“Dearest wife, you know I adore you –
I have done since the day I first saw you –
But, my love, even so,
I’d like you to know
I’ve filed for divorce with my lawyer.”
“Dearest spouse, you know I adore you –
I have done since the day I first saw you –
But, despite our vow,
As I write to you now,
I’m lying in bed with your lawyer…”
Nick Dale (aged 17)
If you had the chance to take a contract out on one punctuation mark, most people would probably choose the comma. Unfortunately, that’s not possible although modern journalists are doing their best to make it into an optional extra!
Punctuation should be there to help the writer and the reader, and the comma is no exception. If I know the rules for using commas, I expect one in certain situations and not in others. If there isn’t one when there should be, or there is one where there shouldn’t be, then I end up getting confused.
I may even have to re-read the passage to make sure I understand it. There are certainly ‘grey areas’ when even experts don’t know whether a comma is required or merely optional, but those should be the exception rather than the rule.
You might say that nobody has the right to decide what grammatical rules are ‘correct’ and that the plethora of rules I go by were taught to me back in the 1970s, but clarity comes first in my view, so here goes…
Put the correct punctuation in the following sentences:
If you’re looking for past papers with answers, especially in the run-up to 11+/13+ exams, GCSEs or A-levels, you can visit my Past Papers page and subscribe for just £37.99 a year.
It’s important to be able to recognise and analyse poetic devices when studying literature at any level. Dylan Thomas is my favourite poet, and he uses so many that I decided to take most of my examples from his writings.
These are just a sample of the most important poetic devices. If you’re looking for a way to remember them all, try ‘SHAMPOO’. This is a mnemonic or acrostic that stands for Simile, Hyperbole, Alliteration, Metaphor, Personification, Onomatopoeia and Oxymoron.
If you want to find examples of literature chock-full of poetic devices, try reading a little Dylan Thomas. If ‘the dogs in the wet-nosed yards’ catch your eye, you can congratulate yourself on spotting a rare example of the transposed epithet!
Enjoy…
Sample questions
Can you spot the poetic devices used in the following examples?
If you’re looking for past papers with answers, especially in the run-up to 11+/13+ exams, GCSEs or A-levels, you can visit my Past Papers page and subscribe for just £37.99 a year.
Whether you’re doing something as easy as climbing Mount Everest or as hard as writing a story, you always need a plan!
One of the ways of planning a story is to use story mountains, with each stage of the tale labelled on the diagram.
The drawing doesn’t have to be any more than a big triangle, but the five stages help to provide a good structure.
However, the story mountain is only part of the process.
Even before the exam, you could invent two or three interesting characters to use or practise telling a particular story – perhaps an old fairy tale in a modern setting.
It’s always good to be prepared, and it’s too late by the time you sit down in the exam hall.
If you’re taking an 11+ or 13+ combined English entrance exam, you should have around half an hour left for the composition after doing the reading comprehension.
The routine to follow includes the following five steps:
Depending on the total length of the exam, you should plan to leave yourself a set amount of time for each stage (shown in brackets, assuming you have a total of 30 minutes).
Sometimes you won’t be given a choice, but you will always have different options in a proper 11+ English exam.
One might be a description (often based on a drawing or photograph), and another might be a newspaper story or diary, but there will usually be the chance to write a story, either based on a suggested title or in the form of a continuation of the passage from the reading comprehension.
The important thing here is to try to find a topic you know a bit about and – in an ideal world – something you’d enjoy writing about.
If you’ve never ridden a horse, it would be pointless trying to write a story all about horse racing, and it would probably be pretty boring!
Some pupils go straight into writing the story at this point. Big mistake!
You have to give yourself time to come up with the best possible ideas, and you certainly won’t make it easy for yourself to structure the story if you don’t have a plan to help you.
Whether in business or at school, the best way of coming up with ideas is to spend some time brainstorming.
That means coming up with as many ideas as possible in a limited time.
There’s no such thing as a bad idea, so try to think positively rather than crossing out anything you don’t like.
It takes time to come up with well-thought-through ideas for a story, so be patient, and don’t just go for the first one you think of.
That’s like walking into a shop and buying the first pair of trousers you see: they might not be the right size, colour, design or price, so you have to browse through the whole range.
Try to come up with at least two ideas so that you can pick the best one. Just make sure it’s believable!
If you’re having trouble, think about the different elements you can change: the plot, the characters, the setting, the period and the genre.
Those are the basics, and imagining a particularly good character or setting might just provide the clue you’re looking for. You can always change what kind of story it is. A thriller will look a lot different from a romance or a comedy!
Once you’ve decided on an idea, you can create your story mountain.
You don’t actually have to draw a mountain or a triangle, but you do need to map out the five main stages of the story.
You don’t need to write full sentences, just notes that are long enough to remind you of your ideas. Try to use five or six words for each section (using your heroes’ initials and missing out ‘filler’ words such as ‘the’ and ‘an’), such as ‘M frees dog from fence’ or ‘Shark bites F in leg’.
Just remember that the opening has two parts to it, so your story will have six main paragraphs, not five—although that doesn’t include any lines of dialogue, which should be in separate paragraphs.
If you’re doing an exam paper that includes a comprehension as well as a composition, you might be asked to continue the story from the comprehension passage.
In that case, your story mountain will have to be a bit different. You obviously won’t be able to choose your own main character, so you’ll have to take out your usual description and decide which of the characters in the passage is going to be your hero instead.
In addition, you won’t be able to start with the opening section because you’re supposed to be continuing the story. So what should you do?
It’s probably best to think about the printed text and your continuation as one long story. Try and decide which bits of your story mountain have already been covered in the passage and then plan your own story from there.
For example, you might treat the passage as just the opening, in which case your story mountain would start from the build-up. Alternatively, you might think that the text includes the opening, build-up and problem, in which case you’d start with the solution.
However, this is only a guideline, and you might not always be able to make it work. If the printed text is very long and only contains the opening, for instance, you’d have to write thousands of words to keep all the sections roughly the same length!
The main thing is to use your common sense and come up with the best plan you can. Don’t just wing it!
In addition, it’s important to keep to the style of the original text and make sure the characters behave in the same ways. Your goal is to try and carry on the story just as the author would’ve done, and you’ll be marked on how well you can do that.
The best way to open a story is probably to start ‘in the middle’.
Most fairy stories start with something like this:
Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess with long, golden hair. Esmeralda was madly in love with Prince Charming, but her wicked stepmother kept her locked up in a tower a thousand feet above the valley below…
The trouble with this kind of description of the characters and their situation (‘exposition’) is that it’s just a bit boring!
Nothing actually happens.
Far better to think of the most exciting moment in your story and start from there:
“Aaaaaaagggghhh!!!” screamed Prince Charming as his fingers slipped from Princess Esmeralda’s icy window ledge and he fell a thousand feet to his death…!
Another approach is to create a sense of mystery by keeping something important from the reader, such as the location or the identity of the main character. This is called the ‘delayed drop’.
Once you’ve written a paragraph or so grabbing the reader’s attention, you can then introduce the main characters, where they live, when the story is set and so on.
That means the opening needs two paragraphs:
1. Grab the reader’s attention
2. Describe the main character
Why do you need to describe your heroes?
Well, the more the reader knows about them, the more they can imagine what they look like, how they sound like and how they might behave in certain situations.
That leads to sympathy, and sympathy is important because the reader has to care about the heroes in order for stories to be exciting.
So how should you describe them?
Here’s a quick list of the major details in roughly the right order:
1. Name
2. Age
3. Job or school
4. Looks (including eye colour, hair colour and style, height, build, skin tone and favourite clothes)
5. Home
6. Friends and family
7. Personality and interests
8. USP or ‘Unique Selling Proposition’ – something that makes the characters special and readers want to read about them.
You can be as detailed or as general as you like about some of these things, but giving more detail is usually better as it helps paint a picture in the reader’s mind.
Your hero’s home, for instance, could just be ‘London’, or it could be ‘the famous Blue Cross lighthouse on the promontory overlooking Shark Bay in Antigua’!
Overall, you should probably be writing eight to 10 lines of A4 for the whole description.
You can save yourself time by thinking up, say, three ‘off-the-shelf’ characters and memorising them (see article). One of my clients even helped her son by using AI to turn his characters into pictures!
The build-up should describe what the main character is trying to do.
For instance, is he or she robbing a bank, escaping from prison or fighting off an alien invasion?
Every story needs drama, which is really just conflict.
If you show what the hero’s trying to do in the Build-up, the Problem is just what gets in the way.
It might be guilt at leaving a friend behind, say, or a prison warder spotting the escaping convicts or a searchlight lighting up the yard.
Whatever it is, it’s a problem that needs to be solved.
The solution to the problem is what the hero tries to do to fix it.
It may not work, but it’s usually the best option available.
There are five main types of ending to a story:
Not many 10-year-old boys like happy endings, so the plan doesn’t always have to come off!
If you want your hero to die in a hail of bullets like Butch and Sundance, that’s a sad ending.
Another way to end a story is to use a cliffhanger. In the old days, that meant the hero of a TV serial might literally be hanging on to the edge of a cliff, and the viewer would obviously have to ‘tune in next week’ to find out if he managed to hold on or not. These days, it just means adding another mystery or problem that needs to be fixed. For example, the hero could escape from prison…only to find a police car chasing him!
Finally, you could always have a twist, in which the good guy turns out to be a bad guy, for example. Imagine a convict escaping from prison and being driven away by one of his friends. What if he suddenly pulled a gun on him? Now that would be a real twist in the tale! A twist doesn’t take long to write – just a sentence or two – but it’s a great way to leave readers scratching their heads and thinking, “Wow! I never saw that coming…”
Now for the important bit!
The most important thing to remember is to stick to the plan!
It’s very tempting to get carried away when you’re writing and follow wherever your imagination leads you, but the downside is that your story probably won’t have a proper beginning, middle and end, and you might run out of time trying to get the plot back on track.
A good story will have narrative tension. In other words, it will be exciting.
Part of that involves doubt about whether your heroes will succeed or not, and that’s where the ‘good’ questions come in.
If readers are asking themselves questions like “Will the hero escape?” or “Will the hero survive?”, then you’re doing your job as a writer.
Those are ‘good’ questions because they get to the heart of what the story is all about and keep your readers guessing.
Excitement comes from uncertainty and doubt, so you want your readers to wonder what’s going to happen.
Look at it another way: imagine if they didn’t ask themselves any questions at all. That’s basically the same as saying they’d be bored stiff!
However, you don’t want them to be asking ‘bad’ questions. These are the loose ends that crop up if you don’t give good enough explanations for your characters’ actions or abilities.
For example, if your hero is robbed and tries to solve the crime on his own, the obvious loose end is why he didn’t call the police.
Alternatively, if your hero has a special power like being able to read minds, you either need to explain where it came from (like Spiderman being bitten by a radioactive spider) or admit that it’s somehow ‘mysterious’ so that your readers can stop worrying about it.
You should also strike a balance between the Three Ds: Drama, Description and Dialogue.
Every story has a plot, so drama will always be there, but a lot of pupils focus so much on what’s happening that there is very little if any description or dialogue.
Readers want to imagine what people look like and how they feel, so you have to give them something to go on.
People also generally have a lot to say when they get emotional or find themselves in tough situations, so you won’t be able to capture that unless they talk to one another in your story.
This is also a chance to show off your vocabulary.
Including a few ‘wow words’ (or ‘golden words’) such as ‘cerulean’ instead of ‘blue’ will impress the examiner no end – as long as you know how to spell them!
You can create energy in different ways, but choosing powerful verbs is a good way to appeal to the imagination and show part of someone’s character along the way. For example, if a kid is greedy, you could say ‘he picked up the slice of chocolate cake’, but saying ‘he grabbed the slice of chocolate cake’ suggests he just wants to stuff his face!
You can either use the passive or active voice. The passive voice shows something happening to someone; the active voice shows someone doing something. For example, ‘he was hit by Mark’s shovel’ is passive, but ‘Mark hit him with the shovel’ is active.
As you can probably see from this example, the active voice is better at showing power and intention. Writing that someone ‘was hit’ almost suggests it was an accident, but ‘Mark hit him’ shows exactly what happened and whose fault it was!
What’s the difference between ‘in the evening’ and ‘on a night as black as a murderer’s soul’?
If you think one of these is a little bit more descriptive and atmospheric than the other, then why not use poetic devices or literary techniques in your own writing?
Just make sure the comparison is appropriate. If you’re telling a story set on the south coast of England, don’t say someone swam ‘as fast as a cheetah’. Cheetahs live in mainland Africa, so they have nothing to do with Britain or the sea. Instead, you could say he swam ‘as fast as a dolphin’.
It’s hard to think of good poetic devices, but you’ll get higher marks if you avoid common clichés like ‘as flat as a pancake’ and use something rarer, like ‘as silent as a shadow’.
I’ve written an article on them if you want to find out more, but the most common ones are these:
If you want a handy way of remembering them, you can use SMARPOPS, which stands for Simile, Metaphor, Alliteration, Rhetorical question, Personification, Onomatopoeia, Punctuation and Speech. These are the most common poetic devices (if you ignore the final two items!).
Alternatively, SHAMPOO stands for Simile, Hyperbole, Alliteration, Metaphor, Personification, Onomatopoeia, and Oxymoron.
Whether you’re describing characters or the environment, it’s better to show rather than simply tell the reader. Telling is lazy, but showing engages your readers and makes them part of the experience, letting them use their imagination to work out what’s going on rather than spoon-feeding them every detail.
For example, it’s easy to say a character ‘was a keen walker’, but it would be better to say she ‘hiked six miles of the Appalachian Trail every weekend’. Equally, rather than describe someone, you could use dialogue instead. Rather than say ‘he was tired’, his best friend could say, “You look like you were up all night!” Another way is to suggest something and then surprise the reader later in the story. For instance, you could describe a black-and-white poster of an old boat on a girl’s bedroom wall but only reveal she’s an expert yachtswoman when she has to sail across the bay to rescue someone!
One way of looking at it is to imagine that you’re directing a film rather than writing a story. In films, you hardly ever hear a narrator telling you what’s going on. You’re simply shown everything you need to know. You might see someone’s breath on a cold night, for example. If you want to do the same when writing a story, you can make your description much more vivid (and alliterative!) by saying ‘Frank’s breath formed frozen clouds in front of his face’.
A similar trick is to leave out the answers to questions. This is something screenwriters do all the time to keep the audience in suspense! “What are you going to do to get your revenge?” one character asks another, but you’ll have to wait to find out…!
It’s easy to forget to describe a scene during a story, but that means readers can’t imagine it and so won’t feel as if they were actually there. One way to make your descriptions more vivid and memorable is to appeal to the five senses:
You don’t have to use them all, but try picking the most important ones. Obviously, you need to show what the setting looks like, but if it’s a coffee shop, for instance, you could say ‘she inhaled the aroma of freshly brewed espressos’.
If there’s one tip that beats all the rest, it’s ‘Check your work’.
However old you are and whatever you’re doing, you should never finish a task before checking what you’ve done.
However boring or annoying it is, you’ll always find at least one mistake and therefore at least one way in which you can make things better.
In the case of 11+ or 13+ exams, the most important thing is to test candidates’ imagination and ability to write an interesting story, but spelling and grammar is still important.
Schools have different marking policies.
Some don’t explicitly mark you down (although a rash of mistakes won’t leave a very good impression!), some create a separate pot of 10 marks for spelling and grammar to add to the overall total and some take marks off the total directly – even if you wrote a good story.
Either way, it pays to make sure you’ve done your best to avoid silly mistakes.
If you think you won’t have time to check, that’s entirely up to you.
You’ll almost certainly gain more marks in the last five minutes by correcting your work than trying to answer one more question, so it makes sense to reserve that time for checking.
If you do that, there are a few simple things to look out for.
You may want to make a quick checklist and tick each item off one by one.
This is the main problem that most Common Entrance candidates face, but there are ways in which you can improve your spelling.
Firstly, you can look out for any obvious mistakes and correct them.
It can help to go through each answer backwards a word at a time so that you don’t just see what you expect to see.
Secondly, you can check if a word appears anywhere in the text or in the question.
If it does, you can simply copy it across.
Finally, you can choose another, simpler word.
If you’re not quite sure how to spell something, it’s often better not to take the risk.
This should be easy, but candidates often forget about checking capitals in the rush to finish.
Proper nouns, sentences and abbreviations should all start with capital letters.
If you know you often miss out capital letters or put them where you don’t belong, you can at least check the beginning of every sentence to make sure it starts with a capital.
This simply means any marks on the page other than letters and numbers, eg full-stops, commas, quotation marks, apostrophes and question marks.
Commas give almost everybody problems, but you can at least check there is a full-stop at the end of every sentence.
It’s always useful to read through your story to make sure everything makes sense.
It’s very easy to get distracted the first time around, but it’s usually possible to spot silly mistakes like missing letters or missing words on a second reading.
And that’s it! I hope these tips on story mountains will help.
Test yourself on what you’ve learned about story mountains from this article!
Try going through the whole five-step process to write a story based on the following choice of titles (all but one taken from actual 11+ papers):
Left Behind
A Summer’s Day
Saying Sorry
The Lie
The Race
Lost Boy
A Fresh Start
The Voice in the Darkness
Noah’s Ark
Smoke
Silence
The Hot Afternoon
My Father Was Furious
The Swimming Lesson
Caravanning
The Choice
The Garden
Sleeping
Twins
Junk Food
The Picnic by The Lake
A Gift
Great Things Come from Small Beginnings
Saying Goodbye
The Person in The Queue
Through The Window
The Photograph
The Long Hot Summer
The Joke
The Loner
The Dare
The First Day of Term
Crossing The Line
Weird Habits
Mirror
Show And Tell
Going Underground
Echo
A Visit from Uncle
‘The room was so quiet that I noticed the clock ticking’
(Write a story that opens with this sentence.)
‘Every day, she sat alone by the upstairs window.’
(Write a story that opens with this sentence.)
‘Nobody’s perfect.’
(Write a story that uses this as its final line.)
Here are two stories created by Open AI’s ChatGPT chatbot entitled The Ghost from the Future.
The ghost from the future appeared out of nowhere on a dark and stormy night. It was a transparent figure, translucent and ethereal, with eyes that glowed like embers in the night. It drifted silently through the streets, its movements flowing and graceful, as if it were weightless and without substance.
As it moved, the ghost left a trail of frost in its wake, coating everything it touched with a thin layer of ice. People who crossed its path recoiled in fear, feeling a chill run down their spine as the ghost seemed to look straight through them.
No one knew where the ghost had come from, or why it was here. Some whispered that it was a harbinger of death, sent to collect the souls of the doomed. Others believed it was a lost spirit, trapped between worlds and unable to find its way to the afterlife.
Despite the fear it caused, the ghost from the future continued to haunt the town, appearing at random intervals and in unexpected places. No one knew how to stop it, or even if it could be stopped. All they could do was wait and hope that it would eventually move on.
One day, a brave young man named Jack decided to confront the ghost. He gathered his courage and followed it into the woods, determined to discover its true nature and purpose.
As he pursued the ghost, Jack realized that it was moving towards a decrepit old house on the edge of town. He followed it inside, and was shocked to find that the ghost was leading him to a hidden room in the basement.
Inside the room, Jack found a strange and ancient machine. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, and looked as if it had not been used in centuries.
The ghost from the future stood beside the machine, gesturing for Jack to approach. As he drew closer, the ghost spoke in a whispered voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“This is a time machine,” the ghost said. “It was built by a madman who sought to change the course of history. But he was stopped before he could use it, and now it lies here, forgotten and abandoned.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Jack asked.
“You have been chosen to travel into the future,” the ghost replied. “You must go and see what has become of the world, and bring back knowledge that will help us to prevent a terrible fate.”
