? Thee backspac butto is stuc . That would seem to me to indicate the backspace button is working. It's going back and deleting the last letters of certain words. Now my question is: Does the backspace button have a mind of it's own?
He says it does.
Yes but I think we can discount that. No, it's my opinion, now that I've analysed the evidence, that AlbertE is having a little joke with us. The question is, what are we going to do about it?
I think, said The VeloDrone thoughtfully, that it's fine until he gets to his working formula. I didn't understand that at all. Did you?
No, not at all, said Le Bon David. Why does he call the bicycle BB for example? Is it because there are two of them? At least in theory. His own and the lady's.
Possibly. The VeloDrone looked doubtful. The thing is David, you have to remember his backspace button isn't working. He may have only meant to type one letter B.
Oh dear. I hadn't thought of that. Do we dare ask him to clarify it?
That would be rather embarrassing. In his eyes it would place us amongst the general community that he doesn't expect to understand it.
But we don't understand it, Vello. Look at the formula. "BB = PGG=M=0". He says P and G are what we think they are. What do we think they are? And how many Gs are there really supposed to be?
Let's look at this analytically, David. What do we know? Firstly his backspace button isn't working. Ironic really, for the great Einstein, don't you think? Secondly. The nature of the problem with the backspace button is not quite as straightforward as it seems.
What do you mean, Vello?
I mean, David, that sometimes he types an extra letter and the backspace button won't let him go back and delete it. That's easy enough to understand. But why then doesn't he use his left arrow key to go back to the space before the extra letter and simply use his delete button?
Perhaps that isn't working either.
How likely is that? But there is a third thing. Remember how he ended off? Thee backspac butto is stuc . That would seem to me to indicate the backspace button is working. It's going back and deleting the last letters of certain words. Now my question is: Does the backspace button have a mind of it's own?
He says it does.
Yes but I think we can discount that. No, it's my opinion, now that I've analysed the evidence, that AlbertE is having a little joke with us. The question is, what are we going to do about it?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Einstein's Unification Theory
Gentlemen! My mind is on fire! So many concepts to unify! Please find enclosed my first submission to your magazine entitled:
The Unification Theory of Bicycle-Photograffiti Appearances ( a working title).
I have long been a fan of graffiti. Imagine my surprise when I saw, appearing on various walls around our city, a series of graffiti depicting the famous photograph of myself on a bicycle. Is it really me? I wondered, at first. Many people commented that it looked more like a photo of a lady. When I looked hard at it I realised that this was true. It was an elderly lady wearing my trousers and my cardigan, her hair blown back in the wind, a shadow on her upper lip cast by the sun overhead, smiling joyfully as she sped toward the camera. On a carpark wall her message seemed to be: Get out of your cars you slackers, ride a bike like me! If I can do it so can you! On the other hand I knew very well that the photograph was of myself. Was I not wearing my own trousers and my own cardigan? My hair was blown back by the wind and my moustache was in full view for all to see. My message was clear: Yes people! I thought of the Law of Relativity while riding my bicycle!
So here we have a bicyclical instance of the unification of gender, of graffiti, of photography and to a certain extent, of message. Let us now call the bicycle BB. Let us call the message M.
Several weeks later the bicycle graffiti photographs were expunged by the city council workers, which was a shame as they had been quite popular. What then of BB? What of M? What indeed of P and G and the other G? ( which are what you think they are ).
This is where my attempt at a scientific unification meets the cutting edge of philosophy. What had we left after the council had done their work? Nothing. Zero. Equality. Unification of everything: man, woman, photograph, smile, moustache, trousers, cardigan, graffiti, bicycle, message. Thus I have come up with a working formula, BB =PGG= M= 0.
Of course I do not expect the general community to understaaaand it. Oh damn! Thee backspac butto is stuc ag !!! has a min of its own ....AEEEEEEEE
The Unification Theory of Bicycle-Photograffiti Appearances ( a working title).
