This time last week, I would have had well over twenty minutes to get from Studio A to Studio B. I might even have had time to stop into the Green Room for a cup of tea and a Hob Nob between my radio and television reports.
But not anymore. I can still just about fit in a very small carton of orange juice, but I have to drink it on the move, without breaking stride.
The exchange rate's worse than ever today - the minute's gone right down against the minuto. In Italy and Spain, they could fit in a three course meal in the time it takes for us to lay the table.
The Americans, the Australians and even the French are in the same boat as us, though, with their variously pronounced units of time. We all need to make it up somewhere. Maybe two-year degrees are the answer.
Monday 13 December 2010
Monday 6 December 2010
A Miscalculation
Dr Ethelberg dropped her pen and recoiled from the desk. She hadn't, had she?
She took off her glasses, peered at the page and deliberately blinked a couple of times. It was still there: 176.7864.
She must have gone wrong somewhere along the way, missed a decimal point, misread her handwriting, mistaken a dot for a dash...
She turned back to page one. Nothing wrong with any of that.
Page two? No, no problems there.
Page three? All fine.
Page four? Perfect.
The solution was at the top of page five. Dr Ethelberg could not identify any mistakes.
But surely 176.7864 was far too low. She'd been expecting it to come out somewhere around 182.51. No one had ever expected an exact figure, but the Department's plans had all been based on the estimate of 182.51.
This is extraordinary, thought Dr Ethelberg. Of course, if the real figure was indeed 176.7864, then the planet was almost certain to melt within the week. But that didn't matter to Dr Ethelberg. It might have been the end of everything, but her reputation was sure to be at an all-time high.
She sat back in her chair and poured herself a large glass of sherry. She was going to plummet into oblivion with the status her brilliance deserved.
She took off her glasses, peered at the page and deliberately blinked a couple of times. It was still there: 176.7864.
She must have gone wrong somewhere along the way, missed a decimal point, misread her handwriting, mistaken a dot for a dash...
She turned back to page one. Nothing wrong with any of that.
Page two? No, no problems there.
Page three? All fine.
Page four? Perfect.
The solution was at the top of page five. Dr Ethelberg could not identify any mistakes.
But surely 176.7864 was far too low. She'd been expecting it to come out somewhere around 182.51. No one had ever expected an exact figure, but the Department's plans had all been based on the estimate of 182.51.
This is extraordinary, thought Dr Ethelberg. Of course, if the real figure was indeed 176.7864, then the planet was almost certain to melt within the week. But that didn't matter to Dr Ethelberg. It might have been the end of everything, but her reputation was sure to be at an all-time high.
She sat back in her chair and poured herself a large glass of sherry. She was going to plummet into oblivion with the status her brilliance deserved.
Thursday 2 December 2010
Something Magical
I lie in your flowerbed, my body contorted through the twists of the roots of your rosebush...where I wait to be discovered.
I have travelled from garden to garden. I snuck into your place by crawling under the wall; I took a deep breath and plunged down through the stiff, saturated mess at the bottom of the barrier.
I won't wait here forever. I got tired of waiting next door. I lay in the ground for very many years, but no-one ever came. So I've moved on to you.
I never had much faith in Mrs Monkton, but you're different. You're inquisitive. I can tell. So come out into the garden and rummage around the roots of your rosebush. I'm waiting there now, and I'd really love to meet you.
I have travelled from garden to garden. I snuck into your place by crawling under the wall; I took a deep breath and plunged down through the stiff, saturated mess at the bottom of the barrier.
I won't wait here forever. I got tired of waiting next door. I lay in the ground for very many years, but no-one ever came. So I've moved on to you.
I never had much faith in Mrs Monkton, but you're different. You're inquisitive. I can tell. So come out into the garden and rummage around the roots of your rosebush. I'm waiting there now, and I'd really love to meet you.
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