Jack hesitated, unsure if he was ready for such a daunting task. But the ghost from the future was insistent, and in the end, he agreed to go.
He stepped into the time machine, and with a flash of light and a wave of dizziness, he was whisked away into the future.
What he found there was a world unlike any he had ever seen. The cities were filled with towering skyscrapers and flying cars, and the streets were crowded with people of all shapes and sizes.
But there was also a sense of dread and darkness that hung over everything. The air was thick with pollution, and the sky was a sickly shade of green.
Jack soon discovered that the world was on the brink of disaster. Climate change had wreaked havoc on the planet, and the oceans were rising at an alarming rate. Many species of animals and plants had gone extinct, and the air was toxic to breathe.
With the help of a group of rebels who were fighting against the ruling government, Jack set out to uncover the truth about what had happened to the world…
The ghost from the future was a strange and eerie presence that no one could explain. It appeared out of nowhere, in the dead of night, and always seemed to be watching. It had a pale, transparent face and cold, dead eyes that seemed to see right through you.
People whispered that it was the ghost of someone who had died in a terrible accident, or perhaps a victim of a crime. Some even said it was a warning from the future, a glimpse of what was to come if things didn’t change.
No one knew for sure, but one thing was certain: the ghost from the future was a chilling reminder that the past was never truly gone, and the future was always lurking just around the corner.
As the ghost continued to haunt the town, people began to fear for their safety. They locked their doors at night and avoided going out after dark. But despite their best efforts, the ghost from the future always seemed to be one step ahead, appearing at the most unexpected times and places.
One day, a young girl named Emily was walking home from school when she saw the ghost from the future standing in the middle of the road. She tried to run, but the ghost was too quick. It reached out with its cold, bony hand and touched her on the shoulder.
In that moment, Emily felt a strange sensation wash over her. She felt as if she was being pulled into the future, and she saw visions of what was to come. She saw wars and disasters, but she also saw moments of great happiness and love.
When the vision ended, Emily was back in the present, but she was different. She had a newfound sense of purpose, and she knew what she had to do. She had to warn the people of her town about the dangers of the future, and do everything she could to help them prepare for what was to come.
With the help of the ghost from the future, Emily began to spread the word. She held meetings and organized events, and slowly but surely, people began to listen. They started to take action, and the town began to change for the better.
Thanks to Emily and the ghost from the future, the people of the town were able to face the future with hope and courage, knowing that they were ready for whatever came their way.
If you’re looking for past papers with answers, especially in the run-up to 11+/13+ exams, GCSEs or A-levels, you can visit my Past Papers page and subscribe for just £37.99 a year.
There is always more than one way of solving a Maths problem. That can be confusing, but it can also be an opportunity – if only you can find the right trade-off between speed and accuracy.
I’ve taught a lot of QTS numeracy candidates recently, and the Maths itself isn’t particularly difficult, particularly in the mental arithmetic section.
The trick is to be familiar with all the possible shortcuts and capable of using the right one at the right time. It may mean having to do more sums, but it will be much simpler and quicker in the long run. You don’t have to use all of these all the time, but it is useful to know what they are just in case you need them.
If you’re looking for past papers with answers, especially in the run-up to 11+/13+ exams, GCSEs or A-levels, you can visit my Past Papers page and subscribe for just £37.99 a year.
To pass Common Entrance, you have to remember the iceberg—but what does that mean exactly?
Well, a difficult question is like an iceberg because only a small part of the answer is visible in the text, just as only a small part of an iceberg is visible above the sea. To discover the rest, you have to ‘dive in’ deeper like a scuba diver…!
There are two main types of English questions at 11+ and 13+: reading comprehension and composition.
Most 11+ papers last an hour or an hour and a quarter, and the marks are equally divided between the comprehension and the composition. That means half an hour or so for the comprehension.
The 13+ exam is a little different and may involve two papers, one covering a prose comprehension and the other a poetry comprehension and a story.
Whatever the format, it’s important to read the instructions on the front cover. They will tell you exactly what you have to do and – crucially – how much time to spend on each section.
When it comes to doing a comprehension, I recommend a five-step process:
The text is usually taken from a short story, a novel or a poem.
Whatever it is, the most important thing to do is to make sure you understand it and remember the main points.
Don’t just read it as fast as you can to get it over and done with, but take your time and read it as if you were reading aloud.
Make sure you read the title and any introduction. They might include important information and background to make it easier to understand what follows.
If you don’t understand any of the words, re-read it first and then look at the context.
For example, it might say there are dozens of ‘delphiniums’ in the garden.
You might not know what delphiniums are, but it’s pretty obvious they must be plants or flowers!
To make sure you’ve got the main points of the story, it’s a good idea to ask yourself the W questions at the end:
It might help to tell yourself the story (very briefly!) – just to make sure everything makes sense.
Once you’ve read the passage, it’s time to read the questions so that you know what to look out for when you read the passage a second time.
Again, understanding and remembering them are more important than sheer speed.
If it helps, you can ask yourself how many questions you can remember after you’ve read them.
Alternatively, you can underline key words and phrases in the questions to help you focus on what you have to do.
Reading the text twice is probably a good compromise between speed and memorability.
It also gives you the chance to underline or highlight the answers to any of the questions you happen to find.
Some people suggest only reading the passage once, but that means you wouldn’t know it well enough to answer any questions off the top of your head.
If you can’t do that, you’ll end up having to hunt through the text for the answers, so you’ll have to read most of the passage three or four times anyway!
If it’s a 30-minute exam, you should have around 15 minutes to write down the answers to the questions. (If it’s a 45-minute or hour-long exam, you’ll obviously have a bit longer.)
There are usually 25 marks available, which means around 30 seconds per mark.
The number of marks available for each question will tell you how much time you have to do each one, eg two minutes for a four-mark question.
To get the best possible mark, you clearly need to get the answers right, but you also need to phrase them in the right way and avoid wasting any time.
Here are a few pointers…
Try to be consistent in the way you approach each question, and make sure you do all the things you need to do:
a) Read the question carefully.
b) Read it again (and again!) if you don’t understand it.
c) Check the mark scheme to work out how many points and pieces of evidence you need.
d) Scan the text to find the answer, underlining any words you might need.
e) Write down the answer.
f) Read it through to make sure you’ve actually answered the question correctly and you haven’t made any silly mistakes.
You’re never going to get the right answer to the wrong question, so make sure you understand exactly what you need to do.
If that means reading the question two or three times, then that’s what you’ll have to do.
Most exam papers will let you know the number of marks for each question, so you should bear that in mind when writing your answers.
There’s no point spending ten minutes on a question that’s only worth one mark, and it would be daft to write only one sentence for a question worth ten marks.
You should also try and work out how many ‘points’ and pieces of ‘evidence’ you’re being asked for:
Working out the mark scheme can be a bit tricky as there are three possibilities for the breakdown of marks:
You just have to read the question and see what makes the most sense.
Here are a few tips:
Once you’ve worked out how many points and pieces of evidence you need, it might help to write down the matching number of P’s and E’s and cross them off as you find them in the text and/or include them in your answer.
All these hints and tips are useful, but they are only general rules.
Occasionally, examiners will let you off the hook and tell you that you don’t need to use full sentences, eg for the meanings of words.
Just be sure to follow what they say.
If you’re told to answer a question ‘in your own words’, that means you can’t use any of the words in the text.
The only exceptions are ‘filler’ words such as ‘the’ and ‘of’ or words that don’t have any obvious alternative, eg ‘football’ or the names of the characters.
You need to show that you understand the passage, and you’ll actually be marked down for using quotations – even though that’s what’s usually needed.
Even if you read the text twice, you can’t possibly expect to remember the answers to all the questions and all the quotations to back them up!
The answer is always in the text, so don’t be afraid to spend a few seconds going back over it. That way, you can make sure you get the answer right and support it with the right evidence.
One way of speeding up your search is to work backwards through the text to find the word(s) you’re looking for. Yes, it sounds daft, but if you scan the text forwards, it’s very tempting to read every word properly – which just slows you down.
I often see pupils writing down facts that are true but don’t actually answer the question.
For instance, if the question asks how Jack feels after losing his dog, it’s no use writing, “He’s crying.” That’s not a feeling.
It’s a bit like writing “2 + 2 = 4”. Yes, that may be true, but it’s completely irrelevant!
Even if a question is as simple as ‘What is Jack’s dog’s name?’, the answer should be ‘His name is Rover’ rather than just ‘Rover’.
The only time you don’t need to use a full sentence is either if it’s the meaning of a word or if the question gives you special permission. It might say something like ‘you don’t need to use full sentences’, or it might just ask for a particular word, such as an adjective or someone’s name. In that case, you shouldn’t have to use a full sentence – but it is a bit of a grey area!
Even the simplest words sometimes have different meanings, so you can’t know which one is the right one just by reading the question. You need to check the context by looking back at the passage. For example, ‘bark’ can be the sound a dog makes or the outside of a tree!
You also need to make sure your answer is the right part of speech, such as a noun or an adjective. Synonyms are always the same part of speech, so the meaning of an adjective will never be a noun or a preposition!
Nouns also vary in number, and verbs vary in tense and person, so it’s easy to lose marks by putting down ‘destroy’ rather than ‘destroys’, say.
The best way to make sure you’ve got exactly the right answer is by putting it back in the original sentence and checking that it means the same thing. For example, if the question asked, “What does annihilated mean in line 13?”, you’d have to think of your answer and put it into the sentence instead of the word annihilated.
Suppose the sentence was, “Alexander the Great annihilated the Persian army.” If you chose ‘destroyed’, that would be fine, because “Alexander the Great destroyed the Persian army” means the same thing. However, it wouldn’t work to say ‘destroy’ or ‘it means to destroy something’ because those wouldn’t fit.
PEE is designed to help you write essays rather than do a comprehension.
At Common Entrance, it’s unlikely a question will ask you for a point, a piece of evidence and an explanation.
That would mean two points and only one piece of evidence, which is unbalanced.
It’s also confusing because it suggests that an ‘explanation’ is somehow different from a ‘point’.
This is not true: points can be explanations as well as facts.
Comprehensions often start with a simple one-mark question such as ‘In what country is this passage set?’ This is a ‘what?’ question, a question about content, about facts.
However, there is another kind of question, the ‘how?’ question, which is all about language.
Suppose you’re asked, ‘How does the writer explain how Jack feels after losing his dog?’ What do you have to do?
What you definitely shouldn’t do is just describe how he feels.
The question is not ‘What are Jack’s feelings?’
You’re not being asked for facts but for an analysis of the techniques the author uses.
If it helps, you can keep a mental checklist and look for each technique in the passage:
a) Poetic devices
How has the author used metaphors, similes, diction or sentence structure?
b) Parts of speech
What can you say about the kind of adjectives, verbs or adverbs used in the passage?
c) The Three Ds
Has the writer used Drama, Description or Dialogue to achieve a particular effect?
However difficult the question is, just remember to write about language rather than what happens in the story.
Most of the time, people use the ‘eternal present’ to talk about works of fiction. Sometimes, though, passages are about historical events, so the past is more appropriate.
For example, if the text comes from The Diary of Anne Frank, it wouldn’t make sense to talk about the Second World War as if it were still going on!
So which tense should you use?
The simple answer is to write in the same tense as the question. That way, you’ll never go wrong.
Sometimes, the question will tell you to do something, which means the verb is in the imperative rather than the past, present, future or conditional tense. If that happens, you just need to look at one or two of the other questions to see which tense they use. You can then use the same tense in your answer.
In primary school, teachers often tell their pupils to do this to make sure they’ve understood the question.
It’s not wrong and you won’t lose a mark for it, but it just takes too long.
I’ve seen children spend a whole minute carefully copying down most of the question before they’ve even thought about the answer!
It’s a bit like the old joke:
Why did the chicken cross the road?
I don’t know. Why did the chicken cross the road?
The chicken crossed the road because it wanted to get to the other side!
If this punchline were your answer in a comprehension, you’d be writing down six words before you’d even started answering the question – or earning any marks! That’s why you should start with the word after ‘because’, which means writing ‘It wanted to get to the other side’ in this case.
This normally means using a pronoun, which is much shorter than a noun phrase like ‘the chicken’. Whatever the question asks about, just turn it into a pronoun and start with that. In this case, you don’t need to say ‘the chicken’ because it’s obvious what you’re talking about, so you can just say ‘it’.
Unfortunately, bad things tend to happen when you use the word ‘because’:
That means you should NEVER write ‘because’. ‘As’ means the same thing and is impossible to get wrong. Even then, you should only use it for two-part, ‘what and why’ questions. For instance, imagine you’re asked, “Does Jack feel sad after losing his dog? Why?” In this case, it’s fine to say, “Yes, as he was his best friend.”
Examiners will sometimes try to catch you out by ‘hiding’ two questions in one.
You should be careful with these questions, eg ‘How do you think Jack feels about losing his dog, and how do you think you’d feel if you lost your favourite pet?’
It would be easy to answer the first part of the question and then forget about the rest!
You never have enough time in exams, so it’s pointless trying to pad out your answers by including waffle such as ‘it says in the text that…’ or ‘the author writes that in his opinion…’
Far better to spend the time thinking a bit more about the question and coming up with another quotation or point to make.
Using quotations is tricky, and there are a lot of things to remember.
As you can see from the picture, the vast majority of an iceberg remains hidden from view.
It’s the same with the answers to questions in a reading comprehension.
Don’t be satisfied by what you can see on the surface – that won’t get you full marks.
Like a scuba diver, you have to dive in deeper to find the rest…!
Multiple-choice tests are generally easier than long-format ones because it’s easier to guess.
Because of that, the most important thing to remember is to answer ALL the questions. It only takes a second to guess if you don’t know the answer.
The best method is to work by process of elimination. That just means narrowing down your options by crossing off any answers that simply can’t be true. As Sherlock Holmes once said to Dr Watson, “Once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth!”
You may not be able to cross off all the ‘wrong’ answers, but every one improves your chances. Let’s say there are five options. That means you have a 20% shot at getting the question right by pure guesswork. As you cross off the answers one by one, your chances rise to 25%, then 33%, then 50% and finally 100%!
Just remember that the answer won’t always be black and white. There are often shades of grey in comprehensions, so it’s not a question of finding one single, ‘right’ answer but the one that’s ‘the most right’.
To get the highest possible score, it’s important to understand the marking policy. That depends on the school, but let’s take the Sutton 11+ multiple choice test as an example. There are a few things to bear in mind:
If there’s one tip that beats all the rest, it’s ‘Check your work’.
However old you are and whatever the subject, you should never finish a piece of work before checking what you’ve done – and it’s no excuse to say, “I didn’t have time.” You need to make time!
However boring or annoying it is, you’ll always find at least one mistake and therefore at least one way in which you can make things better.
In the case of 11+ or 13+ comprehensions, the most important thing is to test candidates’ understanding of the passage.
However, spelling and grammar is still important.
Schools have different marking policies:
Either way, it pays to make sure you’ve done your best to avoid silly mistakes.
If you think you won’t have time to check, make sure you manage your time so that you have a few minutes left at the end.
You’ll probably gain more marks by correcting your work than trying to finish the last question, so it makes sense to keep that time for checking.
If you do that, there are a few simple things to look out for.
This is the most important thing to check, and it takes the longest.
Make sure that each answer is correct (by referring back to the text if necessary) and that each part of the question has been covered.
Quite a few of my students have lost marks by forgetting to look at all the pages, so you should always check you haven’t missed any questions.
This is the main problem that most Common Entrance candidates face, but there are ways in which you can improve your spelling.
This should be easy, but candidates often forget about checking capitals in the rush to finish.
Proper nouns, sentences, speech and abbreviations should all start with capital letters.
If you know you often miss out capital letters, you can at least check to make sure all your answers start with a capital.
Make sure you’ve put full-stops, commas, quotation marks, apostrophes and question marks in the right places.
Commas give almost everybody problems, but you can at least check there is a full-stop at the end of every sentence.
It’s always useful to check for missing words and to make sure everything makes sense.
Grammar may not be the first thing on your mind when you’re answering the questions. However, you can usually spot most silly mistakes if you read through your answers carefully at the end.
If you want to test your knowledge of this article, here are a few questions for you.
You can mark them yourselves!
Total: 35 marks
If you’re looking for past papers with answers, especially in the run-up to 11+/13+ exams, GCSEs or A-levels, you can visit my Past Papers page and subscribe for just £37.99 a year.
Once you start ticking off the things to do on your bucket list, it’s hard to stop, so – inspired by my trip to Kenya – I signed up to go to the Icehotel in January to see the northern lights. (It’s officially called ‘Icehotel’ rather than ‘the Icehotel’ or ‘the Ice Hotel’, but what’s a definite article between friends…)
One of the good things about both holidays was that there were always two goals to look forward to. Not only would I have the chance to go on safari for the first time, but I’d also be able to climb Mount Kenya. In Sweden, seeing the aurora borealis was not guaranteed, but I’d have the experience of staying at the Icehotel and take a few photographs for my collection…
I have to say, it was an expensive trip – I’ve never paid so much for a long weekend! – but it was worth it. After loading up on duty-free champagne and whisky at Heathrow, I suggested to Amanda, Jackie, Susannah and Jason that we start off with a champagne breakfast at the Oyster Bar, and they were easily convinced. When you’ve spent so much money already, you might as well push the boat out!
Kiruna is the most northerly airport I’ve ever flown to, and it wasn’t the only personal milestone I set. After standing on the Equator for the first time and then climbing to the highest point I’d ever reached at the summit of Mount Kenya, I went on to endure the coldest temperature I’ve ever experienced (-35ºC!) and visit the Arctic Circle for the first time.
After a coach ride by the light of the other-worldly, pink ‘Alpenglow’ you only find in the far north or at altitude, we arrived at the Icehotel. We had all booked different activities for each day, but I wanted to avoid the check-in tailback at reception, so I started off by checking out the hotel itself. To call it a hotel is not really fair.
It’s more like a village, in which the bit made out of ice is only a small part, alongside dozens of wooden chalets and outbuildings. It is more like Portmeirion, the setting for the cult Sixties spy series The Prisoner – except with everyone wearing snowsuits instead of black and white blazers.
Most people know it from the James Bond film Die Another Day, but the scene wasn’t actually shot there. Having said that, you still get the snow and ice and the frozen river – all that’s missing is Halle Berry and the Aston Martin with the built-in rockets and machine guns!
The hotel itself has been around since 1990, when French artist Jannot Derid held an exhibition in an igloo in Jukkasjärvi. Unfortunately, some of the guests couldn’t find rooms in the town, so they were allowed to stay overnight in the exhibition hall – and the legend was born.
The first purpose-built ice hotel was built the following year on the Torne river out of ‘snice’ (a mix of snow and ice) from its crystal-clear waters, but it promptly sank! Since then, it has successfully expanded and now accommodates thousands of guests each winter before melting in the summer months and being rebuilt in October.
Its most famous export is the Ice Bar, in which everything – including the glasses – is made of ice. It’s a nice idea, but be prepared to pay around £35 for a glass of Laphroaig!
Most of the rooms are of a standard design with a bed covered in a mattress and reindeer hide and a table and chairs made out of ice, but a couple of corridors off the Main Hall contain ‘luxury suites’, which are all designed by individual artists and sculptors whose names are shown on a plaque outside.
As the hotel melts each spring, it has to be rebuilt each winter, and the rooms are never the same from one year to the next. My favourites were The Flower, Blue Marine and Dragon Residense [sic], which had an extraordinarily detailed sculpture of a Chinese dragon on the wall.
There was also a Church, an Exhibition Hall full of photographs of the construction of the hotel embedded into the icy walls and an Aurora Balcony off the Main Hall from which you could view the northern lights – with a bit of luck…
Our first expedition to see the lights came on the first night, and it was only a partial success. It was going to be cold, so I wore every possible item of clothing I could including the snow suit, boots and leather mittens that the hotel issued to all the guests.