I have long been a fan of graffiti. Imagine my surprise when I saw, appearing on various walls around our city, a series of graffiti depicting the famous photograph of myself on a bicycle. Is it really me? I wondered, at first. Many people commented that it looked more like a photo of a lady. When I looked hard at it I realised that this was true. It was an elderly lady wearing my trousers and my cardigan, her hair blown back in the wind, a shadow on her upper lip cast by the sun overhead, smiling joyfully as she sped toward the camera. On a carpark wall her message seemed to be: Get out of your cars you slackers, ride a bike like me! If I can do it so can you! On the other hand I knew very well that the photograph was of myself. Was I not wearing my own trousers and my own cardigan? My hair was blown back by the wind and my moustache was in full view for all to see. My message was clear: Yes people! I thought of the Law of Relativity while riding my bicycle!
So here we have a bicyclical instance of the unification of gender, of graffiti, of photography and to a certain extent, of message. Let us now call the bicycle BB. Let us call the message M.
Several weeks later the bicycle graffiti photographs were expunged by the city council workers, which was a shame as they had been quite popular. What then of BB? What of M? What indeed of P and G and the other G? ( which are what you think they are ).
This is where my attempt at a scientific unification meets the cutting edge of philosophy. What had we left after the council had done their work? Nothing. Zero. Equality. Unification of everything: man, woman, photograph, smile, moustache, trousers, cardigan, graffiti, bicycle, message. Thus I have come up with a working formula, BB =PGG= M= 0.
Of course I do not expect the general community to understaaaand it. Oh damn! Thee backspac butto is stuc ag !!! has a min of its own ....AEEEEEEEE
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Brainstorming
Le Bon David and The VeloDrone are brainstorming, in the office.
The VeloDrone: We need a new direction.
Le Bon David: Did we have an old direction?
The VeloDrone: Good question. We seemed to spend all our time avoiding angry, opinionated, jealous and manipulative contributors. And picnics.
Le Bon David: You have to admit we were successful, especially at avoiding Freud's picnic.
The VeloDrone: Nevertheless, I think it's time to take control. Let's choose someone we both admire and ask them to write an article for Velosophy.
Le Bon David: Excellent idea. I suggest Albert Einstein.
The VeloDrone: Yes! Didn't he get the Nobel Prize for discovering the Law of Photogenic Effect?
Le Bon David: I don't think so, Vello. He wasn't especially photogenic. Perhaps you mean the Law of Photoelectric Effect?
The VeloDrone: Perhaps I do. But David, I must take issue with you. Einstein was very photogenic. Haven't you seen that famous photograph of him riding his bicycle?
Le Bon David: I have. But do you know, when I first saw it I thought it was a photo of a lady.
The VeloDrone: A lady! What about his large moustache?
Le Bon David: The sun was shining down very brightly. It could have been a shadow on his lip. It was his windblown hair that made me think he was a lady.
The VeloDrone: For heaven's sake David, I'm going to google him right now and see if you are right......
He googles.
The VeloDrone: Oh, really! He's wearing an old man's cardigan and old man's trousers! I can't see how you made such a mistake.
Le Bon David: No, nor can I now. Not a word of this to Albert. Although it might be rather tricky if he brings it up.
The VeloDrone: We need a new direction.
Le Bon David: Did we have an old direction?
The VeloDrone: Good question. We seemed to spend all our time avoiding angry, opinionated, jealous and manipulative contributors. And picnics.
Le Bon David: You have to admit we were successful, especially at avoiding Freud's picnic.
The VeloDrone: Nevertheless, I think it's time to take control. Let's choose someone we both admire and ask them to write an article for Velosophy.
Le Bon David: Excellent idea. I suggest Albert Einstein.
The VeloDrone: Yes! Didn't he get the Nobel Prize for discovering the Law of Photogenic Effect?
Le Bon David: I don't think so, Vello. He wasn't especially photogenic. Perhaps you mean the Law of Photoelectric Effect?
The VeloDrone: Perhaps I do. But David, I must take issue with you. Einstein was very photogenic. Haven't you seen that famous photograph of him riding his bicycle?
Le Bon David: I have. But do you know, when I first saw it I thought it was a photo of a lady.
The VeloDrone: A lady! What about his large moustache?
Le Bon David: The sun was shining down very brightly. It could have been a shadow on his lip. It was his windblown hair that made me think he was a lady.
The VeloDrone: For heaven's sake David, I'm going to google him right now and see if you are right......
He googles.
The VeloDrone: Oh, really! He's wearing an old man's cardigan and old man's trousers! I can't see how you made such a mistake.
Le Bon David: No, nor can I now. Not a word of this to Albert. Although it might be rather tricky if he brings it up.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Part of a Longer Walk
.....a bend in the Linear Park Trail. Here the river widens out and becomes coastal. The water reflects the flat sky. Horses graze on the grass plain right down to the water's edge, wearing coats which are green, purple, navy and sky blue.
Under the last bridge is a seascape and boat. We're walking towards the sea.
The sun is a hazy white disc behind grey knitted clouds. The river is brown with white patches. Pacific black ducks, ibis, herons and grebes appear and disappear. If the river is heading for the sea you wouldn't know it. The wind blows its ripples back the other way.
A bicycle comes up behind us. Ding. We meet people with dogs.
It's a Dutch landscape although I've never been to Holland. I have always thought this, about here.
We cross the road to the sand hills. We look left and right. We are looking for jetties. Jetties mean kiosks and kiosks mean snacks. But the jetties are too far away.
The sand is white, littered with weed. At the edge of the sea it dips suddenly and the sea is foreshortened and deep. It looks like a theatre set, with the waves moving sideways on pulleys.
We turn south. A seaweed ball follows us, blown by the wind. I turn around quickly and it stops.
Under the last bridge is a seascape and boat. We're walking towards the sea.
The sun is a hazy white disc behind grey knitted clouds. The river is brown with white patches. Pacific black ducks, ibis, herons and grebes appear and disappear. If the river is heading for the sea you wouldn't know it. The wind blows its ripples back the other way.
A bicycle comes up behind us. Ding. We meet people with dogs.
It's a Dutch landscape although I've never been to Holland. I have always thought this, about here.
We cross the road to the sand hills. We look left and right. We are looking for jetties. Jetties mean kiosks and kiosks mean snacks. But the jetties are too far away.
The sand is white, littered with weed. At the edge of the sea it dips suddenly and the sea is foreshortened and deep. It looks like a theatre set, with the waves moving sideways on pulleys.
We turn south. A seaweed ball follows us, blown by the wind. I turn around quickly and it stops.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Pliny's Observations
Greetings from Pliny the Elder! I have been asked to deliver some observations on my visit to the Belair National Park, which I undertook by train.
Firstly I shall present my observations on the train. What a wonder of man's invention is a train! A train which can move a great number of persons up a mountain in just over half an hour! A train onto which a man or boy may carry a bicycle! A train which presents to the traveller's eye a series of vegetations, painted artworks, back gardens, black tunnels and spectacular views! Through the moving window I observed willow trees, olive trees, pine trees, aloes, spindly eucalypts, black cockatoos, and bright red green and yellow parrots. A dog sleeping on a patch of grass. A set of broken Corinthian columns next to a wheelbarrow.
I overheard a traveller's tale. A man with a bicycle was talking to one of the guards. He said he remembered that when he was a boy, cinders from the old steam trains would sometimes start spot fires along the line, so that the guard had to lean out with a bucket of water to extinguish the fire. An interesting tale, which the guard had doubtless heard before.