We drove snowmobiles out into the wilderness – another first for me – and I felt as though I was further away from any sign of civilisation than I had ever been (until the streetlights came on later…!).
When we stopped to look at the sky, we did see a faint, silvery glow, but we were more worried about the freezing temperatures, and I was sufficiently unimpressed that I didn’t even take any pictures. The others did, though, and they were rewarded with an ethereal green glow that showed up much better on camera than we could see with the naked eye.
I was disappointed to miss out, but we were soon bundled off to a ‘lavvu’, or traditional tent made by the local Sami people, to warm up, dine on smoked reindeer and lingonberry juice and feed a herd of reindeer. Our guide also helpfully told us how to imitate the calls of the male and female moose…!
We stayed in ‘warm’ accommodation that night, and the following morning I was determined to learn from my experience in Kenya by getting up early to see the dawn. I’d been told that there would only be a couple of hours of daylight that far north, but the sun actually rose just after eight and set around four.
A pink and gold sky above a frozen river gives you plenty of chance to take photos, and I stayed out as long as I could before my fingers threatened to drop off with frostbite! Unfortunately, my tripod was not designed for Arctic temperatures, and it broke when I tried to screw on the camera attachment. That was a bit of a blow, as taking pictures of the northern lights was going to be almost impossible without it. Hmm…
Breakfast at the hotel was doubly disappointing. Not only did the restaurant make a hash of the English breakfast and fail to provide either muesli or proper coffee, but I also heard from a girl I’d met on the plane that she and her mother had seen a gloriously ‘ethereal and spiritual’ display of the northern lights just coming back from the restaurant – when the rest of us were busy drinking in the bar! Grrr…
After I broke the bad news to the rest of the party, we all went snowmobiling again and had lunch with a group of other people at a little hut in the forest on the banks of the frozen Torne. Reindeer and lingonberry juice were on the menu again, and I realised we might have to get used to a less than varied diet while we were here! The good news was that the skies were clear, which boded well for our chances of seeing the lights that evening.
Sadly, the good weather didn’t last, and by the time we jumped into a rudimentary sleigh hauled by another snowmobile that night, the clouds had extinguished any hope we had of seeing what we were there for.
Riding on the snowmobile, I did get briefly excited by a strange, yellow glow in the sky above the pines, but I was eventually persuaded that it was just light pollution from the local town! (It was still pretty, though…)
When we stopped for dinner at another forest hut, our group got separated in the dark, and I almost ended up joining a random Swedish family who were gathering next door! Fortunately, I was rescued before I caused anyone any further embarrassment…
When we got back, we had a few drinks in the ‘warm bar’ together and then prepared ourselves for a night in the Icehotel proper. Before we went in, we were given a ‘survival briefing’ by a prototypical Swedish blonde called Anna.
We were told to put all our luggage in storage, check out a four-season sleeping bag from reception and change into thermal underwear, socks, boots and a woolly hat. After that, we were free to walk across the ice to our rooms whenever we liked, swathed in our sleeping bags.
My room was number 304, and the temperature inside hovered around -5ºC. The only problem was that the temperature in my sleeping bag was about 35ºC, so I was either very hot or very cold. Not surprisingly, I didn’t get a very good night’s sleep, but that wasn’t the point.
It was an experience. And it was certainly worth waking up to the cup of hot lingonberry juice that was brought to my bedside before dawn the next morning – though, sadly, not by Anna…
I hadn’t booked any activities that day, so I watched as the rest of the group went off dog-sledding and ice-sculpting. Fortunately, the hotel had a wi-fi network, but, unfortunately, it didn’t work in the restaurant, so I had to have another disappointing cold breakfast and then traipse across to the ‘warm bar’ to read the papers and catch up on the news.
I also collected a special ‘diploma’ from reception to commemorate my stay and record the outside and inside temperatures during the night.
That evening, we had booked a table at a very smart restaurant just down the road called The Homestead. We kicked off with champagne and nibbles in our (warm) chalet and then walked to the restaurant. I got separated again and almost got lost (!), but it was certainly worth the trip. The food was excellent, and it was nice to be able to take off our snowsuits for a change.
After dinner, we had a decision to make. We still hadn’t seen the northern lights in all their glory, so I was keen to take a coach ride north towards Abisko, which is where you apparently had the best chance of seeing them.
There were only two seats remaining, and I was determined to make the most of the opportunity (just as in Kenya on the final game drive), but the rest of the group weren’t so keen. Fortunately, that meant I was able to borrow a tripod from Susannah, who was staying behind, so I was all set.
I walked back to the meeting point at the Icehotel in time for the minibus ride, only to find Amanda there, too. She had apparently changed her mind, which suited me perfectly. It would be nice to have some company – and, it turned out, some technical expertise…
The minibus driver was Christopher, the same chap who had led us snowmobiling, so Amanda and I had a bit of a chat with him in the front seats as we drove north. After five or ten minutes, I looked out of the window on my side and saw what I thought must have been the northern lights, so I asked Amanda to have a look.
“No, it’s just light pollution,” she said.
After another few minutes, I still wasn’t convinced, so I asked our driver.
“Can you have a look on my side? I think it might be the lights.”
“No, it’s just the ambient light from the town,” he said.
Well, this was no good. When you see swirling patterns of light in the night sky in the Arctic Circle, it’s usually a safe bet that it’s not the glow from a bunch of streetlights! So I had one last go…
“Are you sure it’s not the lights? It looks pretty similar to what I’d expect it to look like…”
“All right,” said Christopher, slowing down and pulling over into a lay-by. “I’ll get out and have a look. Stay here until I get back, everybody, and I’ll tell you if there’s anything to see.”
He got out of the minibus and almost immediately came back to tell us the news.
“Everybody out! It’s the northern lights! It’s magnificent!”
We all piled out excitedly and started fiddling with whatever expensive digital cameras and tripods we had with us. I set my ISO rating to the most sensitive I could and took a shot of the lights. Nothing. I took another shot. Nothing but a black screen. I took a dozen more, and every time the same result.
This was not good. After all this effort, not to be able to take any pictures because my camera wasn’t good enough! I was getting worried – particularly when the other photographers seemed to be having no problem at all capturing the moment.
After a few minutes, the display died down, and we drove on a few miles to another lay-by. This time, the green lights were vividly visible to the naked eye, and I set up my camera and tripod again in the hope of salvaging something at least from the trip. Amanda was next to me, and she suggested setting the ISO to 1600 or less.
“You mean 16000?” I queried.
“No, 1600.”
I thought it was a bit bizarre to use a less sensitive setting, but I thought I’d try it. It was better than nothing. And, lo and behold, the first picture I took showed a brilliant green sky above the snow!
“Amanda, come and look! Quick. Come and look. Quickly!” (I was very excited at this point.)
“Yes, I’m walking as fast as I can…Oh, wow!”
Oh, wow, indeed. We drove a few more miles and stopped a couple of times for more shots of the lights, but nothing quite matched that initial thrill. That’s what it was all about…
We met the others later on back at the hotel, and it turned out that they had seen the lights, too, from the Aurora Balcony. That was good news, and I happily went to bed and spent half an hour sorting through all the images on my camera.
The following morning, it had clouded over, so I couldn’t get any shots of the sunrise over the Torne, but we did have a chance to join a group tour of the Icehotel after breakfast. It was interesting to learn about the history of the place and how it was built, although I almost missed the coach to the airport when the tour overran! Disaster averted, I wended my way home.
I enjoyed our trip, and I’m glad I went. My photos may not have been as spectacular as I’d hoped, but that was never going to be in my control. Rather like going on safari, you never know what you’re going to get.
However, the combination of staying at the Icehotel and seeing the northern lights makes a good adventure. If you can stand the cold and the food and the sleepless nights and have the odd couple of grand lying around, I’d recommend it!
Mission accomplished.
During the Second World War, an Italian named Felice Benuzzi decided to escape from a British POW camp in Nanyuki, Kenya. Nothing unusual about that, you might think, but Benuzzi was no ordinary prisoner. He was a keen climber, and he planned to break out of the camp in January 1943, climb Mount Kenya and break back in again two weeks later – he even left a note for the guards!
He spent months planning his escape, recruiting a couple of companions to help in the preparations and join him on the climb. He successfully reached Point Lenana and after the war wrote an account of it called No Picnic on Mount Kenya.
The trip I booked with Hooley Time in January 2013 marked the 70th anniversary of Benuzzi’s escape, and I bought his book to read on the plane to Nairobi. I also had to invest in one or two other items. This is the kit list we were sent:
“Sleeping
Clothing
Footwear
Personal Equipment
Fully equipped with a rucksack and a borrowed day pack to hold all my gear, I flew to Nairobi on 5 January 2013 with three other Hooley Time members: Caspar, Lucy and Jo. The plan was for us to spend a few days canyoning, climbing, mountain biking and going on ‘game drives’ at Ol Pejeta, then spend a week climbing Mount Kenya and finally check in for a couple of nights at a luxurious ‘eco lodge’ called El Karama.
It was not an auspicious start. First of all, we had to take a Rail Replacement Bus service to the airport, and then I discovered that Terminal 5 didn’t have a champagne and seafood bar for me to visit as I usually do before any flight. I also found out from the others that I’d booked my flight home a day late!
No matter. I was soon keenly watching out for the coast of Africa. I’d never been there before, so I couldn’t stop smiling when we finally went ‘feet dry’. Sadly, the first time it happened, it was actually Crete and the second time it was just a large cloud! Third time lucky, we finally emerged over the beautiful deserts of Egypt in the glorious orange light of dawn…
There were no problems on the flight, although we were a little confused about who would be meeting us at the airport. Caspar thought it would be Jomo Kenyatta, but I told him that was unlikely.
When we finally arrived, we were whisked away to the Aero Club for the night, where we sank a couple of Tuskers, and then driven to the camp where we would be staying near Mount Kenya. The camp was run by Nick Miller of Rift Valley Adventures, an ex-pat Australian we met for lunch at Barney’s Café next to Nanyuki Airfield.
After a brief orientation, we continued on our journey to the camp at Ol Pejeta, pausing only for the zebra crossings and sleeping policemen the Kenyans like to put on their motorways. Once there, we spent the next few days being waited on hand and foot by most of the Kenyan national mountain biking team.
Ochen (pronounced ‘Ocean’), Maina (pronounced ‘Miner’) and Joyce (pronounced ‘Joyce’) were our friendly and helpful companions who taught us how to rock climb and abseil, led us around an outdoor mountain bike obstacle course and gave us a seminar on ‘bush skills’, including how to take down an impala with an assegai and a bow and arrow.
Lighting a fire by rubbing two sticks together next to a pile of dried elephant dung was a bit trickier, so we had to leave that to Ochen. We also had time to visit a sign marking the equator, and I stood for the first time with one foot in both hemispheres.
By the end of the first day, we still hadn’t seen the mountain because of a bank of low cloud, so I was determined to get up early to see the sunrise and perhaps shoot an elephant. I had always wanted to be a photographer, so I was keen to take as many photographs as possible with my new ‘bridge’ camera, a Sony HX200V.
The 30x optical zoom came in very handy at 0545 the next morning, when the sun rose behind the mountain and turned the whole sky salmon pink. The silhouette of Mount Kenya looks rather like the cross-section of one of the Alpine stages of the Tour de France, and it triggered plenty of nervous conversations about our chances on the climb.
Sunrise over Mount Kenya from Ol Pejeta
I was also able to take a few shots of the local wildlife as a herd of impala grazed in the paddock just outside the compound, which was protected by an electrified fence. That was quite reassuring until I saw a baboon hop over it as nonchalantly as you like!
The ‘Big Five’ are the most valuable heads the old big game hunters could put up on the wall – the lion, leopard, rhinoceros, elephant and buffalo – but you have to be on your toes if you want to spot them.
Later that day, Caspar saw a black rhino on his way to the shower and spent the next ten minutes eagerly taking pictures of it wearing only flip-flops and a towel! The best time to see the animals is in the early morning or late afternoon, when it’s not so hot, so we went on ‘game drives’ for three or four hours at 0630 and 1630 each day.
Our driver Ndiritu (pronounced ‘William’) took us to the Ol Pejeta conservancy, and the first time we went we saw 16 different mammals including a few chimpanzees at the local sanctuary.
We only saw prey animals, such as the impala, the Thomson’s and Grant’s gazelles, the eland and the hartebeest, and, although we learned a lot about antelope recognition, we were slightly disappointed we didn’t see any predators.
We did get charged by an elephant at one point, which was a little unnerving, but Nick told us it was only a ‘fake’ charge! The closest we came to a kill was seeing a hyaena chase a herd of impala and a warthog, but, once the warthog turned his tusks on him, the hyaena lost his nerve and wandered off.
The warthog is a comic creation. It holds its tail upright like the aerial on a remote-controlled car, eats with its ‘elbows’ on the table and has the memory of a goldfish. When startled, it will trot away 20 yards and then forget what it was worried about and carry on eating!
After one drive, a Kenyan member of staff asked me whether we had lions in England. No. Leopard? No. Rhinoceros? No. Elephants? No. Buffalo? No…Donkeys? Yes.
Thomson’s gazelles
Rift Valley Adventures is not really a safari company but an adventure training outfit, so the next day we drove to the Ngare Ndare forest to go canyoning. We had to stop twice on the way to the river, once for a cow standing in the middle of the road and again for six geese. Hours later on the way home, we had to stop for the same six geese!
Canyoning is a modern ‘sport’ that involves dressing up in a wetsuit and helmet and descending a river by ‘tombstoning’ off cliffs and abseiling down waterfalls. We started off in the equivalent of the paddling pool by jumping from three and then four metres under Nick’s guidance.
Once we had managed that, we moved on to jumps from nine and then 11 and eight metres. The 11-metre jump was too much for Lucy, who sported a great big bruise on her leg after falling too far forward, so she walked the rest of the way, but we were all determined to do the abseiling.
Abseiling down a waterfall is like taking a shower under Niagara Falls. I tried to look up once but just got blinded by what seemed like a fire hose gushing water in my face. Fortunately, someone had taken a few pictures down at the bottom to record my moment of glory.
Abseiling down the waterfall
After the game drives, we set off to climb Mount Kenya. Having been briefed the night before by our chief guide Bernard, who told us amongst other things about the ABCs of packing a rucksack (Access, Balance and Compactability), we drove to the gates of the park to meet our porters and begin the walk.
In total, there were 18 in the party, including 10 porters, three guides, our chef Paul and the four of us. The idea was that we would carry a day pack for essential items such as water, snacks, rain gear and extra layers while the porters would take our rucksacks up with whatever we needed in the evening, including sleeping bags, roll mats and toiletries.
They were also responsible for carrying up all our tents, cooking utensils and provisions, and I spotted one porter with a frying pan in his hand and another with a cardboard slab of 64 fresh eggs!
Their fitness was astonishing. We would leave them to strike camp in the morning, but they would pass us on the mountain and still have time to put up our tents before we arrived in the evening.
At one point on the descent, they ran down the steep scree slope from Simba Tarn (4600m) to Shipton’s Camp (4200m) in 20 minutes – each carrying a 25kg pack on his back!
We took the ‘tourist route’ up via Timau in order to acclimatise gradually. Bernard constantly reminded us to breathe deeply, drink plenty of water and take it easy. “Pole, pole,” as he would always say, or “Slowly, slowly” in Swahili.
There wasn’t much wildlife to see on the slopes, and I was slightly disappointed we didn’t spot a rhino dozing in the giant heather as Benuzzi thought he might. Having said that, the vegetation was extraordinary, with an almost Jurassic selection of giant groundsel, cabbage groundsel, giant lobelia and water-filled lobelia to keep Lucy – our resident plant expert – constantly on her toes. Everything seemed to be a variation on a British theme – usually a ‘giant’ one.
This is what the guidebook said about the mountain:
“The commanding topographic feature of the Kenya highlands east of the Rift Valley is Mount Kenya; a large central type volcano whose summit stands at 5199 metres above sea level. It was built by intermittent volcanic eruptions, mainly in the period 3.1 to 2.6 million years ago.
The base of Mount Kenya is a little over 100 kilometres in diameter and originally the summit must have reached over 7000 metres. Since then, about 35% of the volume has been removed, mainly by glacial erosion on the upper part of the mountain.
The highest trekking point, Point Lenana (4985m) involves passing through a dense forest belt, followed by a narrow bamboo belt, before passing into heath and moor lands and finally the alpine zone.
The summits of Batian and Nelion are surrounded by glaciers and often covered in snow where the night-time temperature can drop to below -10 degrees Celsius. At any time of the year harsh, cold, wet and windy weather can come from anywhere.”
Batian is the highest peak, but it can only be scaled by experienced climbers, so the plan was to climb the neighbouring Point Lenana, 4985 metres above sea level but ‘only’ 1985 metres above our starting point, which was itself on a plateau.
It’s an odd tension between altitude and latitude that produces lush, tropical vegetation where I’d usually be just getting off the cable car to go skiing!
My biggest fear was bad weather, but we were lucky enough to have sunshine every day. None of us suffered from altitude sickness, but we all had problems with diarrhoea at one stage or another, and the combination of frequent toilet breaks – “You drink, you pee,” as Bernard would say – and my snoring made for some uncomfortably sleepless nights, particularly for my tent-mate Caspar!
The first night on the mountain, I thought I heard the sound of impala getting frisky with each other, but it was only the girls snoring in the next-door tent…
The other piece of luck we had came when Bernard changing the itinerary. The Sirimon route is the usual way to climb Mount Kenya. It’s shorter, but it involves a significant climb from Shipton’s Camp (4200m) up a long, slippery, scree slope to the summit and back down again.
Given our general good health and fitness, he decided to lead us up to Simba Tarn (4600m), which considerably shortened the ascent we’d have to make on the final morning.
Two days of climbing up and down a 40-45º scree slope was not easy by any means, and I was lucky to be able to borrow a walking pole to help prevent me slipping and falling, but the payoff was spectacular.
Dawn from the summit of Mount Kenya
As we left camp at 0400 by the light of our head torches, I saw a shooting star, and it must have been a good omen, as we reached Point Lenana at 0615, a few minutes before sunrise.
We didn’t see anyone else on the mountain until just before the summit, where we met a Swiss climber called Andreas, and it was a good job we did. First of all, he was able to take a picture of all of us, but, more importantly, we were able to tell him he didn’t need ropes and climbing gear to go up to the summit.
Bizarrely, that was what his local guide had told him – obviously fresh off the boat from Nairobi…!
We reach the summit of Mount Kenya
The descent was a lot easier, especially now the sun was up, although I did manage to slip and fall once, taking our guide with me! We managed to reach Shipton’s by 1000 with the whole day ahead of us.
As it turned out, my stomach was tying itself in knots, and my legs had become a bit wobbly on the final approach to camp, so I took the opportunity in between meals to sleep for about 17 hours! I guess I needed it.
Everyone took care of me, giving me Imodium for my diarrhoea, Paracetamol for my headache and even an extra sleeping bag to keep me warm. There were a lot of other groups there, and I pitied one guy who was planning to climb the peak from Shipton’s Camp the following morning and another girl who had done it in the afternoon, thereby missing out on the sunrise. Once she’d seen my photos, she quickly realised her mistake!
The following day, we were due to walk down to Old Moses (3300m) and stay there overnight, but, as the park gate was only a couple of hours further on, we managed to get permission from Nick to ‘walk out’ a day early.
That left us with another rest day, which was no bad thing. A proper bed in my own tent was better than a sleeping bag on the ground! Caspar was also in a pretty bad way with heat rash, but a visit to the local doctor at Nanyuki Cottage Hospital and a bottle of calamine lotion sorted him out eventually.