Alighting from the train at the last station we entered the National Park. The park was bristling with a diversity of trees. We saw an avenue of stately gum trees that had been planted over one hundred years ago. Each one was marked with a different pattern on its trunk. Some were striated, as though the tree were made of vertical planks; others were scarified, with rusty blackened holes all up and down. These holes were possibly made by birds, or by the depredations of some insect. Yet other tree trunks formed an artful patchwork of grey bark peeling to reveal a paler yellow bark underneath. The ground was littered with fallen branches, and desiccating leaves, and signs of the continuing works of man, in the manifold heaps of stones lining the path. The light through the canopy of trees was a beguiling greenish gold.
We walked down to the lake which was very low and brackish. A number of ducks skimmed the surface making gentle ripples, that gave off a duck-like smell. The remains of a wooden jetty, stood up out of the mud. A picnic table and some seats, a cooking place, appeared unused. This place was once the destination of the multitudes, but is no longer.
On the return journey the driver expressed, over the loudspeaker system, a reluctance to allow a boy with a bicycle and a bleeding nose to board the train. Strange times indeed, when this should be the case! In my day such a boy would be a hero. I have learned much in the course of this journey, and yet have many questions that remain unanswered.
Firstly I shall present my observations on the train. What a wonder of man's invention is a train! A train which can move a great number of persons up a mountain in just over half an hour! A train onto which a man or boy may carry a bicycle! A train which presents to the traveller's eye a series of vegetations, painted artworks, back gardens, black tunnels and spectacular views! Through the moving window I observed willow trees, olive trees, pine trees, aloes, spindly eucalypts, black cockatoos, and bright red green and yellow parrots. A dog sleeping on a patch of grass. A set of broken Corinthian columns next to a wheelbarrow.
I overheard a traveller's tale. A man with a bicycle was talking to one of the guards. He said he remembered that when he was a boy, cinders from the old steam trains would sometimes start spot fires along the line, so that the guard had to lean out with a bucket of water to extinguish the fire. An interesting tale, which the guard had doubtless heard before.
Alighting from the train at the last station we entered the National Park. The park was bristling with a diversity of trees. We saw an avenue of stately gum trees that had been planted over one hundred years ago. Each one was marked with a different pattern on its trunk. Some were striated, as though the tree were made of vertical planks; others were scarified, with rusty blackened holes all up and down. These holes were possibly made by birds, or by the depredations of some insect. Yet other tree trunks formed an artful patchwork of grey bark peeling to reveal a paler yellow bark underneath. The ground was littered with fallen branches, and desiccating leaves, and signs of the continuing works of man, in the manifold heaps of stones lining the path. The light through the canopy of trees was a beguiling greenish gold.
We walked down to the lake which was very low and brackish. A number of ducks skimmed the surface making gentle ripples, that gave off a duck-like smell. The remains of a wooden jetty, stood up out of the mud. A picnic table and some seats, a cooking place, appeared unused. This place was once the destination of the multitudes, but is no longer.
On the return journey the driver expressed, over the loudspeaker system, a reluctance to allow a boy with a bicycle and a bleeding nose to board the train. Strange times indeed, when this should be the case! In my day such a boy would be a hero. I have learned much in the course of this journey, and yet have many questions that remain unanswered.
Pliny's Train Ride
Pliny the Elder's bicycle was in three pieces. He wasn't going anywhere on that.
Would you like to come out with us this afternoon? I asked him. We're going to use public transport all weekend. We plan to take the bus into the city and then catch the train up to Belair National Park.
I would like that very much, said Pliny, looking pleased to be invited. I have never been on a bus or a train before, and I'm sure the National Park will be delightful.
Don't get too excited, Pliny, I said warningly. The National Park has never been delightful.
Nevertheless, said Pliny, I will come.
So we all got ready and walked over to the bus stop. The fourth bus let us on. We made it to the train with one minute to spare, and sat down next to the window.
Pliny gazed about with interest. Five boys had got on the train with mountain bikes, which a guard was officiously ordering them to rearrange in front of the doors, in case of emergency.
The train started off again. Pliny stared out of the window at the passing trees. Willows, he muttered. Olive trees, pines, aloes, geraniums, eucalypts.......do you by any chance have a pencil?