There was a conference at the camp, so we kept ourselves to ourselves. It was only later I found out that one of the groups had gone on a game drive and spotted four lions ripping apart an impala 20 metres away while we were having scones for tea!
Guy Grant bought El Karama ranch in 1963 when Kenya gained independence, and Guy’s son Murray still runs it with his wife Sophie, who gave us a brief orientation and later invited us up to the family home so that we could use her internet connection to check in.
El Karama literally means ‘the prayer’ in Arabic, but a better translation would be ‘the dream’! We had just spent a week walking up and down a mountain without being able to ‘shit, shower and shave’, and we felt ‘like Dorothy when everything just turned to colour’.
The girls shared one ‘banda’, or hut, and Caspar and I the other. He even let me have the double bed – luxury! It was the first decent night’s sleep any of us had had in Kenya.
After we’d unpacked, we had an excellent lunch of meatballs, home-baked rosemary bread and fresh salads from the vegetable garden. Our waiter Lovii was training to be a guide, so he also managed to identify a few unusual birds we had seen, including the blue-eared starling, lilac-breasted roller and spotted thick-knee!
We were also hoping we might see some hippos at the watering hole nearby, but the Head Man Joseph didn’t find any there, so, armed with his .548 Remington bolt-action rifle, he took us on a day/night game drive. Joseph and Ndiritu both certainly knew their wildlife and made excellent spotters, and the highlight was seeing a herd of eight elephants go down to drink at the water hole.
By now, we had seen most of the animals we expected to see, but the big cats remained elusive.
When we came home, we polished off a bottle of Prosecco that Nick had given us to celebrate our successful ascent of Mount Kenya and enjoyed another gorgeous dinner of vegetable soup, chicken and fruit crumble. We rounded off the evening with a game of Chase the Lady, accompanied by a few gin and tonics and a bottle of white wine.
The next day, Lucy was the first to drop out of one of the drives as the enthusiasm of the others began to wane, but I was still keen to make the most of the opportunity. On the final drive, I had the truck to myself and took my 3,000th photo of the holiday!
On our final morning, we packed up our gear and went up to the main house to use the wi-fi connection, which I noticed was still password-protected even though the ranch was surrounded by 15,000 acres! Sophie also gave me a tour of her husband’s studio.
He’s a sculptor, and she gave me the background to his bronze studies of elephants, buffalo, warthogs and other animals. Each is a recognisable individual that takes six or 12 months to create, and he goes to great lengths to make sure all the historical and physiological details are right.
Local tribesmen even came to him when they found the carcass of a lion to see whether he wanted to make a sculpture out of it!
Finally, we drove back to Nanyuki, and only then were we granted the sight we’d all been waiting for: simba! He was lying under a tree beside a water hole, and we were able to spend a good 15 minutes taking photos and filming him.
Simba
Elated with our success, we met Nick for a nice coffee at Dormans and had a lazy lunch again at Barney’s Café. The plan was for me to do some rafting with my ‘extra’ day, but that fell through at the last moment. Instead, we all said our goodbyes, and I drove back to Ol Pejeta for dinner with Ochen.
We shared a bottle of wine and had a relaxed meal that Paul had again rustled up for us. The food at Ol Pejeta reminded me rather too much of school dinners, but it were perfectly adequate and plentiful.
We started each day with muesli, fruit, toast and an English breakfast, followed by a typical packed lunch consisting of two enormous ham and cheese rolls, a bag of Krackles Tingly Cheese & Onion Potato Crisps, a packet of dry biscuits and – if we were lucky – a bar of milk chocolate.
We had ‘chai’ around 1600, and dinner consisted of soup, meat and two veg and fresh fruit for dessert. The fruit was deliciously exotic, including oranges, papaya, mango, pineapple and tree tomato. To top it all off, all our meals were served on a nice red check picnic cloth – very Glyndebourne…
Missing out on the rafting trip turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I went out for an early game drive with Ndiritu that ended up lasting seven hours with only a short break for breakfast, which we had back at camp after parking the truck and hopping over the 60,000-volt electric fence!
We arrived at the gates of the conservancy just as they opened at 0600, which was early enough to see the most magnificent sunrise over Mount Kenya.
After that, we saw a constant stream of animals in glorious sunshine and two fights: one between a pair of Thomson’s gazelle and another between a warthog and a rhinoceros!
You can guess who won that one.
The highlight of the morning, though, came when Ndiritu spotted a cheetah ‘timing’ – or stalking – an impala. “Oh, my God!” That’s the only thing you could say…
Cheetah ‘timing’ an impala
The journey home was a mirror image of the one to Nairobi – even down to the Rail Replacement Bus service! All I can say is that I don’t know of a better way of losing nine pounds, giving yourself Bradley Wiggins’s thighs and coming home with thousands of images that will last a lifetime.
Asante sana, Kenya…
Here is a list of all the major species of animals (35) and birds (52) that we saw.
A bloke wearing a suit goes up to the bar in a City pub and orders a drink.
Harry: Pint of Pride, please.
The landlord pours a pint of London Pride and hands it over.
Landlord: Three ten, please, mate.
Harry hands over a fiver and notices a rather stunning blonde standing next to him at the bar, also wearing a suit. He looks over to find she’s with another girl, but he makes his mind up and decides to try and chat her up.
Harry: Can I buy you a drink?
She looks over, sizes him up wordlessly and then looks away again with a slight smile. As she carries on talking to her mate, he turns back to the bar and waits for his change. When he gets it, he starts to turn away but then looks back. She’s still waiting to be served, so he decides to go for glory one more time.
Harry: Do you come here often?
This time, she doesn’t turn round, but you can see her smiling. Bemused, Harry turns away to find his mates. At that point, he bumps into Sparky, his flatmate, who’s also here to watch the Chelsea game
Sparky: Harry. How do, mate?
Harry: Fine thanks, Sparky. You here to watch the game?
Sparky: Wouldn’t miss it. I reckon we’ve got a chance of putting seven past this lot.
Harry: I’d like to see that. What are you having?
Sparky: Very kind of you. Make mine a Magner’s.
Harry: What? Since when have you been drinking that apple shite.
Sparky: Just kidding. [He slaps Harry on the shoulder.] Give me a John Smith’s. What do you reckon to that Frank Lampard, then?
Harry: They say he gets eighty grand a week.
Sparky: Worth every penny.
Harry: How can you say that? He was going to leave and he blackmailed us. They had to up his wages by thirty grand just to keep him!
The conversation goes on for a bit as the coverage starts and Sparky nips to the loo. Then, the girl (who happens to be one of the Sky Sports presenters such as Helen Chamberlain!) comes over and smiles at Harry.
Maddy: I think I will have that drink, after all.
On a TV in the bar, there’s an advert on. He looks up, bewildered, to hear the tag line is “Get the power of sport into your life”.
Harry: “Too right, mate!”
Sparky comes back and notices Maddy’s friend just leaving the bar.
Sparky: Hello, love. What’s your name?
Lucy: Lucy.
Sparky: Juicy Lucy, eh?
Lucy: [Curtly] No, just Lucy.
Sparky: Where are we going?
Lucy: Oh, let’s not spoil it.
Sparky shrugs as Lucy walks away.
It’s late, and we see Harry with a beer in his hand sitting in front of the TV, watching some late-night football show on Sky Sports…
Roy Keane and Patrick Vieira are doing an ad on a set that looks like someone’s living room, playing each other at the FIFA World Cup video game. It’s getting to the end and it’s so tense the veins are beginning to pop out on Keane’s forehead (!!). Then, Vieira scores to win the game. He cheers and Roy Keane throws the console on the floor and stalks off…
Keane: Shit!
The tag line can be whatever you like! Cut to Harry, laughing and going to the fridge to get another beer. When he comes back, the show has started again.
Jeff Stelling (or another Sky presenter) is presenting a discussion programme of some sort about mistakes made by referees, accompanied by two guests in the studio.
Stelling: Welcome back. We have Peter Shilton and Sol Campbell here with us tonight to talk about one thing and one thing only: referees. Now, you might be thinking, “What have these two got in common?” And, of course, the answer is, “They wuz robbed!”
Cut to footage of the England v Argentina game when ‘the hand of God’ helps put the ball past Peter Shilton to knock England out of the World Cup followed by a clip of Campbell scoring what would have been the winning goal for England against Portugal.
Stelling: So, gentlemen. Is it fair to say you have a bit of a grudge against referees since those days? Peter?
Peter: Well, that was obviously the low point of my career, and all the lads were furious for a while, [cut to clips of the England players surrounding the referee] but you just have to get on with the game, don’t you?
Stelling: That’s very understanding of you, but didn’t you wish that the referee had had a TV replay or something?
Peter: No, you can’t do that, can you? It would just ruin football, spoil the flow. It’s against the spirit of the game. If you had to stop play every time the referee made a decision, you’d never finish, would you?
Stelling: Sol? How did you feel after you scored what looked like a good goal, only for the referee to decide that it didn’t count, as a result of which England were eventually knocked out of the World Cup?
Sol: Well, I was pretty angry. We all were. We blamed the ref and, sure, we would have liked someone to stop the game and tell him to change his mind, but you can’t think like that. You’ve got the final few minutes and then extra time, so you have to play on.
Stelling: So, TV replays? What do you think? Should we be for or against?
Sol: Oh, definitely for. I hear what Peter says about the flow of the game, but there’s too much at stake. I remember one year Liverpool got pipped to the final Champions League spot by Leeds on the last day of the season because United won 1-0 away to Derby thanks to a dodgy late penalty. Leeds went on to the semi-finals the next year, but Liverpool lost out on twelve million quid.
Stelling: So what’s the answer? Do you use TV for everything, or just for penalties or…how would it work…?
We hear the door slam, and Sparky arrives. He hangs up his coat and drops down on to the sofa beside Harry.
Sparky: Eh, up. Hazza.
Harry: Hey, there. Have a good night?
Sparky: Not bad. Not bad. The usual. I say, I saw the most gorgeous blonde bird in the pub. I thought, “Why not?” I’ll have a go. And then I saw who she was talking to…You! What happened there, then, mate?
Harry: Well, we had a good chat. That’s all. End of story.
Sparky: Oh, come off it. You were all over her all night. I had to go and sit on my own. Are you going to see her again?
Harry: I might. I might.
Sparky: There you go. Enough said. I tried chatting up her friend, Juicy Lucy, but she blew me out.
Harry: No surprise there, then!
Sparky: Very funny. (Pause) What’s on telly, then?
Harry: Oh, the usual. They’re talking about whether to use TV replays to help referees. It’s all a bunch of bullshit.
Sparky: [With an affected tone of concern] Now, I think you should tell us how you really feel. Don’t hold it all inside like a typical male. You have to share your feelings…
Harry: Shut up! I just don’t like the idea of it. That’s all.
Sparky: You don’t like change. That’s your problem. How you ever got used to not wearing diapers, I’ll never know.
Harry: Yeah, and I don’t think I’ll ever laugh at your jokes, either.
Sparky: Give it time. Give it time. But you have to see the other side, too. Look at this.
On screen is a ‘Sky StatBox’ league table of the worst ten referees over the season to date, showing the percentage of decisions they have got wrong and how many points have been ‘gained’ or ‘lost’ because of corners, penalties, one-on-ones and goals that should or should not have been given. The background commentary is muted…
Sparky: See? You can tell with that who’s the worst referee, and his name’s Graham Poll [for example]! You can run but you can’t hide, Graham! Maybe they should stop trying to protect the ref like an endangered species and tell the truth. They do their best, but they’re no match for TV. All this business of players getting booked if they swear at them – that’s bollocks. They’re only swearing at them because they make such crap decisions! I reckon that, unless there’s more than one goal in it, most games are decided by refereeing mistakes. Look.
The table switches to last year’s Premier League table, adjusted for referees’ mistakes.
Sparks: You see that. If TV replays had been making the decisions rather than referees, Liverpool would have finished fourth in the table, and we’d have been spared all that hoo-hah about whether to let them into the Champions League or not.
Harry: Yeah, but how would it work?
Sol: Well, I think you’d have to bring it in gradually, like they’ve done in cricket and rugby. First, you’d use it for whether the ball crossed the line or not and then you’d bring it in for stuff like penalties – either wrongly given or not given. You might have to wait for the next break in play, but those things can be sorted out later.
Harry: But that would mean that, eventually, you’d use it for everything, and there’d be no point even having a referee.
Sparky: Well, hang on a sec. I’m not saying that. You have to strike a balance, don’t you. I like the way they do it in American football. Someone was telling me once that they have TV replays, but they’re only supposed to last 90 seconds and each coach only has three chances. If he blows them on decisions the ref got right, he loses all his time-outs or something. That would do me. If it’s wrong, it gets fixed; if it was right all along, the longest you’re going to waste is nine minutes – and I’ve seen games with that much injury time over 90 minutes.
Harry: I’m not convinced. You’re always going to waste time, and it’s never going to be perfect. I’d just sack Graham Poll and have done with it…
Harry and Maddy go out on a date. We see them in a restaurant, enjoying a candle-lit dinner.
Maddy: So, what do you do?
Harry: Oh, I’m a trader with Warburg’s. They’re based just across the road from the anchor. What about you?
Maddy: Well, it sounds very exciting, but it’s not really.
Harry: Why? What do you do?
Maddy: I work in modelling [with a sly glint in her eye].
Harry: I should have guessed…
Maddy: No, silly [with a giggle]. Not that kind of modelling. I build models to predict the stockmarket.
Harry: Oh, I see. Do you have much luck?
Maddy: It’s not about luck! You can’t bet millions on the roll of the dice. It has to be there in the numbers. That’s the whole point.
Harry: Yeah, but I thought it was supposed to be a random walk, or whatever you call it.
Maddy: Well, it is. Or it’s supposed to be, but you can spot the patterns if you’re clever enough.
Harry: Like you?
Maddy: Well, I don’t do so badly. I just love finding the patterns. You only need to find a couple of little things, and pretty soon you have half a per cent or more.
Harry: [Mockingly] What? A whole half a per cent?!
Maddy: Well, it doesn’t sound much, but that’s all it takes. Even a small percentage of a very big number is still a big number!
Harry: Maybe, maybe. I prefer football, myself.
Maddy: What’s wrong with wanting to know what’s going to happen? You can make a lot of money that way. What if I started forecasting football matches for a living? You’d soon change your tune then, wouldn’t you?
Harry: Football?! No, that would never work. You’d never beat the bookies. You don’t know enough about it. And where would you get the data from? You’d need all the scores, all the shots, the shots on target…You could never do it.
Maddy: Wanna bet?
Harry: [Pause] All right. You’re on. If you can make me a grand next weekend, I’ll take you to the next Chelsea game!
Maddy: Oh, thanks very much.
Harry: Well, that’s the bet. And if you can’t do it, you’ll have to buy me dinner…
Maddy: You’re on! [She sticks her hand out, and they shake.]
Harry: …And maybe breakfast…!
Maddy: [Rolling her eyes.] In your dreams. [She catches the waiter’s eye.] Can we get the bill, please? I think I’d better go.
Cut to outside the restaurant. The camera pans out. She kisses him on the cheek, and we see her walking off. Harry stands looking after her for a moment, then shakes his head and walks in the opposite direction.
Harry gets back to the flat and assumes the position. Sparky hears him come in and comes out of his room, wearing not very much, and joins him on the sofa.
Sparky: Well, you’ve either had a quickie on the tube and you’ve come home exhausted for a quick kip, or it didn’t go that well. My money’s on the quickie.
Harry: You’d lose your shirt, mate. It was all going so well, and then I mentioned breakfast and she was gone faster than you could say Ken Bates.
Sparky: Ah, you tried the old breakfast line on a first date. That’s like moving in with a twelve-year-old. It might be a good idea at some stage, but it’s too early to tell.
Harry: I know, I know. Still, there’s always football. [He switches the television on and flicks to Sky Sports, where Simon Hughes is talking about football from his usual booth in the studio.]
Hughes: Now, I like football as well as cricket, and one of the things I’ve noticed about other football fans is that they’re always so sure of everything. If a player gets sent off, they think they’re going to lose the game. If it’s a penalty, it’s just because it’s at Old Trafford. If Liverpool win a penalty shoot-out, it’s because they’re taking them at the Kop end. As a matter of fact, these are all urban myths, and busting myths needs to be done every now and again. Once you look at the stats, you find that getting a player sent off doesn’t mean you’re going to lose the game; if you’re already losing the game, you’re just more likely to get sent off. So, it’s the other way round. Equally, a lot of people think Manchester United get given more than their fair share of penalties at Old Trafford because the referee feels under pressure from the roar of 67,000 home fans, but, in fact, they get just about what you might expect. On the other hand, away teams there get fewer penalties, so it’s almost true – but not quite. Even stranger, you’d think that taking penalties – the most stressful part of the game – in front of your own fans would give you a massive boost, but the numbers tell a different story. In the vast majority of cases, it’s the other team that wins the shoot-out – not the home team or the favourites or the team shooting towards their own fans, but the team shooting towards the away fans. Some people just can’t take the pressure, I guess…
Sparky: You know, I always enjoy this show, because you learn something new every day.
Harry: Well, he might have a point, but you can’t tell me Simon Hughes knows more about football than the Sky Sports pundits. They’re all ex-professionals, for God’s sake.
Sparky: Well, you don’t have to be a good player to be a good coach. Look at José Mourinho, Alex Ferguson, Arsene Wenger, Rafa Benitez…the list goes on.
Harry: All right, all right. I’m off to bed.
Sparky: Night, then.
Harry: Goodnight.
“Later the next week…” is shown on screen.
Things have not gone well, but she gives him a call. He’s at home watching Sky Sports (as usual), when the phone rings.
Harry: Hello?
Maddy: Hi, this is Maddy.
Harry: Oh, hi there. I wasn’t expecting you to call.
Maddy: Well, we had a bet, remember?
Harry: Oh, yes. You were going to prove that you could beat Andy Gray, Alan Hansen and William Hill all rolled into one and make me take you to a Chelsea game. Well, have you done it yet?
Maddy: Well, funnily enough, I have. I happened to bump into a guy that works for this company that produces all kinds of stats about football, and he told me he’d help me in any way he could.
Harry: I bet he did.
Maddy: Now, now. I was just calling to tell you what we reckon is going to happen this weekend.
Harry: Oh, it’s ‘we’ now, is it?
Maddy: What? Is little Harry jealous?
Harry: Get on with it.
Maddy: Well, have you got the paper there?
Harry: Yes, it’s here somewhere. [He looks on the coffee table and finds the sports section.]
Maddy: OK. Just go to the fixture list, and I’ll give you the tips. [Harry leafs through the paper]
Harry: All right. I’ve found it.
Maddy: Right. Starting with Bolton Wanderers against Aston Villa, we reckon it’s going to be away win, home win, draw, home win, away win, draw, draw and away win, and then, on Sunday, Chelsea and Arsenal win their home games.
Harry: Hang on a sec. [He writes them down and looks through the list.] You reckon Man United are going to lose to Everton.
Maddy: Why? What’s wrong with that?
Harry: You’re crazy. You’re going to owe me a very expensive meal out.
Maddy: We’ll see. We’ll see. I’m going to put my money on Aston Villa and Everton, because that’s where we reckon the bookies have got their odds wrong the most. They’ll give you 10-1 on Everton, but we reckon they’ve got a 40% chance of winning, which means they’re favourites.
Harry: [Slowly.] Everton – are – not – favourites.
Maddy: Well, that’s what I’m betting on, but you can do what you like. [She puts the phone down.]
Sparky comes in, hangs up his coat and drops on to the couch next to Harry.
Harry: How’s it going, Sparky?
Sparky: Mustn’t grumble. I had to work a bit late tonight. The boss was having a panic attack. As usual. What’s going on back at the ranch?
Harry: Oh, I just had a call from that bird I went out with. She’s decided she’s Mystic Mottie, and she’s starting forecasting football results. She reckons Everton are going to beat Man United!
Sparky: Well, she’s obviously cracked in the head, but nothing that a good rogering wouldn’t take care of. Stranger things have happened.
Harry: Oh, you can’t just throw a bunch of numbers together in a machine and expect to see the future. I’ve been a Chelsea fan since I was five years old. She didn’t even know who Frank Lampard was!
Sparky: Well, as I say, stranger things have happened. Everton are at Goodison, aren’t they? What are the odds?
Harry: What do you mean? You’re not going to have a bet, are you?
Sparky: Why not? She’s got modelling experience, hasn’t she? [He raises his eyebrows and gives Harry a leer.]
Harry: Yeah, but that’s the stockmarket. It’s different.
Sparky: Come on. What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll chip in fifty if you will.
Harry: What? Right now.
Sparky: Of course. We’ve got a SkyBet account. Just press the red button on the remote.
Harry: I’m not betting on Everton.
Sparky: Get on with it.
Harry picks up the remote and goes to the SkyBet screen.
Sparky: Now, you just click on ‘Premier League’ and it’ll give you all the odds. [Harry gets there in the end.] Cool. Everton 9-1. Time for mucho spondoolicks.
Harry: I’m not betting on Everton. I’m just not.
Sparky: Give it here. [He snatches the remote and plays about with it, entering the bet, the £50 stake and the other details.
Sparky: Right. I’m all set. Your go…Go on.
Harry: Oh, all right. But this is bullshit. [He starts entering his details.]
Sparky: [In a parrot voice] That’s the way to do it.
The camera zooms in on the TV again…
This is rather like those two Muppets who sit in the box at the side of the theatre – Statler and Waldorf – except that one of them is the real-life Andy Gray. He takes a topic or a player every week (eg “How good is Steven Gerrard?”) and gets into arguments about the game with the Statto-type nerdy puppet with glasses, who tries to prove his point with a bunch of stats.
Gray: Hello, there, and welcome to this week’s bit of nonsense, where I get to play a puppet in disguise and the real puppet here gets to shoot all my ideas down in flames. God knows why I do this, but I couldn’t do it without Waldorf here [Waldorf nods] who knows nothing about football but everything about statistics – so we’ve given him a pair of glasses. [He hands the puppet a pair of NHS specs and helps him put them on.]
Waldorf: Thank you, Andy.
Andy: And what do you have for us this week, Waldorf.
Waldorf: Well, I just wondered why we never saw a list of the best players. You have them all the time in cricket, where you get the best batting and bowling averages of all time, the best for England against Australia, the best for England vs Australia at Edgbaston, and the best for England vs Australia at Edgbaston during June with a left-handed groundsman who supports Manchester United! What you don’t get is the top ten footballers in England, so I thought I’d do it myself with the aid of a little magic from Merlin, my little laptop model. It’s a little tricky to use the keyboard with these [he holds up his paws], but I get by. And here they are. [The camera pans to the cinema screen, where a table is shown with the best players in England, ranked by their overall percentage goal ratio and showing their defensive and attacking goal ratios as well. Andy looks at it for a minute.] [The following table is just an example showing selected players. The real one would have 2004-5 numbers showing the percentage goal ratio – attack, defence and overall – plus points per game and value to their teams for the top ten Premier League players]
| Name | Club(Position) |
Points Per Game |
Value (£mm/year) |
| Frank Lampard | Chelsea (Midfielder) |
0.41 |
5.8 |
| Roy Carroll | Man Utd (Goalkeeper) |
0.41 |
5.7 |
| Rio Ferdinand | Man Utd (Defender) |
0.25 |
2.8 |
| Sylvain Distin | Man City (Defender) |
0.25 |
2.8 |
| Yakubu | Pompey (Forward) |
0.05 |
1.1 |
Andy: So, why do we have Roy Carroll in there, then? There’s no way he’s as good as Frank Lampard.
Waldorf: I’m glad you said that, Andy, because he actually had a very good season last season. Now, there are a few possible explanations for this. The first is obviously that the model is wrong, and that’s possible. It’s very difficult to capture everything that happens on the football field and we don’t claim that our model is perfect, but it’s the best we’ve got. It’s also true that when people see numbers, their standards go up. While they’ll happily listen to a commentator saying, ‘He’s one of the best players around’, they’re a lot more picky when everybody gets a precise score and a ranking. There’s a lot more to argue about! The other question to ask is, ‘What do you mean when you talk about ‘the best players in the Premier League’?’ For most people watching football, reputations get built up over the course of five or ten years and not just a single season, so most would happily say Ryan Giggs is a better player than Stewart Downing, even if he happens to be having a very bad season. It’s also true that performing on the big occasion leaves a bigger impression on people than scoring in Chelsea’s 6-1 drubbing of Coventry…
Harry: We were at that game! Do you remember?
Sparky: I do indeed. I’m very touched. We had a bit of a moment there, didn’t we? [Harry shakes his head.]
Waldorf: …while our model watches what every player does in every game. We’re just trying to tell people who played well and who played badly (after adjusting for the quality of the opposition), not trying to predict who would do well at international level or pick the England team.
Gray: But what good is this model if it doesn’t try to predict the future? You measure a good manager by his ability to spot promising talent, but that’s not what this does. How can it help a manager looking for a new signing?
Waldorf: Well, it may not predict the future, but it does tell managers what players are really worth. Have a look at an England XI. [This is an old example. The real one would have Cole in for Dyer and Robinson as well, updated for 2004-5.]
| Value (£mm) | Chelsea | Arsenal | Manchester United | Liverpool | Recommended Transfer? |
| Ashley Cole | -30.8 | -24.4 | -14.1 | -27.2 |
Too expensive |
| Sol Campbell | 19.5 | 24.6 | 25.3 | 7.7 |
Move to Man Utd |
| Rio Ferdinand | 9.4 | 14.9 | 17.2 | 0.5 |
Stay at Man Utd |
| Gary Neville | -67.3 | -59.1 | -43.9 | -50.9 |
Too expensive |
| Frank Lampard | 30.6 | -5.3 | 35.7 | 22.9 |
Move to Man Utd |
| Steven Gerrard | -42.2 | -64.1 | -23.8 | -28.9 |
Too expensive |
| Kieron Dyer | 1.7 | -31.9 | 13.1 | 1.8 |
Move to Man Utd |
| Phillip Neville | -4.8 | -37.0 | 8.5 | -2.4 |
Stay at Man Utd |
| Michael Owen | 16.3 | 10.5 | 0.4 | 46.2 |
Stay at Liverpool |
| Wayne Rooney | -73.7 | -77.0 | -66.7 | -25.9 |
Too expensive |
Gray: Well, it looks like most players are either at the wrong clubs or are not worth having in the first place, because they’re too expensive.
Harry: [Shaking his head] That’s bollocks.
Waldorf: That’s exactly right. Now, I know this is controversial, but, again, you have to understand what we’re trying to do here. We’re not saying these are all bad players and they won’t improve, but we’re saying that they’re far too well paid and highly valued for what they do, even Gary Neville and Wayne Rooney. What that shows is that it’s not just Chelsea that are trying to ‘buy’ success. If you want to win the title these days, you have to be prepared to sacrifice the shareholders. Owners and fans will always be in conflict in sport. Clearly, though, that doesn’t mean there aren’t one or two bargains out there. On this list, his name is Frank Lampard, and it’s amazing that Chelsea almost lost him last year. He suddenly realised that at fifty grand a week, he was getting a lot less than the other stars, so he threatened to move on if he wasn’t given a living wage. Chelsea had to decide whether he was worth it. They reckoned he was and persuaded him to stay by paying him an extra £30,000 a week. Now, that’s a lot of money in anyone’s money clip – apart from Roman Abramovich’s, of course! – but let’s just see what Merlin would have done.
[We see the first line of the table. As Waldorf talks us through the table, the subsequent lines are revealed. This needs updating for the 2004-5 season]
| 2003-04 | |
| Lampard vs Average Premier League Midfielder* | +15.3% |
| Extra Points Per Season due to Lampard | 4.9 |
| Chelsea Wage Bill with Lampard | £77.4m |
| Expected Wage Bill to get Extra Points | £90.8m |
| Gross Value Added by Lampard Each Season (A) | £13.4m |
| Lampard’s Latest Transfer Fee | £11.0m |
| Comparable Fee – from Manchester United signings | £7.5m |
| Lampard’s Transfer Premium (B) | £3.5m |
| Length of Average and Lampard’s Own Contract (C) | 5 years |
| Net Value Added After Transfer Adjustment (A-(B/C)) | £12.7m |
| Weekly Wage Equivalent | £295,000 |
He’s 15% better than average…which means he gets Chelsea an extra five points a season…The current wage bill is £77m…but you’d expect it to be more like £90m…which means Lampard is worth £13m a year. Now, the other side of the coin is the transfer fee. If you look at his latest transfer fee…and the comparable average fees paid by the top clubs…you’ll find Chelsea paid £3.5m extra for him…spread over five years…which means that the deal was worth around £13m to the club…and that means a whacking £295,000 a week.
Gray: Well, it looks like Chelsea made the right decision, then, doesn’t it?
Sparky: As I said the other night, sometimes thirty grand is a small price to pay…
Harry and Sparky are down at the pub, both drinking pints and screaming at the big screen, where Manchester United are playing Everton. Everton are 1-0 up in injury time.
Sparky: Come on! You can do it. That Cahill is a genius. Come on!
Harry: This’ll keep us top of the table if Man U lose.
Sparky: [Jubilantly] And make us a grand richer!
Harry: I can’t believe it. How did she do it? She doesn’t know anything about football.
Sparky: [Teasing] Yeah, but I bet that Opta bloke was giving it to her. All those late nights at the office. All those lovely figures. It must have been so tiring for her. The poor girl.
Harry: Oh, fuck off!
Sparky: Yeah, right. Take it out on me. Just because she’s a gorgeous blonde with the brain the size of a planet who happened to turn you down for some spoddy stat-meister. But is she happy [he says, nodding mock-sympathetically]. Listen, [suddenly serious] I want you to make me a solemn promise.
Harry: What’s that?
Sparky: I want you to promise me that if Everton win, you’ll go out and screw this girl to the wall.
Harry: That’s all I’ve wanted to do since I met her.
Sparky: So, do you promise?
Harry: Yes, if Man United don’t score from this corner. [We see the ball come across and Van Nistelrooy hits the bar with a header.] Oh, Jesus! That was lucky. If they don’t score, I’ll take the pledge.
Sparky: I’ll drink to that. [He clinks glasses with Harry.]
Harry: Look! They’ve had their three minutes. Why doesn’t he blow the whistle?
Sparky: Almost there. Almost there. [We hear the referee blow for full-time.]
Both: Yes!! [They hug each other and spill their pints.]
Harry’s mobile goes off. He answers it.
Harry: Hello.
Maddy: So, when are you taking me to Stamford Bridge, then?
Harry: Ah, Maddy. You’re a treasure. How did you do it?
Maddy: Oh, just a little Monte Carlo simulation I threw together this morning.
Harry: Well, what are you doing Wednesday night? It’s the Champions League game against Bayer Leverkusen if you’re up for it.
Maddy: Sure. That sounds good.
Cut to Harry back at home watching TV with Sparky.
It’s a Call My Bluff-style variation on myth-buster with Urs Meier, Pierluigi Collina and Clive Thomas, giving three explanations, only one of which is true. Questions are designed to show people’s ignorance of various laws and recent rule changes. The question master is John McEnroe!
Meier: …I think everyone knows when a player is offside. It’s quite simple.
Harry: You’re the simple one, you bastard.
Meier: You don’t get players and fans complaining at the referee because he has misunderstood the laws of the game.
Harry: Oh, yeah? Tell that to all the England fans out there.
Meier: They shout and swear because they think the assistant referee has made a mistake. But it’s very difficult sometimes, with forwards running towards goal and defenders running the other way to play offside. The only recent rule change is that there has to be clear space between the attacker and defender.
Harry: Or between your ears!
McEnroe: You cannot be serious. Pierluigi? Surely you can do better than that?
Collina: A player is offside if he is in the opposition half and there is only the goalkeeper between him and the goal when the ball is played. The only exceptions are if the defender plays the ball or if the attacker is not interfering with play. Now that is the grey area, and that is why people do not like it when Ruud van Nistelrooy takes advantage of this. When someone plays a long ball to another attacker, he waits on the other side of the pitch and runs up in support. Now, he is not interfering with play and therefore not offside when the ball is played, but he has maybe a 10-yard head start on all the defenders. If Giggs, say, crosses the ball and van Nistelrooy scores, then the fans will be unhappy.
McEnroe: You cannot be serious either, Pierluigi! Clive? You’re our last chance.
Thomas: I think it is the other way round. Rather than assuming players are onside, the way to look at it is that everyone is offside when the ball is played unless he is either in his own half or he is not interfering with play or the ball is played by an opponent or there are two or more opponents who are level with him or nearer their own goal. Simple…
Sparky: I think he’s right. There’s no mystery to the laws. It’s just that people like Graham Poll keep getting it wrong.
Harry: Yeah, but what about the daylight there’s supposed to be between attacker and defender?
Sparky: Well, it may be in the rules these days, but they never play to it. How many times have you seen an attacker given onside just because a thread of his shirt was ‘overlapping’ with the defender’s? It just doesn’t happen. That’s one of the problems in the game. There’s one set of rules in the rulebook and another set that refs play to. Then, if they get it wrong and happen to follow the book, they can always say, [in a whiny, mocking voice] ‘Well, it doesn’t say anywhere in the laws how much contact there has to be, just that there has to be contact’. There’s contact every single time players compete for the ball!
Harry: Yeah, why didn’t Urs Meier think of that when he disallowed the England goal. Those continental referees seem to play to a whole different set of rules altogether. You raise your foot more than six inches and it’s ‘dangerous play’, and any time you dare to challenge the goalkeeper’s right to catch a high ball, it’s always a free kick.
Sparky: Plus ca change…
Harry: …As they say in Switzerland!
Harry and Maddy are walking up the steps to the stands at Stamford Bridge. Both are wearing jeans. Harry has a Chelsea shirt and scarf on, and Maddy a silk blouse and sweater. As they emerge, a massive roar greets them.
Maddy: Wow! I never knew it could be like this.
Harry: That’s what they all say, baby.
Maddy: I meant the noise!
Harry: Come on, let’s get sat down. We’re over here somewhere.
He leads her up the steps, and they sit down.
Harry: So, do you actually know anything about football?
Maddy: A bit more than most girls, I suppose.
Harry: But not much.
Maddy: Well, I’ve just never watched it. I’ve never even had a boyfriend who was a mad keen footie fan, so I didn’t have a reason to watch.
Harry: Get the power of sport into your life, love. I’ve been a Chelsea fan nearly 25 years, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Maddy: So who do you think’s going to win tonight?
Harry: Oh, it has to be Chelsea, hasn’t it? With the form they’re in, they’ll give these Krauts a good hosing.
Maddy: I bet you always say that, though.
Harry: Most of the time, but you can’t go against your own team, can you?
Maddy: Well, what’s the score going to be then?
Harry: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe 1-0.
Maddy: I reckon it’s going to be 4-1 to Chelsea.
Harry: That’s a bit optimistic, even for me! Why do you think that, then? You haven’t got your laptop in that handbag, have you?
Maddy: No, although I did bring a few notes [she says, rooting out a sheaf of papers from her handbag]. This is just all the stuff the model predicts. It’s not just the result that matters, you know. If you want to bet properly, you have to be able to say what the score is going to be.
Harry: Who came up with that, then? You or the spotty nerd from Opta?
Maddy: Now, then. I did all the modelling. He just gave me the data and explained how things worked.
Harry: So what’s it based on? Do you get all that just from previous scores or what?
Maddy: Well, the Opta guys record almost everything that happens on a football pitch, so I thought I’d tip everything into the mix and see what came out.
Harry: What are the most important ones?
Maddy: [Consulting her notes] For knowing how many goals you’re going to score, it’s shots on target, total shots and total attempts including blocked shots. If you have 10% more shots on target, you’ll get 9.8% more goals, so that’s really what you should be doing.
Harry: I could have told you that.
Maddy: The point is, most people could tell you it’s important, but what they wouldn’t know is exactly how important it is and which things are more or less important. If you’re defending, reducing those three things are three of the four most important things you can do, but the most important of all is clearances, blocks and interceptions – which I’ve lumped together. If you have 10% more of those, you’ll concede 4.3% fewer goals, so it’s not quite as clear-cut.
Harry: [As the noise of the crowd rises and we see the players about to kick off] Well, I suppose that’s fair enough. We’ll just have to wait and see. It’s almost kick-off.
The referee blows and Bayer Leverkusen kick off. The midfielder plays a through ball too far for his striker, but John Terry steps on the ball and presents a gift to the Leverkusen striker, who chips in beautifully. The crowd goes silent.
Maddy: [Jumping up] Oh, my God! That was amazing!
Harry: [Pulling her down] Get down! Whose side are you on? If I’d done that, I’d have gone home in bits. You can’t sit in the Chelsea end and get all excited when the other team score, you know.
Maddy: [Contritely] Sorry, Harry. I’m not used to it. I was just so excited. It was a well taken goal, though, wasn’t it? You’ve got to give me that one.
Harry: Well, that may be, but I don’t think that was quite what most people were thinking when that went in. This is bad news.
Maddy: Well, it may not be 2-0, but I’m still happy. [She squeezes his arm.]
Harry: [Mollified] I suppose we’re going to score four times now, are we?
Maddy: You never know…
Cut to a few minutes later, when Chelsea score after a free-flowing move. Harry and Maddy both jump up and cheer.
Cut to the same thing happening again, with a similar reaction.
Cut to the same thing happening again, when they give each other a hug this time.
When the fourth one goes in during injury time, they hug and exchange a long, passionate kiss.
Harry: I can’t believe it!
Maddy: What, us or the score?
Harry: Both, I suppose. [The referee’s whistle blows.] Now I wish I’d put a bet on.
Maddy: Well, I figured you wouldn’t, so I put a tenner on for each of us at 10-1. That sounded like good odds to me.
Harry: Oh, you’re gorgeous! [He cups her face in his hands and kisses her firmly.] Come on, let’s try and beat the rush!
They leave and run hand in hand down to Harry’s BMW, parked in the car park. They drive home almost in silence, but looking at each other every now and then with a secret smile.
Cut to Harry’s place, where he unlocks the door and bounds in, dragging Maddy with him as they kiss passionately and impatiently. Sparky is on the sofa watching the post-match interviews.
Sparky: Oh, hi, there, Har…
Before he has time to finish, Harry and Maddy have run upstairs, shedding clothing, handbags and shoes. They eventually make it to bed…
Afterwards, Harry leans back against the headboard and reaches for the remote for the TV in his room.
Harry: Fancy watching the highlights?
Now that I cycle around rather than using public transport, I have fewer opportunities to read. To take advantage of the time I spend travelling, I’ve started listening to audio books on my iPhone. That gave me the idea of dictating a few selected extracts of my own favourite prose and poetry and uploading them to this blog. I hope you appreciate my choices (and my delivery!). Enjoy…
Pride & Prejudice, by Jane Austen.
This is as good as any introduction to a novel and as good as any introduction to irony. The joy of irony is that the words mean something between what they literally say and the exact opposite. Their precise meaning is entirely up to the reader, which is perhaps why irony is so popular. “Mr Bennet made no answer” is possibly the funniest line in the whole of English literature.
Chapter I.
Fern Hill, by Dylan Thomas.
Thomas has always been my favourite poet (although my English teacher at school once thought I meant Edward Thomas – ugh!), and this has always been my favourite poem. Just be glad I don’t read it with a Welsh accent!
Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh.
When a group of second years played the Brideshead theme out of the first-floor window in Peck Quad for our Christ Church matriculation photo, it was one of the most exhilarating moments of my life – even though they got fined for it!
PS I had a room ‘high in Meadow Buildings’, too (4:16)…
Part 1, Chapter 1.
Under Milk Wood, by Dylan Thomas.
Thomas again, this time the radio play that our family used to listen to on long car journeys on cassette, courtesy of Richard Burton. I tried and failed to direct the play at Oxford when I realised the difficulties with such a large cast, but it’s still a favourite. You won’t find a more atmospheric opening or more frequent use of the transposed epithet!
First Voice.
These clean white crosses
Are children of a new land,
Begotten by death.
Ribbon or poppy,
For Flanders mud, once breathing,
Too late pities death.
Nick Dale
Two college chums from Cambridge are driving along a country road in a battered Mini in the middle of December. Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Foxy Lady’ is playing noisily on the car stereo. They are both wearing overcoats as the heating is not working. One is a tall, gangly type with frizzy, dark hair and studious glasses. He is wearing a college scarf and sits hunched in the passenger seat with a map spread out over his knees and most of the dashboard. He is fighting with the map and almost shouting to make himself heard…
Jim: I tell you, I was going to marry her, Freddie: Just my luck she had to go and get herself murdered.
The driver is a good looking, slightly serious young man who is trying to remain patient.
Freddie: But you’ve only met her once. And besides, who said anything about murder? I thought she was just missing.
Jim: Slow down. That must have been the turning.
The car screeches to a halt and backs up, then makes a turn into the drive of a country house. The two drive along for a while through a corridor of trees…
Freddie: Anyway, I thought marrying your cousin was frowned on these days.
Jim: Bollocks to that. What’s good enough for the Habsburgs is good enough for me.
An enormous mansion comes into view.
Christ, I didn’t realise the old girl was this loaded.
Freddie parks the car in the gravel drive, and an elderly butler, Jenkins, dressed in sober black with a wing collar, greets them.
Jenkins: Good afternoon, sir. You must be Master James.
Jim: Jim will do fine, thanks.
Jenkins: Very well, Master James.
Jim (ignoring the slip):
This is Freddie, by the way.
Freddie: How do you do?
Jenkins (bowing to Freddie):
If you will step this way, gentlemen. Mrs Bellingham is expecting you.
As they are walking through, Jim whispers to Freddie…
Jim: I can’t believe she has a butler called Jenkins!
Freddie: Shh!
He leads them to the drawing room, where an elderly woman wearing jodhpurs and riding boots is standing by the window drinking sherry. Mrs Bellingham looks the fearsome type, with a piercing eye and a voice that discourages argument.
Mrs Bell.: Ah, James. Welcome to Grove End. And who is this nice young man you’ve brought with you? Thank you, Jenkins
Jim: People call me Jim now, Grandma. This is Freddie, a chum from college. He’s come to help find Estelle.
Freddie: How do you do, Mrs Bellingham? I hope I can help.
Jenkins: Luncheon is served, madam.
Mrs Bell.: Of course. The two of you must be starving. Come this way…Freddie, you may take my arm. Jenkins will take care of the luggage. Jenkins?!
They go into the enormous dining room, with Jim padding unhappily along behind.
Cut to the dining room, where an elegant light lunch is on the table. Mrs Bellingham is sitting at the head of the enormous table, while Freddie and Jim are on opposite sides. Jim is picking at a sandwich, examining it to see whether it contains any meat or fish. He is vegetarian.
Over lunch, Mrs Bellingham explains the Estelle situation to Freddie.
Mrs Bell.: It seems she is having trouble with a rather persistent young admirer. She is not interested of course. Far too good for him. She thought he might turn violent so she decided to stay with some friends for a while. I called the Clarkes – such nice people – but it seems she never arrived. That was two days ago. I would have called the police, but she insisted I shouldn’t, silly girl.
Freddie: I’m terribly sorry.
Mrs Bell.: Well, worse things happen at sea, I suppose. We shall just have to find her ourselves.
Jim: But there’s only three of us. She could be anywhere
Mrs Bell. (triumphantly):
That’s why we have the horses.
Mrs Bellingham plants her napkin in front of her and leaves the table. Jim and Freddie follow suit. They go outside, where the butler appears with three beautiful horses and two pairs of Wellingtons, held at arm’s length.
Mrs Bell.: Do you ride, Freddie?
Freddie: I think I can manage. My father used to take me foxhunting when I was younger.
Mrs Bell.: Excellent. Then we’ll take the horses over the moor. It’s much quicker
Jim (muttering): I don’t agree with blood sports…
Mrs Bell. (overhearing):
James, you can follow us in the car.
Freddie exchanges his shoes for the Wellington boots offered him by Jenkins, who leads the spare horse back to the stables (still carrying the other pair of boots at arm’s length). Jim sulks but gets into the car and starts the engine. Mrs Bellingham immediately gallops off, with Freddie trying to keep up as best he can. They go through a gate, which leads into open countryside. Jim starts the car, and, with a grim look, drives after them.
Mrs Bellingham is galloping along at a stiff pace, the wind blowing her shawl behind her in flamboyant fashion.
Mrs Bell.: I do so love a good ride, don’t you?
Freddie: Yes, but…shouldn’t we wait for Jim?
Mrs Bell.: The fresh air, the smell of the heather – isn’t it heavenly! The doctor positively forbids me – far too dangerous, he says. What tosh!
Freddie (breathless):
I’m sure he… has your…best interests at heart.
At this point, they come to a five bar gate. Freddie slows but Mrs Bellingham digs her heels in and jumps it. On the other side, she reins in her horse and looks round…
Mrs Bell.: Come on, there’s nothing to it. I thought you were a keen foxhunter. Don’t tell me you’ve never jumped a gate before.
Freddie gives himself room, a little warily, and succeeds in clearing the gate, almost falling off in the process.
Mrs Bell.: There you are. What did I tell you. Nothing to it.
Jim is now visible from a distance, the Mini making heavy weather of the muddy field. He reaches the gate and stops. We see him through the windscreen, hands still on the wheel, looking despairingly at the gate. After a moment, he opens the door and gets out to open it. He slips in the mud and falls flat. With gritted teeth, he opens the gate and drives through, following the two riders who are by now merely specks in the distance.
Freddie: Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Jim? Where are we going?
Mrs Bell.: I mean to confront him, the scoundrel!
Freddie: What scoundrel? I mean, who are we going to confront.
Mrs Bell.: Why, Edward Larkham, of course. [In a disapproving tone] I believe his friends call him ‘Ed’.
They ride on. After a minute or two, Freddie notices that they are apparently being followed. A girl with long, blonde hair is riding a parallel course, some hundred yards away. She is clearly looking at him. He rides on, and still she keeps pace, staring at him all the time. He returns her gaze, fascinated.
Freddie: Who is that girl over there? Do you know her?
Mrs Bell. (without looking round):
It’s probably Anna, one of the girls from the village. I often see her riding out on the moor. Now, come along. We’re almost there.
They reach Edward Larkham’s house in a nearby village. As Freddie anxiously looks out for Jim in the distance, Mrs Bellingham strides up to the front door and knocks heavily, three times. No answer.
Freddie: He might not be in, I suppose.
Mrs Bell.: Nonsense.
She raps on the door again, even more imperiously this time, and after a few moments a young man opens the door. He is unshaven, unkempt and wearing only a towel.
Mrs Bell.: What have you done with my granddaughter?
Ed: I say…
Before he has time to answer, Mrs Bellingham has produced a rather large revolver and is prodding him with it.
Mrs Bell.: This is my husband’s service revolver. He served in India, you know. It can knock a hole through a man’s heart at fifty paces. Now, where is my granddaughter?
Ed is now backing away from the door, thoroughly terrified.
Ed: I swear she’s not here. You can search the house if you like.
Mrs Bellingham strides through the small cottage, opening every door. At last, she comes across one that is locked…
Mrs Bell.: Aha! So this is where you’re keeping her, is it? Freddie, break the door down!
Freddie: Er, is that really necessary? I mean…
Mrs Bell.: For goodness’ sake! My granddaughter’s life is at stake. If you don’t break this door down at once, I shall be forced to shoot the lock off.
Freddie, abashed, takes a few steps backwards and runs at the door. At the same time, the young female occupant, who is wearing only a towel, unlocks the door and opens it to find Freddie running full tilt at her. The two collide and end up in a clinch on the bed. Mrs Bellingham looks disapprovingly at Freddie as he disentangles himself from the sheets, puts away her pistol and turns for the door.
Mrs Bell. (pausing for effect):
I shall return!
Outside, Jim is only just arriving. He and the Mini are almost unrecognisably muddy from the journey. He gets out as Mrs Bellingham emerges from the house.
Mrs Bell.: Good heavens, James! What have you done to yourself? We’d better get you home and cleaned up. I’ll have Jenkins find you something decent to wear. Dinner is at eight o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.
Mrs Bellingham mounts her horse and wheels for home. Freddie emerges, apologising profusely to Ed and the young woman in the hallway…
Freddie: I’m so sorry. I really am. You must excuse her. She’s…er…distraught. I really am most terribly sorry…
Jim: What happened? Did you find Estelle?
Freddie: No, but your grandmother nearly shot someone. You’ll forgive me for saying so, Jim, but she doesn’t seem quite…all there sometimes
Jim: Oh, absolutely. Mad as the proverbial. I wouldn’t be surprised if she made up this whole thing herself.
Freddie (slowly): Let me get this straight. You made me drive you a hundred and fifty miles in sub-zero temperatures on a wild goose chase?!
Jim (in an injured tone):
Well, I don’t know for sure, of course. And besides, I thought you could use some cheering up after Jennifer…
Freddie looks serious for a moment, then mounts his horse.
Freddie: I’ll see you back at the house.
Cut to the drive of Grove End, where Freddie and Jim are just arriving. A stable boy takes Freddie’s horse, while Jim gets out of the car and ostentatiously holds out his car keys. The boy ignores him and turns towards the stables. Jim stuffs them in his pocket again. Jenkins appears to show them to their rooms.
Cut to the three of them climbing the main staircase. At one particular door, Jenkins takes out a bunch of keys and opens it. This is to be Freddie’s room. It is sumptuous, with a four poster bed on one side and a roaring open fireplace on the other.
Freddie: Thank you, Jenkins. [To Jim] I’ll see you later
Jenkins bows and Freddie enters the bedroom, closing the door behind him. In one corner stands his suitcase. He opens it to find it has been emptied. He looks around, puzzled. Opening the wardrobe door, he finds his clothes are hanging neatly on the rail. He opens a couple of drawers and also finds his underwear neatly folded away.
Cut to Jenkins, who lets Jim into the equivalent of the servants’ quarters, with a single bed and no fire. It is freezing.
Jenkins: My apologies, Master James. The West Wing is closed for the Winter and this is the best we could do at short notice.
Jenkins withdraws silently. Jim looks round and goes up to the washbasin. He plays with the hot tap. Nothing happens at first, then a loud banging makes him turn it off again. He thumps the tap with the flat of his hand and regrets it instantly. He shakes his hand to get rid of the pain.
Cut to Freddie’s room, where he is just emerging from the en-suite. A steaming bath awaits him. A knock at the door…
Freddie: Who is it?
Jenkins: Jenkins, sir. Mrs Bellingham asked me to find you some suitable attire.
Freddie lets him in. Jenkins is carrying a complete white tie outfit, from shoes to wing collar.
Jenkins: I believe this should fit you. The late Mr Bellingham was a 40 long.
Freddie looks slightly uncomfortable for a moment, then throws the clothes on the bed and begins to get dressed. Jenkins withdraws, closing the door behind him, and glides down the hall.
He reaches Jim’s room. As he is about to knock, sounds of howling come from within, where we see Jim attempting to wash himself with cold water. A knock at the door…
Jim: Just a moment…Ow!
Jim grabs his dressing gown, stubs his toe on his suitcase and has to hop across to open the door. Jenkins enters and presents him with a package of clothing.
Jenkins: I took the liberty of providing you with appropriate apparel, Master James.
Jim: What am I supposed to do with that lot?
Jenkins: Mrs Bellingham’s guests always dress for dinner. It’s something of a tradition at Grove End. If you need any assistance in the matter of the bow-tie, I should be only too happy to oblige.
Jim (sniffily): I’m sure I can manage, thank you, Jenkins.
Cut to Freddie and Jim entering the dining room together. Freddie looks very dapper, but Jim’s clothes are threadbare and a little on the small side. He looks faintly ridiculous. Waiting for them is Mrs Bellingham, wearing a sparkling burgundy evening dress and jewels that look too large to be real.
Mrs Bell.: My word, Freddie. You do look handsome. And James…[her voice trails off as she finds nothing she can say]
The two sit down on either side of Mrs Bellingham as before. A sumptuous feast has been prepared, starting with soup, which Jenkins ladles out with a practised hand.
Mrs Bell.: I rang the Clarkes again, by the way. Still no word of Estelle. Whatever can have happened to her.
Freddie: I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, Mrs Bellingham.
Mrs Bell.: Thank you, dear. Kind of you to say so. But I really am at my wits’end.
They drink their soup and the plates are cleared away and replaced with the main course, lobster thermidore, accompanied by various silver dishes, full of steaming vegetables.
Mrs Bell.: Do help yourselves. I’m afraid we’re a little short staffed this evening.
Freddie digs in, and Jim serves himself with a pile of vegetables. After a moment…
Mrs Bell.: You’re not eating your lobster, James. What ever is the matter?
Jim: I’m a vegetarian, Grandma. That means I don’t eat dead animals
Mrs Bell.: Well, it’s no good saying that now, is it. The chef’s gone home. Jenkins! Would you try to produce something fit for James to eat?
Jenkins: I’ll do my best, madam.
Mrs Bell. (to Jim):
I suppose this is what they teach you at Cambridge, is it? It certainly wasn’t like that in my day, I must say…
An awkward silence ensues, before Jenkins re-emerges with an enormous plate, covered with an impressive silver dome. He places it in front of Jim, who licks his lips in anticipation.
Jim: Ah, now this is more like it.
Jenkins removes the cover with a flourish to reveal…a boiled egg with a number of Marmite soldiers. Jim stares incredulously.
Mrs Bell.: Jenkins has many qualities. I’m afraid culinary expertise is not one of them. Thank you, Jenkins.
Jenkins departs.
Cut to the end of dinner, as the brandy is being passed round.
Mrs Bell.: Well, gentlemen. I think I shall turn in. We have an anxious day ahead of us. Goodnight.
Freddie and Jim: Goodnight.
Freddie: I’m sure something will turn up.
Mrs Bellingham nods her appreciation and makes a stately exit.
As they walk upstairs after dinner, Jim complains to Freddie about Mrs Bellingham…
Jim: I can’t believe she keeps calling me James. She knows I hate it. And she knows I’m vegetarian, too. [As Freddie opens the door to his bedroom…] And I can’t believe you managed to bag the best room… [In an injured tone] Blood is thicker than water, you know
Freddie: Goodnight, Jim.
Jim: Goodnight.
Freddie undresses and gets into bed. He lies pensively on his back, his hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
Cut to Jim, tossing and turning in his freezing room.
Cut back to Freddie, who gradually falls asleep. After a few moments’ silence, the door opens. Enter a girl with long blonde hair, the same one he saw on the moor that afternoon. She sits on the bed. His eyes open:
Freddie: Anna!.
Anna (putting her fingers to his lips):
Shh. Listen to me. Estelle is in danger. You must help me. She has been kidnapped. [Pause] They want £100,000 or they’re going to kill her.
Freddie: What do you mean? Kidnapped?
Anna: Tomorrow, a ransom note will be delivered and, if I know Mrs Bellingham, she’ll refuse to pay. You must try to persuade her to hand over the money. These people are dangerous. I know them. They’ll stop at nothing. Will you help me?
Freddie: Yes, of course. But how do you know all this?
Anna: I can’t explain. I have to go.
She kisses him on the lips quickly and disappears. Freddie sinks back into bed, bewildered but thrilled at Anna’s unexpected appearance. He touches his lips thoughtfully.
Next morning, at breakfast, as Freddie and Jim come down…
Mrs Bell.: Good morning, James. Good morning, Freddie. [To James] I hope you slept well?
Jim: About as well as anyone can in a freezer…
Mrs Bell.: [Rather pointedly] And Freddie, did you sleep well?
Freddie: Er, fine thanks. Yes.
Mrs Bell.: Do sit down?
Awaiting them at the table is a traditional English breakfast. Jim looks at the sausages and bacon in disgust. He opts for the eggs and toast. Freddie sits down and helps himself to the works.
Mrs Bell. (sniping at James):
I do so admire a man with a healthy appetite. It’s so refreshing these days.
Freddie smiles weakly at Mrs Bellingham and looks towards Jim, who is sulking. At that moment, Jenkins enters the dining room bearing a letter on a silver salver.
Jenkins (clearing his throat):
This arrived for you this morning, madam. It was delivered by hand.
Freddie puts down his knife and fork and looks up.
Mrs Bell.: By hand? Whose hand, exactly?
Jenkins: I’m afraid I couldn’t say, madam. I was engaged in conversation with the maid at the time, regarding a small disciplinary matter that has now been happily resolved.
Mrs Bell.: How strange. I wonder what it can be.
She slices it open with the letter knife and opens the contents. It is a ransom note, demanding £100,000 in exchange for Estelle’s life.
Mrs Bell. (holding it to her chest):
Good heavens.
Jim: What is it?
Mrs Bell.: It’s Estelle. They want £100,000 by this afternoon or they’ll kill her.
Jim: Is that all. I would have asked for at least a million. You’re good for it, aren’t you, Grandma?
Freddie (frowning at Jim):
May I?
He takes the letter and reads it aloud…
Freddie: We have your granddaughter. Leave £100,000 in £20 notes in a suitcase under the big oak tree at Brampton by 5pm. Come alone. No police. We’ll be watching. We get the money, you get the girl. Later. Anything goes wrong, we send you the body.
Mrs Bell.: What do you think we should do?
Freddie (uncomfortable):
Well, I think it’s probably best to co-operate. That’s what I think the police tell you to do. Give them the money, then they track down the kidnappers afterwards.
Mrs Bell.: Well, one thing’s for certain. I’m not paying a penny until I know Estelle is alive. Freddie, you must go and make sure she’s safe. Go to Brampton and see if the kidnappers show up. They’re bound to if you go alone.
Jim: That’s madness. They’ll chop him up into little bits and post him back to Grove End.
Mrs Bell.: James!
Freddie: It’s all right. I should go. I mean…I’m happy to go. I think I can remember where the tree is. I’ll take the car. Do you have a suitcase I can use?
Jenkins miraculously appears with an old suitcase…
Jenkins: I took the precaution of filling it with back copies of The Times…To add weight, you understand?
Freddie: Thank you, Jenkins. [To Mrs Bellingham and Jim] Well, I suppose I’ll see you later.
Mrs Bell.: Good luck.
Jim: If they turn nasty, just show them your old school tie.
Freddie: Thanks.
He leaves the house, jumps into the car and drives off. He takes the long route rather than driving across the fields and eventually arrives at Brampton. He parks the car and walks towards the big oak tree, carrying the suitcase.
He waits for a few seconds in the cold air. A woman on a horse approaches. It is Anna.
Freddie: Anna! What are you doing here?
Anna: Never mind. Where’s the money?
Freddie gives her the suitcase. Anna opens it. We see copies of The Times. She looks at him, aghast.
Freddie: She won’t give it to us. Not without proof that Estelle’s alive.
Anna: You must go back and get the money. Tell Mrs Bellingham that you saw Estelle, and that the kidnapper will do something nasty if she doesn’t hand over the money.
She gives him a lock of blonde hair.