I lent him a pencil, and a little red notepad with a mushroom face on the front.
Here, Pliny, you can make notes in this.
Thank you, he said.
At Belair the three of us got out and walked into the Belair National Park, down steps and through a wooden archway built in grander days. Pliny nearly tripped over himself as he wrote furiously in his notebook.
I wondered what he could be writing. The Belair National Park was full of the dullest of trees. The light was sickly yellow and the path was lined with piles of stones from which twists of frayed blue and black plastic netting trailed in ugly heaps. I decided I was not the person to blog about this outing.
Pliny! I shouted, trying to get his attention.
But he didn't take any notice. He was too absorbed in taking his endless notes.
I mean to ask him to blog about it tomorrow.
Would you like to come out with us this afternoon? I asked him. We're going to use public transport all weekend. We plan to take the bus into the city and then catch the train up to Belair National Park.
I would like that very much, said Pliny, looking pleased to be invited. I have never been on a bus or a train before, and I'm sure the National Park will be delightful.
Don't get too excited, Pliny, I said warningly. The National Park has never been delightful.
Nevertheless, said Pliny, I will come.
So we all got ready and walked over to the bus stop. The fourth bus let us on. We made it to the train with one minute to spare, and sat down next to the window.
Pliny gazed about with interest. Five boys had got on the train with mountain bikes, which a guard was officiously ordering them to rearrange in front of the doors, in case of emergency.
The train started off again. Pliny stared out of the window at the passing trees. Willows, he muttered. Olive trees, pines, aloes, geraniums, eucalypts.......do you by any chance have a pencil?
I lent him a pencil, and a little red notepad with a mushroom face on the front.
Here, Pliny, you can make notes in this.
Thank you, he said.
At Belair the three of us got out and walked into the Belair National Park, down steps and through a wooden archway built in grander days. Pliny nearly tripped over himself as he wrote furiously in his notebook.
I wondered what he could be writing. The Belair National Park was full of the dullest of trees. The light was sickly yellow and the path was lined with piles of stones from which twists of frayed blue and black plastic netting trailed in ugly heaps. I decided I was not the person to blog about this outing.
Pliny! I shouted, trying to get his attention.
But he didn't take any notice. He was too absorbed in taking his endless notes.
I mean to ask him to blog about it tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Jesus' Diary - Part 1
I wonder if Jesus will pop round and see us this Easter? said Pliny the Elder. Do you remember how he came to dinner last year and multiplied the Brussels sprouts?
He didn't multiply them, Pliny, he divided them. But yes, of course I remember. He was very nice, and I remember you and he got on pretty well. I hope he does come round. I want to ask him if he's started keeping a diary.
Just then there was a knock at the front door.
Knock! Knock!
I opened it. There was Jesus, on a bicycle.
I was passing, he said, and thought I'd drop in.
Gosh! I said. I'm surprised to see you. Aren't you awfully busy at this time of year?
Au contraire! said Jesus. I always like to keep a low profile at Easter.
Come in, I said, but would you mind wheeling your bicycle round the side of the house to the back. We already have one bicycle in the dining room.
Certainly, said Jesus. ( Did I mention he was nice ? )
He didn't multiply them, Pliny, he divided them. But yes, of course I remember. He was very nice, and I remember you and he got on pretty well. I hope he does come round. I want to ask him if he's started keeping a diary.
Just then there was a knock at the front door.
Knock! Knock!
I opened it. There was Jesus, on a bicycle.
I was passing, he said, and thought I'd drop in.
Gosh! I said. I'm surprised to see you. Aren't you awfully busy at this time of year?
Au contraire! said Jesus. I always like to keep a low profile at Easter.
Come in, I said, but would you mind wheeling your bicycle round the side of the house to the back. We already have one bicycle in the dining room.
Certainly, said Jesus. ( Did I mention he was nice ? )
Friday, March 19, 2010
Election Day - Sticking With Vini
Who possesses this electorate?
Vini, who rolls around it diurnally
On a bicycle?
Or Steven Marshall, newcomer
Who is very keen to get in?
False question, for this electorate
Belongs to no man
Or woman either
And all that happens here
Would happen anyway.
But that is not to say
We should not have got up earlier
This morning.
For Steven Marshall pipped us at the post
And got his corflutes up
Taking all the best spots
Near the polling booth
Leaving us only the mesh fence
Behind the carpark.
The cunning bastard.
(Apologies to Norman MacCaig, whose poem, A Man in Assynt, inspired this rant)
Vini, who rolls around it diurnally
On a bicycle?
Or Steven Marshall, newcomer
Who is very keen to get in?
False question, for this electorate
Belongs to no man
Or woman either
And all that happens here
Would happen anyway.
But that is not to say
We should not have got up earlier
This morning.
For Steven Marshall pipped us at the post
And got his corflutes up
Taking all the best spots
Near the polling booth
Leaving us only the mesh fence
Behind the carpark.
The cunning bastard.
(Apologies to Norman MacCaig, whose poem, A Man in Assynt, inspired this rant)
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Galileo's Bicycle, by Professor Freud
To the Editors of Velosophy
Dear Friends,
Please find enclosed my final draft of Galileo's Bicycle for inclusion in your magazine. I trust the small embarrassment at the Tour Down Under is now behind us. These things tend to happen when one gets over-excited. As you will see, I make light of it in my article.
GALILEO'S BICYCLE.
Did Galileo have a bicycle? No, we can be fairly certain he did not. This is merely an example of the free association of ideas, incidentally invented by myself. But that is by the way.
In what way is it an example of the free association of ideas? In this way. I was recently reading a book called Weighing the Soul, by Len Fisher. In it he describes how he once used a bicycle to demonstrate Galileo's laws of constant velocity and projectile motion.
He rode his bicycle at constant speed past his local pub, challenging onlookers to guess where a stone would land after he threw it straight up in the air. Thirty percent guessed that it would land behind him, but Mr Fisher's demonstration confirmed Galileo's prediction that it would keep moving forward at the same speed.
And how did this happen? In a most comical way. The stone landed directly on top of his head!
I myself have tried to reproduce this experiment, most recently at the Tour Down under, to the amusement onlookers, when the team I was part of was disqualified for throwing stones.
Nor was it a worthwhile exercise. My team mates refused to cooperate and did not throw their stones properly. Indeed, one of them was seen throwing his stone at a tree!
As a result of this, I have come up with a new and more modern way of testing Galileo's Laws, as they apply to Paintball.
Let us say you are firing your Paintball at a person jumping out of a tree. The question is, should you fire at the person, or should you fire below the person at the point where you expect him to be when the Paintball reaches the tree?
Are there any Paintball enthusiasts amongst the readers of Velosophy interested in a Paintball afternoon some time in the coming weeks? If you are, please let me know, through the editors. You may, of course, bring your bicycles. And perhaps we might organise a picnic.
Dear Friends,
Please find enclosed my final draft of Galileo's Bicycle for inclusion in your magazine. I trust the small embarrassment at the Tour Down Under is now behind us. These things tend to happen when one gets over-excited. As you will see, I make light of it in my article.
GALILEO'S BICYCLE.
Did Galileo have a bicycle? No, we can be fairly certain he did not. This is merely an example of the free association of ideas, incidentally invented by myself. But that is by the way.
In what way is it an example of the free association of ideas? In this way. I was recently reading a book called Weighing the Soul, by Len Fisher. In it he describes how he once used a bicycle to demonstrate Galileo's laws of constant velocity and projectile motion.
He rode his bicycle at constant speed past his local pub, challenging onlookers to guess where a stone would land after he threw it straight up in the air. Thirty percent guessed that it would land behind him, but Mr Fisher's demonstration confirmed Galileo's prediction that it would keep moving forward at the same speed.
And how did this happen? In a most comical way. The stone landed directly on top of his head!