Anna: Here, this is Estelle’s. Give it to Mrs Bellingham.
Freddie: But what if she doesn’t have the money?
Anna: Don’t worry. She keeps enough in the safe in her bedroom.
Freddie: How do you know all this? Anna, what’s going on?
Anna: Never mind, there’s no time to explain. You have to go back. [She bends down and kisses him] Please?
Freddie drives home. When he returns, suitcase in hand, Mrs Bellingham and Jim are in the drawing room playing cards.
Mrs Bell.: Gin!
Mrs Bellingham collects Jim’s stake of matches and adds them to her considerable pile.
Jim: Thank God you arrived. I’ve lost a whole box of matches already.
Freddie: It’s all right. Estelle’s fine. I saw her. But these people are serious. You have to give them the money by five o’clock or they said they would cut off…her toe.
Mrs Bell.: Her toe! Goodness me, the brutes.
Freddie: I took this from Estelle.
He shows her the lock of hair…
Mrs Bell.: Oh, my poor darling…Give me the suitcase.
Freddie gives her the suitcase and she hurriedly leaves the room. Jim looks at Freddie, who looks away uncomfortably.
Jim: So who are these ‘serious people’? How many of them were there?
Freddie: Oh, four…I think. At least. One of them had a gun and he sounded like he would use it.
Jim: What did they look like?
Freddie: The one with the gun was…medium height, er…medium build…They were all wearing masks, so I couldn’t get a good look at any of them.
Jim: I see. Sounds like kidnappers to me, all right.
A pause as Jim shuffles the pack of cards, then Mrs Bellingham returns with the suitcase.
Mrs Bell.: Here you are, Freddie. You’re right. We have to give them the money. It’s the only thing we can do.
Freddie: You’re sure about this.
Mrs Bell.: Quite sure. It’s no good trying to bargain with these people.
Freddie: How do we know they’ll release Estelle?
Mrs Bell.: We’ll just have to trust them.
Mrs Bellingham looks anxiously at him before Freddie leaves for the second time. We see him driving the car over the same roads. This time, Anna is waiting for him. Her horse is tied up beside her.
Anna: Freddie!
Freddie (getting out and giving her the suitcase):
Here it is. She’s decided to co-operate.
He gives Anna the money. She begins to count it.
Freddie: It’s all there. [Pause] Anna, just tell me one thing. What have you got to do with all this?
Anna (looking seriously at Freddie):
I have to go along with them. You don’t understand. They’ll kill me too if I don’t do what they tell me to. They said I’ve got to be the courier. Please don’t tell anyone I’m involved, not even Jim. Please!
Freddie kisses her and she puts her arms around him.
Freddie: Of course I won’t, Anna. I just…needed to know. Take care.
Anna: I will.
She rides off and Freddie returns to the car. He drives off in the direction of Grove End, but half way along the road he stops the car. He switches off the engine and leans back to think things over.
Cut to the drawing room, where Jim and Mrs Bellingham are seated next to a pile of empty matchboxes. Freddie comes in.
Mrs Bell.: Freddie, you’ve been such a long time, we were beginning to think about supper.
Freddie: I’m sorry I’m late. The car wouldn’t start.
Mrs Bell.: Well, what news?
Freddie: Nothing to tell, really. I just left the suitcase and drove back…after the problem with the car, I mean.
Jim: Did you see any of the masked bandits of Brampton?
Freddie (coldly): No, I didn’t see anyone.
Mrs Bell.: We’ll just have to wait for news, I suppose. Poor Estelle! [Pause] Well, life must go on. I believe it’s time to dress for dinner.
Cut to the middle of dinner. Everyone is eating in silence, when Jenkins appears.
Jenkins: There is a telephone call for you, madam. It’s a Mrs Clarke calling.
Mrs Bellingham hurries away. Freddie and Jim look at each other. After a minute or two, she returns.
Mrs Bell. (smiling):
Thank goodness. Estelle is all right. She is with the Clarkes. She is tired and upset, of course – who wouldn’t be after such a dreadful ordeal – but nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure. They promised to drive her home tomorrow morning after breakfast.
Jim: What about the money?
Mrs Bell.: Oh, I don’t care about that. I hate to think of those villains getting away with it, it’s true, but I would have paid ten times as much for dear Estelle.
Freddie: There’s always the police, of course.
Mrs Bell.: I have considered that, but somehow, it all seems to matter so much less now that Estelle is safe. That’s the main thing, after all.
Freddie: Well, I suppose we’d better be heading off sometime tomorrow morning, too. I’d like to get back to Cambridge while it’s still light.
Jim: That may involve leaving before dawn, if we’re going in your Mini.
Freddie: I think 10 o’clock should be fine, if that’s all right with you, Mrs Bellingham.
Mrs Bell.: Well, it’s a shame you have to leave, of course, but at least you’ll have a chance to meet Estelle and have a little breakfast before you go.
Freddie: Thank you. It’s been quite a weekend, I must say. I’m just glad it all worked out in the end. Well, then. Goodnight.
Mrs Bell.: Goodnight.
Jim: Goodnight.
Cut to a shot of Freddie, lying in bed with his arms behind his head, thinking…
Cut to a shot of Jim, curled up with a few extra blankets.
Cut to Freddie’s room again. After a few moments, the door knob turns and Anna appears again. She slips off her clothes to her underwear and gets into bed.
He awakes, sensing her presence…
Freddie: Anna! What are you doing here? Are you all…?
Anna: Shh!, she silences him with a kiss and rolls on top of him. They continue kissing…
Cut to Jim, tossing and turning in his blue and white striped pyjamas…
Cut back to Freddie and Anna, becoming passionate…
Meanwhile, Jim is punching his pillow, trying to get to sleep. Each time we see him, he is putting on more clothes. He is now wearing a check dressing gown and a white nightcap. His overcoat is spread across the bed.
Afterwards, as Anna lies in Freddie’s arms, she becomes pensive…
Anna: Freddie? Will you come away with me?
Freddie (sleepily):
What do you mean?
Anna: Come with me to Rio. Just for a little while until things cool down.
Freddie (now wide awake):
What are you talking about?
Anna: Well, you know the kidnappers released Estelle?
Freddie: Yes…
Anna: Well, they didn’t. She escaped.
Freddie: What?!
Anna: When I got back home this afternoon there was a message on my answering machine. It was Estelle calling from the Clarkes’, saying that she was safe and that I should keep the money.
Freddie: But you’d already given it to the kidnappers, right? [Pause, while Anna looks at him coolly]. You’ve still got it, haven’t you?
Anna: Nobody need ever know I got that message in time.
Freddie looks up at the ceiling, as the full implications of what she’s saying sink in.
Anna: If you’re coming, meet me tomorrow morning under the oak tree at Brampton. Ten thirty. Until tomorrow then.
She kisses him gently and leaves. Freddie doesn’t move. He has too much to think about…
Cut to breakfast…
Mrs Bell.: I’ve just had a telephone call from the Clarkes. Estelle was very tired so they thought they would let her sleep in. I’m afraid that means you’re going to miss her, and after all you’ve done.…I suppose you’re going back to Cambridge, are you…?
Freddie: Yes, we’d better be heading off.
Jim: Can’t we wait until Estelle gets back?
Freddie (kicking Jim under the table):
I thought you had to work on your thesis.
Jim (wincing): Oh, yes. I forgot about that. The thesis, yes…Oh, well. Do give her my regards.
Mrs Bell.: I’m sure she’ll be sorry to have missed you both.
Jenkins has packed their luggage and put it in the Mini.
They go outside. Mrs Bellingham comes down the steps to send them off.
Mrs Bell.: It was so nice to meet you, Freddie. I don’t know what we would have done without you. And James, always a pleasure. Goodbye. Come again soon.
Freddie: Goodbye. Thanks for everything.
Jim: Goodbye.
They drive off. After a few moments, Jim breaks the silence…
Jim: Well, at least she wasn’t murdered. That’s a bit of luck, I suppose.
Freddie (preoccupied):
Jim: I say, what did you have to go and kick me for? You’ve given me a nasty great bruise.
Freddie: Oh, I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to get going.
As Jim and Freddie drive out through the estate, Freddie catches a glimpse of Anna, sitting on her horse a hundred yards away on the driver’s side and looking straight at him. Jim is too busy map-reading again, but Freddie sees her and looks at his watch. It is twenty-five past ten. He stops the car.
Freddie: Listen, Jim. Have you ever done anything crazy, I mean really crazy?
Jim (rather proudly):
Well, I have been known to wear a blown up condom on my head. And there was that time when…
Freddie: I don’t mean when you’re drunk. This is serious. I hate to do this to you, but I have to go and meet someone. It’s important.
Jim (unfurling the map again):
OK, where do we have to get to?
Freddie: Sorry, Jim. I have to do this by myself, all right? Do you mind catching the train back?
Jim: You want me to walk to the station – in this weather – while you go and see some piece of totty? Christ, you move fast. What’s her name?
Freddie: Anna. But it’s not what you think. Honest…Please?
Jim gets out of the car, throws his rucksack down on the ground and thrusts his hands deep in his pockets. He watches as Freddie drives off, jumping up and down to keep warm. Suddenly, a phone rings. Jim searches every pocket before eventually finding it:
Jim: Hello?… Hi, Estelle. Or should I call you Anna?…Yes, he’s on his way. I must say, I never thought he would go for it. Grandma played her part to perfection, though. Even I began to believe her. All that business with the revolver. Poor old Ed. Still, I hope you have a good holiday. Sounds like a jolly good way to blow your inheritance…Oh, by the way, happy 21st…
The camera tracks back as Jim carries on talking, wandering down the road with his bags.
THE END
Dreams are dangerous. I know this from interviewing a dream therapist in Hampstead once. Almost as soon as I’d sat down, she asked what I’d been dreaming about.
Should I tell her the truth and risk being psychoanalysed or make something up and risk being caught in a lie? Dangerous, as I say…
I should be on safer ground if I simply list my dreams – not the ones I get when I’m asleep, but the ones that keep me going. As time passes, expectations become hopes, and hopes fade to dreams.
Happily, some of my dreams have already turned into reality, particularly in the sporting arena. England won the Rugby World Cup, Lancashire won the County Championship, both Lewis Hamilton and Jenson Button won the Formula One drivers’ championship and England are now the world’s best cricket team. Whodathunkit?
On the other hand, one dream at least has turned into a nightmare: David Cameron’s record as the first Conservative Prime Minister for 13 years shows you should always be careful what you wish for!
This, then, is a kind of ‘bucket list’ of things I’d like to see before I die – except, of course, I have no control over any of them. Fingers crossed…!
Since the film with Walter Matthau and Jack Nicholson, any number of people have produced a ‘bucket list’ of things to do or places to see before they ‘kick the bucket’.
For my part, I’m a great fan of the civilised picnic, so I’ve called mine a ‘hamper list’ instead. So far, I’ve managed picnics at Christ Church, Lord’s, Wimbledon, Glyndebourne, Noosa, Mount Kenya, the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls (among others), but there are plenty more to go.
On the other hand, I’m not going to do any of these things on my own, so I can’t cross any more off the list until I find my own Jack (or Jaclyn) Nicholson to come with me!
I’ve come close to seeing them while flying across the Atlantic, but I was on the wrong side of the plane! Next time, I’ll make sure I’m sitting comfortably on dry, Scandinavian land, nibbling on pickled herring washed down with Swedish vodka.
(Update: Done)
Two thirds of tourists suffer from Delhi belly in India – and I even managed to catch it from eating food on a Bollywood film set! – so I might not visit go there for a while, but where better to share a chicken tikka marsala, Peshwari naan and a bottle of Tiger beer with your own loved one than in the tomb of another?!
I’ve read too many Donna Leon novels not to want to visit Venice and share a few tramezzini and a bottle of Brunello in a gondola at sunset on the Grand Canal, preferably with someone called Chiara…
(Update: Done)
I can at least cross off spending New Year on a beach doing what comes naturally with my girlfriend at midnight, but I still have a hankering to visit the kind of remote and deserted swimming hole Paul Hogan and Linda Kozlowski found in Crocodile Dundee. I’d suggest a little barbecued barramundi with a fruity shiraz.
Over the course of five seasons and any number of holidays, I’ve skied in most major resorts in Europe and North America, but I still haven’t had the pleasure of Rocky Mountain powder, preferably in Utah or Colorado. The fare might have to be quite simple, though. Burger and Coke anyone?
This has to be the ultimate off-piste challenge. I just wonder where I’d put the champagne and caviare. I so hate skiing with rucksacks…
Romance, yes, but not necessarily in a romantic way – even if I could get hold of enough asses’ milk. The second Transformers movie was all about the pyramids, not Megan Fox…
Bear claw, anyone? I politely asked my best friend’s parents a few years ago where they’d been on holiday, and they told me they’d been to Alaska to watch brown bears catch spawning salmon, strip out their innards in the hunt for caviar and throw away the males. I was speechless…
Eating and drinking may not be possible during the flight itself – I’m no James Bond (or Patrick Swayze in Point Break), but this is one of those ultimate experiences that get the adrenal glands working overtime. The closest I’ve ever got was indoor parachute jumping in Las Vegas. That has to change…
Boys only
The ‘boys only’ category would usually be empty, for obvious reasons, but golf is probably the exception. Sharing a haggis and a nip of Lagavulin from a hip flask with the boys within sight of the hotel on the 18th would be spectacular.
Another Scottish trip would have to be made to learn the art of fly-fishing, probably on the Dee. It might cost a fin and a gill, but to catch, fillet, cook and eat a salmon would be glorious…
Yet more Scotch mist, but this time in a very good cause. What’s the point of learning how to use a weapon if you can’t use it to bring down such a noble beast?
I blame Hemingway for this one. I read The Sun Also Rises at a formative age, and I’ve wanted to see a bullfight ever since, preferably in Ronda but anywhere the sun shines.
I used to be passionate about politics. I debated at school and college, edited the Oxford Union magazine and generally had arguments at the drop of a hat about how the country should be run.
Happily, I’ve calmed down since then, and I know now that my political beliefs are just the expression of a few pesky genes.
That means there’s no ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ in these matters. We’re all simply following orders.
This post will simply outline what would make me happy. I don’t claim it would solve all the country’s problems, but it would be nice to think it would be appreciated by any like-minded readers out there.
Apart from Daniel Hannan, there aren’t many popular writers and politicians speaking from the libertarian camp, so they need all the help they can get.
I believe in freedom of contract and caveat emptor. I believe the role of government is to decide binary questions of right and wrong where there is a clear victim of force or fraud. In all other cases, the market has the flexibility to arrange as many different solutions as there are people on the planet.
Some libertarians believe in limited government. As far as taxation goes, I don’t believe in government at all. I also don’t believe that the end justifies the means. That means that every law has to apply to every citizen in every situation. If it doesn’t, it should be scrapped.
So what would the world look like if I had my way? Clearly, transitional arrangements would have to smooth the road to this economic and philosophical nirvana, but I don’t imagine all that much would change.
We would still go on with our lives, earning money and tending to our loved ones. All that would happen is that we would get richer much faster, and the scope for government corruption and inefficiency would be dramatically reduced.
The first thing to say is that we would still have a government. Laws would still have to be passed or (more importantly) repealed. Treaties would still need to be signed and decisions made in all walks of life.
However, the scope for misgovernment would be much smaller because there would be no taxation to pay for government spending. Parliament would have to be funded by voluntary subscription on the part of the voters, and there would be so little it could do without any funds that it would probably only sit for a few weeks or months a year.
I would keep the House of Commons and either abolish the House of Lords or replace it with politicians voted in by proportional representation. To be honest, the exact shape of parliament wouldn’t matter, because it would have so little power.
Updating the criminal justice system every now and then is not a full-time job for 650 politicians, and major decisions would be taken far more often on the basis of referenda. The population would even have a say over whether we went to war or not.
After all, killing people costs money, and kings throughout history have had to go down on bended knee to their paymasters when they wanted to go to war. In this case, the paymasters would be the citizens of the entire United Kingdom, and that means that we would no longer be able to be members of the European Union.
If there is one thing I’d be sure to do, it would be to make certain that parliament was once more sovereign. The idea of foreigners passing laws affecting citizens in the UK is wrong, and that’s all I have to say about that.
Taxation is wrong in my view, so the first and most obvious change to people’s lives would be that we stopped paying taxes. That sounds like pie in the sky, but we’ve become so used to the post-war status quo that we’ve forgotten the historic norm.
Over hundreds and thousands of years, people haven’t been taxed until the pips squeaked. There have been cruel despots and tyrants aplenty, but the total peacetime tax take and government spending as a share of GDP has hardly ever been as high as it is now.
Sixty percent of our taxes go towards paying for services. If I ruled the world, the government would stop providing those services and hand over the job to the private sector. The other 40% of the funds is currently earmarked for redistribution.
All that would happen in future is that people would have to examine their own consciences and decide how much to give and to whom. Worthy causes would flourish. Others would get little support.
The voluntary sector would take over looking after the poor and needy, and we’d never again have to complain about poor government decision-making during economic hard times.
People worry about the privatisation of the NHS, but it’s clearly not fit for purpose in its current state. Something has to change, and the obvious solution is to spin off individual hospitals into the private sector.
Doctors are already largely private practitioners, so it’s not as though we have an entirely government-run healthcare system at present, and there are already major health insurance providers such as BUPA.
People may protest that smokers or those who have ‘unhealthy’ lifestyles are a drain on the system, but that is one of the glorious benefits of the private alternative. Nobody would have to pay for anybody else’s bills.
That doesn’t mean that the poor would starve or be left to die. Hospitals and clinics were always until very recently set up by benefactors, charities or the church. Returning to such a system would restore the incentive to live a healthy life by linking personal choices to the price of healthcare insurance and treatment.
Some say the armed forces are a ‘public good’ that cannot be provided by the market. Well, I cannot imagine even for an instant that the people of this country would discard our army, navy and air force just to save a few quid on their taxes.
I honestly don’t know how we would arrange to pay for our defence without the guaranteed income from taxation, but it would have to be from some form of voluntary levy. Yes, some people wouldn’t pay it, but others would.
As with every other service the government currently provides from money taken by force from the taxpayer, it would in future be provided by the market, by charity or voluntary subscription.
If the armed forces can be paid for and organised without the benefit of taxation, then the emergency services certainly could. Different towns might set up different systems. In some places, there would be a voluntary levy, in others an insurance-based system for fire and theft. Whatever the solution, it would be down to the local population to decide.
It boggles the mind how far people are prepared to test a failing system to destruction. Albert Einstein once said that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
Again, I honestly don’t know what the education system would look like in my imagined future, but one thing is certain: the government would have no say in it. It’s not the government’s job to school our children.
It’s not the government’s job to set exams. It’s not the government’s job to decide the entry requirements of our universities. Government was never a part of the equation until late in the 19th century, when it took over the role from the church and other charitable providers by bribing them with taxpayers’ money and then finally nationalising almost all schools.
Individuals would not be the only beneficiaries of the abolition of taxation, of course. Businesses would benefit hugely from the removal of VAT, corporation tax and National Insurance.
There would probably be a flood of foreign businesses setting up shop in the UK to benefit from the generous new régime. Red tape and tariffs would also have to be cut to stimulate trade and employment.
The minimum wage is an offence against freedom of contract so would have to go, as would any government licences to practise medicine, the law or any other profession. People should be free to choose the doctor or lawyer they prefer without having to pay for the hike in fees brought about by government-sanctioned monopolies.
Our withdrawal from the EU would also mean an end to the Common Agricultural Policy and any other regulations brought in to interfere with free trade. We would finally be able to trade with whomever we liked and prove David Ricardo’s insight that removing all trade barriers – even unilaterally – would make the country richer, not poorer.