I myself have tried to reproduce this experiment, most recently at the Tour Down under, to the amusement onlookers, when the team I was part of was disqualified for throwing stones.
Nor was it a worthwhile exercise. My team mates refused to cooperate and did not throw their stones properly. Indeed, one of them was seen throwing his stone at a tree!
As a result of this, I have come up with a new and more modern way of testing Galileo's Laws, as they apply to Paintball.
Let us say you are firing your Paintball at a person jumping out of a tree. The question is, should you fire at the person, or should you fire below the person at the point where you expect him to be when the Paintball reaches the tree?
Are there any Paintball enthusiasts amongst the readers of Velosophy interested in a Paintball afternoon some time in the coming weeks? If you are, please let me know, through the editors. You may, of course, bring your bicycles. And perhaps we might organise a picnic.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Scene of the Crime
Are you ready for more of my story? asked Pliny the Elder.
You bet I am, I said. I'm listening.
Pliny cleared his throat and began to read:
K arrived at the office in a state of panic. Not only had he partially turned into a giant beetle, but he had failed to remain at the scene of an accident for which he had been ( only partially, he thought) responsible. He parked his bicycle and bolted up the stairs.
No one in the office bothered to greet him. They all had their heads down over various piles of papers. K slid into his seat, and looked at the single paper on his own desk. Urgent! it read. Accident at City Junction. Hit and run. Giant creature squashed. Police uncertain as to owner of boot-clad feet also found at the scene. Attend at once, file report.
K was in a quandary. He must return to the scene of the crime! But there were sure to be witnesses who would recognise him there. He wondered if Otto might be prevailed upon to go. He stood up and walked over to Otto. Otto! he said, trying not to sound too much like a beetle. Otto looked up. Sorry, far too busy, he said, and continued to shuffle his papers. Well, thought K, if he didn't notice....
K went back to the scene of the crime, on foot, and without his identifying hat. People were standing around the squashed beetle and the brown leather boots, but no one paid K much attention. What happened here? he asked a woman with a shopping basket. Ugh! she said. Someone's run over a huge insect. Look at the mess! Did you see it happen? asked K. Partially, said the woman. Well, no, I was looking in the opposite direction , but I heard everything. What did it sound like? asked K. Like a birth, the woman replied.
Well, that's the story, said Pliny. What do you think?
I'm speechless. Is that really the end?
No, said Pliny, just the end of that story. Of course I still have to close off the frame.
You bet I am, I said. I'm listening.
Pliny cleared his throat and began to read:
K arrived at the office in a state of panic. Not only had he partially turned into a giant beetle, but he had failed to remain at the scene of an accident for which he had been ( only partially, he thought) responsible. He parked his bicycle and bolted up the stairs.
No one in the office bothered to greet him. They all had their heads down over various piles of papers. K slid into his seat, and looked at the single paper on his own desk. Urgent! it read. Accident at City Junction. Hit and run. Giant creature squashed. Police uncertain as to owner of boot-clad feet also found at the scene. Attend at once, file report.
K was in a quandary. He must return to the scene of the crime! But there were sure to be witnesses who would recognise him there. He wondered if Otto might be prevailed upon to go. He stood up and walked over to Otto. Otto! he said, trying not to sound too much like a beetle. Otto looked up. Sorry, far too busy, he said, and continued to shuffle his papers. Well, thought K, if he didn't notice....
K went back to the scene of the crime, on foot, and without his identifying hat. People were standing around the squashed beetle and the brown leather boots, but no one paid K much attention. What happened here? he asked a woman with a shopping basket. Ugh! she said. Someone's run over a huge insect. Look at the mess! Did you see it happen? asked K. Partially, said the woman. Well, no, I was looking in the opposite direction , but I heard everything. What did it sound like? asked K. Like a birth, the woman replied.
Well, that's the story, said Pliny. What do you think?
I'm speechless. Is that really the end?
No, said Pliny, just the end of that story. Of course I still have to close off the frame.
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