There would be winners and losers, and in some cases the new rules would not benefit the country as a whole, but then that’s not the point. ‘Natural monopolies’ would not have their profits reined in by regulators, so prices might go up, but at least the companies would reap the rewards of their investment, and the monopolies could be contested by new entrants.
There are always network effects and economies of scale in every business. The answer is not to create a special regulator for each industry but to grant companies a level playing field.
I have a dream, and the consistent feature of this dream is the removal of government interference from my own life and the lives of millions around me, whether family, friends or strangers.
In this dream, I would try to put in place a system that was fair to each individual. I wouldn’t try to maximise the wellbeing of the whole country, but I’m quite sure Adam Smith’s ‘invisible hand’ would make sure that the country was still better off than it is now, whether economically or from any other point of view.
I know my view of ‘fairness’ is not everyone’s – in fact, I know it’s just a product of my genes – but even a prisoner of his genes can write a manifesto.
As a biological determinist, I don’t believe in free will. As a Darwinist, I don’t believe in ‘principles’ or any absolute standards of behaviour. However, as a man, I behave as if biological determinism and Darwinism don’t exist, and that paradox makes me uncomfortable…
My tutor at Oxford once said that academics should be concerned with ‘the true, the good and the beautiful’. I asked him why on earth we should be studying anything that wasn’t true.
Moral and aesthetic principles stem from feelings, but where does the universality or ‘goodness’ of those principles come from? If principles come from our ‘conscience’, then we can’t rely on them, because everyone’s standards of right and wrong are different.
If they come from religion, then we still can’t rely on them, because all religions differ. If they simply come from feelings, then what makes selflessness ‘better’ than selfishness? What it seems to come down to these days is timing and numbers.
The timing of an action has always been important in allocating ‘blame’. Wars of ‘aggression’ are frowned upon because the ‘aggressor’ throws the first punch. Self-defence is permissible because it is simply a response to an unwarranted attack.
However, technology and Realpolitik seem to be changing all that. Under the old rules, Khruschev might have been right to bang his shoe on the table over being asked to give up his ‘defensive’ missile shield, but the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction relied on the development of a ‘first strike’ capability and the corresponding absence of a plausible defence.
Cold War leaders had persuaded themselves that the practical outcome of an uneasy peace was worth throwing away thousands of years of moral philosophy. The second Gulf War raised similar issues.
Were the allies justified in being the ‘aggressors’ even with the dubious backing of UN resolutions and the promise of freeing millions of Iraqis from the rule of Saddam Hussein?
And should the Americans or the Israelis make a pre-emptive strike on Iran now that the country appears to be dangerously close to developing a nuclear bomb?
The slipperiness and mutability of moral judgments makes arguments about property rights and territorial disputes difficult to adjudicate. Looking at the historical patchwork quilt of ‘discoveries’ and settlements in the Falkland Islands (as they are still called), it is hard to argue who ‘should’ own them from first principles.
It is more like a boxer’s championship belt. The UK is simply ‘the man who beat the man who beat the Englishman or Frenchman or Spaniard who first discovered and laid claim to the islands’.
The democracy card is an easy one for the Government to play, but what if the original occupation was somehow ‘illegal’ and the current inhabitants are merely there as a result of squatters’ rights or even ‘ethnic cleansing’?
Why should they have the right to decide their national flag? How far back do you go to judge ownership, particularly since the ‘rules’ of conquest and discovery only applied to western explorers and not indigenous peoples? I guess timing isn’t everything, after all…
Numbers are often more important than political and ethical principles, and immigration is the classic example. Racial discrimination is now illegal, but it was once essential for survival when strangers who often looked and sounded different brought the threat of rape and pillage.
We have a set of genes that was honed to perfection in the competitive world of the African savannah thousands of years ago but is hopelessly outdated in modern society. How can ‘principles’ ever solve that fundamental mismatch?
It’s just a matter of numbers. One stranger in the neighbourhood running a curry house is no threat, so there is no reason for racism, but what happens when the majority is no longer a majority?
When it drops to a plurality or even a minority, that’s when the trouble starts, and you only have to take a look at all the Spanish billboards springing up in New York over the last ten years to see how quickly that can happen.
Principles are always changing, and they simply reflect the will of the majority. ‘Tit for tat’ is just a good strategy, and it happens to lead to a proliferation of collaborators over thieves.
The collaborators form the majority and are numerous and therefore powerful enough to invent and uphold a value system that lays claim to words such as ‘good’, ‘thoughtful’ and ‘honest’. The paradox is that we may not like it, but we have to live with it…
All’s fair in love and war…and politics, apparently.
Bankers’ bonuses, workfare, the 50% tax rate – every headline in the news at the moment seems to be about ‘fairness’.
Now, I know what we regard as ‘fair’ is simply a byproduct of our genetic strategies, and I know you can’t prove a ‘should’, but despite that – or perhaps for that very reason – I’m still amazed (and deeply depressed) by people’s extraordinary double standards.
If rich people go shopping for groceries, we don’t expect supermarkets to charge them higher prices than poorer customers – in fact, it’s illegal – and yet the tax system is built on the assumption that the rich should pay more than the rest of us.
We now know that the richest 1% pay over a quarter of this country’s income tax bill, but that’s not just because they earn so much more than the rest of us. We expect them to pay tax at a higher marginal rate, irrespective of the fact that they generally use public services less than those who can’t afford private healthcare, public schools and chauffeur-driven limousines.
Why is their extraordinarily disproportionate contribution not enough? When will it ever end? Will ‘fairness’ never be achieved until all our bankers are forced to retreat to their ski chalets in Switzerland?
If I allow reason to take over from emotion for a moment, I can see exactly why. As Darwin eventually revealed, we’re all in competition with one another. Never mind the fact that we have a set of genes left over from the African savannah that’s 40,000 years out of date, we still want to be better than our peers.
And it just so happens that democracy and economics are fundamentally at odds. We live in a constantly shifting equilibrium, in which the distribution of wealth is skewed dramatically towards the wealthy, whereas political power is apportioned equally to each voter, regardless of income.
That means the poor will always be able to demand more from the rich – up to a point. A balance is only struck because the maximum levels of wealth creation and income redistribution lie at opposite ends of the curve.
As Arthur Laffer pointed out, too high a tax rate removes any incentive to work, but too low a tax rate results in zero income available for redistribution. The calls for punitive taxation from the masses constantly bump up against the limits imposed by economics, while the rich are beaten with the ‘fairness’ stick to within an inch of their lives.
I understand the inevitability of the ratchet effect, as government grows and grows, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that there is a limit. If one of our parties were brave enough to shrink the tax burden and therefore the deadweight cost of government, people might find out that the economy would grow faster, and rich and poor alike would be better off, but that wouldn’t solve the problem.
People will always want to compete with one another, which means absolute levels of wealth are never so important as relative wealth. Given a choice between earning £20,000 when their neighbours earn £15,000 and earning £50,000 when their neighbours earn £100,000, people will, sadly but inevitably, choose the former.
It may not be ‘rational’ to an economist, but it makes perfect sense if you’re in a race. The lesson is: be careful what you wish for. You might get the economic system you deserve!
If I have an apple and you have an apple and we steal each other’s apples, we both end up with one. If I have an idea and you have an idea and we steal each other’s ideas, we both end up with two!
I’ve never understood why people don’t distinguish between stealing things and stealing ideas. It may be easy (and common) now to download music for free from various Napster-like peer-to-peer file-sharing sites, but that doesn’t make it legal.
We have laws to protect copyright, trademarks and other intellectual property (IP). To me, making copies is a victimless crime because nobody loses anything. The original product has no intrinsic value when it can be copied so cheaply and accurately.
Producers of music and other IP products obviously feel it’s ‘wrong’ for people to deprive them of revenues and profits by doing it, but it depends where you stand. Every problem is a fact plus a judgment, and you can’t prove a ‘should’.
You might as well say it’s ‘wrong’ for artists and authors to have a monopoly on their own works for 70 years after their deaths. Monopolies are illegal in most other industries, so why should copyright be any different? Should Amazon really be the only company allowed to offer ‘one-click’ purchase?!
Another objection is that repealing copyright legislation would remove any incentive to produce any new works of art or indeed think up any new idea, but, again, it depends on your point of view.
Are we not simply removing an unfair subsidy? And are we not restoring the original incentive to keep commercial secrets secret? That may be hard work, but that doesn’t give IP owners the right to complain. It shouldn’t be a moral problem but a technical one: how can I best distribute my product to make sure I get paid every time a copy of it is consumed?
Technology plays a large part in causing and solving all these problems. Copyright wasn’t an issue when scribes in monasteries took months to make a single copy of the Bible, but photocopiers and digital computing changed the rules of the game.
Equally, the BBC and other free-to-air broadcasters were given their monopolies when it was impossible to restrict access to the airwaves, but Sky and other satellite providers showed that such a justification is long past its sell-by date.
How can the BBC justify getting billions in guaranteed income from the licence fee when viewers could simply be forced to subscribe to the channels they want?
The basic choice is between cross-subsidies and free-riders. Either people pay for something they don’t use or they use something they don’t pay for. Neither sounds very appealing – although I prefer free-riders! – but there isn’t any alternative when goods are non-rivalrous (ie can be freely copied) and non-excludable (ie freely available to all).
These are known as ‘public goods’. ‘Common goods’ like fisheries (non-excludable but not non-rival) and ‘club goods’ such as cinemas (non-rival but not non-excludable) throw up similar problems.
Arguments based on values can never be won (or lost), but what this all boils down to is individualism versus collectivism. It may be true that public goods are ‘under-supplied’ unless the regulator steps in, but relative to what, exactly?
If it is the maximum level of economic activity (or ‘consumer surplus’) across the whole country, then the individual surely has the right to complain. Any Benthamite government taking decisions for the greatest good of the greatest possible number has effectively decided that the end justifies the means.
Whether it’s the licence fee or compulsory purchase orders, a binary moral decision – is it right or wrong? – has been turned into an amoral economic or political sum – what’s the effect on GDP, and how many votes are in it?
Where do we draw the line, though? Is one little murder justified if it’s a nasty man whom nobody liked? It may be true that killing is justified in certain circumstances (the ‘just war’, for example), but ethical guidelines have to be based on universally applicable rules to decide the outcome of any given conflict between individuals.
As the Gipper always said, the nine most terrifying words in the English language are: “I’m from the Government, and I’m here to help…”
I should warn you that I don’t know what on earth I’m talking about. On the other hand, nobody else does either. The question is, do we have free will or not?
What if I actually did raise my right arm? Would it prove that free will didn’t exist? What if we repeated the experiment hundreds of times, locking our predictions up in a safe, and I still ended up doing whatever you predicted?
Would life turn into one long episode of Early Edition? How often would you have to be ‘right’ to prove the theory that free will didn’t exist?
And what would be the alternative explanation? Would it be ‘scientific determinism’, the theory first advanced by Pierre Laplace that people could predict the future if only they knew the position and velocities of every particle in the universe…or would people simply think you were psychic?!
Einstein liked to come up with thought experiments to prove the likelihood (or absurdity) of scientific theories, either his own or those of other physicists, so here’s one for you. Free will implies that only I can determine my own intentions, so let’s see if that’s true.
If I asked you, “What am I going to do next?”, what would you say? You might say you had no idea, but that would simply accept the premise of free will as proof, which is a circular argument. If I pushed you for an answer, you might say I was going to raise my right arm.
If I then raised my left arm (or did anything other than raise my right arm), you might think that was ‘proof’ that you were right all along, but is that true? What if I had simply changed my mind?
That might itself demonstrate the exercise of free will, but you could always write down your prediction, and I could write down what I thought I was going to do, and we could compare the results afterwards. And this is where it gets interesting…
Laplace’s idea has now fallen foul of quantum theory. Specifically, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle states that you cannot measure a particle’s velocity and position simultaneously. Instead, particles are described by a wave function, which only indicates the probability of each value.
As I mentioned earlier, probability is problematic. It seems to imply an effect without a cause, and it also relies on the assumption that full information is not available, which it would be in this case.
Quantum physics only makes predictions at the atomic level, and it falls apart when dealing with objects at higher magnitudes such as stars and galaxies. Perhaps a hierarchy of explanations is needed, in which physics is the foundation of chemistry, which is the foundation of biology and then every other science in turn.
Whatever the outcome of that argument – and it’s been going on since at least 1905! – it certainly raises more questions than answers. Should people be held responsible for their own actions?
If so, why should criminals be allowed to plead ‘extenuating circumstances’? If not, why should they go to jail in the first place if it’s ‘not their fault’. Maybe Shakespeare was right, and character is fate, or maybe Shakespeare’s works were banged out by a monkey on a typewriter!
As Conan Doyle once wrote, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth…”
Whether it’s the food I eat, the drinks I enjoy or the music I listen to, the main reason always seems to be a particular memory of a place, a person or a moment. This is a list of my favourite music with a few autobiographical grace notes…
| Artist | Song | Memory |
| ABBA | Take A Chance On Me | My sister bought the single and I still remember I’m A Marionette on the B-side! |
| Amy Stroup | Alas We Aspire | |
| Anna Nalick | Breathe (2 A.M.) | |
| Annie Lennox | Waiting In Vain | Call me a softie, but Kate Beckinsale in Serendipity |
| Annie Lennox | Walking On Broken Glass | My dancing partner Vicki Kereszteny found this for rehearsing our cha |
| Apollo 440 | Stop The Rock | Claire Forlani at the foam party in Boys and Girls |
| Beatles | Here Comes The Sun | Does anyone remember this as the theme to the Holiday programme…?! |
| Beatles | Let It Be | I sang this to myself while cycling to every one of my finals |
| Bell X1 | Eve, the Apple of My Eye | |
| Berlin | Take My Breath Away | Who can forget the Top Gun theme…?! |
| Bette Midler | In My Life | |
| Bette Midler | From A Distance | |
| Billy Joel | My Life | This was the theme to Bosom Buddies, which gave us Tom Hanks and Donna Dixon! |
| Black Eyed Peas | I Gotta Feeling | |
| Blur | To The End | Watching Blur at Mile End in the rain |
| Bon Jovi | Livin’ On A Prayer | Watching with Joe Oatley in Milton Keynes as he walked in front of 12′ screens full of feedback snow! |
| Boyz II Men | End Of The Road | Vicki gave me the Brit Awards CD from 1993, and this was on it… |
| Bruce Springsteen | Born In The USA | One of the best presents I ever had was the MTV Plugged CD given me by Mark Highman, and all these songs were on it… |
| Bruce Springsteen | I Wish I Were Blind | |
| Bruce Springsteen | Thunder Road (MTV Plugged) | |
| Bruce Springsteen | My Beautiful Reward | |
| Bryan Ferry | Oh Yeah (On The Radio) | |
| Bryan Ferry | More Than This | |
| Cars | You Might Think | My first girlfriend Paula Buster from Canyon, TX |
| Carter Burwell | Overture | I have a soft spot for great theme tunes, and Carter Burwell pulled out all the stops for Conspiracy Theory… |
| Carter Burwell | Conspiracy Theory | |
| Carter Burwell | Riding | |
| Chicane | Don’t Give Up | |
| Chicane | Halcyon | |
| Chicane | No Ordinary Morning | To Anne Crary, the only girl I ever asked to marry me, who introduced me to Chicane when I tried to put on the Bee Gees! |
| Clem Snide | Moment In The Sun | |
| Corey Hart | Sunglasses At Night | Another one from my time in the States with Paula |
| Craig Amstrong | Portuguese Love Theme | Love, Actually didn’t go down well with the Belgians next to me, but to me it was as if the director had exactly the same view of love (and good music!) |
| Craig Amstrong | Glasgow Love Theme | |
| Craig Amstrong | PM’s Love Theme | |
| Darude | Sandstorm | |
| David Bowie | Rebel Rebel | |
| David Bowie | Life On Mars? | |
| David Gates | Goodbye Girl | The Goodbye Girl is one of the great (forgotten) romantic comedies. Richard Dreyfus and Marsha Mason at their best. |
| David Gray | Disappearing World | To my musical friend Eden James, who introduced me to David Gray in Brisbane when we ended up singing along to the guitar (and the odd possum on the roof!) after every house party… |
| David Gray | Babylon | |
| David Gray | My Oh My | |
| David Gray | Please Forgive Me | |
| David Gray | ||
| David Gray | ||
| David Gray | January Rain | |
| David Gray | The Other Side | |
| Dido | Here With Me | I have a bit of a weakness for US teen dramas, so I was easy meat for Shiri Appleby in Roswell |
| Dire Straits | Romeo And Juliet | When I made the mistake of showing my diary to Elizabeth at Oxford, this is what I taped back-to-back and listened to over and over again to make the break-up hurt a bit less |
| Dire Straits | So Far Away | |
| Dire Straits | Sultans Of Swing (Live Aid) | When I was away in Germany, I had to ask my mum to tape Live Aid, but this was the only song I liked (until I accidentally pressed the record button on my tape deck and had to do without it until Napster came along!) |
| Dire Straits | Your Latest Trick | |
| Dire Straits | Telegraph Road | |
| Dire Straits | Private Investigations | |
| Don Henley | The Boys Of Summer | |
| Emily Barker & The Red Clay Halo | Pause | Another great TV theme from The Shadow Line |
| Enya | Promontory | |
| Etta James | At Last | |
| Fats Waller & Benny Payne | After You’ve Gone | The other contender for the greatest present of all time. I told Claudine Kenny this was my favourite (unobtainable) jazz track, and she managed to track it down for my birthday. |
| Fine Young Cannibals | Good Thing | |
| Flo Rida | Club Can’t Handle Me | |
| Foo Fighters | Next Year | |
| Frank Sinatra | One For My Baby | One of the few songs to which I know all the words, which was embarrassing when my mum caught me singing it in Newton Abbot! |
| Geoffrey Burgon | Brideshead Revisited | One of the happiest moments of my life came when we all trudged across the gravel on a perfect sunny October morning at Christ Church to have our matriculation photograph taken…and the second years played this from one of the windows in Peck! (They were fined £150…) |
| Gerry Rafferty | Baker Street | My sister caught sight of a list I was making of my favourite music and made me a couple of treasured mix tapes including this classic of urban disaffection |
| Haddaway | What Is Love | Another one from the Brit Awards CD from Vicki |
| Herbie Hancock | Cantaloupe Island | My friend Tio made me a tape of ‘E-type jazz’ in exchange for a ride down the King’s Road in my 1965 carmine red Series 2 roadster, and this was my favourite |
| Herbie Hancock | Driftin’ | |
| Imogen Heap | Hide And Seek | I heard this played over the funeral scene in The OC, so it was perhaps inevitable I should end up living there (Ormonde Court, not Orange County!) |
| Jon & Vangelis | I’ll Find My Way Home | |
| Kasabian | Club Foot | I actually met Kasabian while playing the referee in Sky Sports’ last World Cup advert! |
| Kate Bush | Wuthering Heights | Thanks again to my sister Katharine for buying The Kick Inside. Did Kate Bush really write these songs when she was only 19?! Astonishing… |
| Killers | Human | |
| Little Feat | Willin’ | One of the best days of my life came when I took a day off to visit Singapore for a birthday treat for my ex-boss at Mercer. Champagne breakfast, waterskiing, sevens, a rickshaw ride, Singapore slings in Raffles, two beautiful girls and this song… |
| Loreena McKennitt | Dante’s Prayer | More thanks to Anne Crary for introducing me to this |
| Lynyrd Skynyrd | Tuesday’s Gone | |
| Marshall Crenshaw | Someday, Someway | |
| Martin Solveig & Dragonette | Hello (Single Edit) | |
| Matt Cardle | When We Collide | |
| Miley Cyrus | When I Look At You | |
| Morten Lauridsen | O Magnum Mysterium | I heard this for the first time sitting next to Marina at a concert given by our friend Sam’s choir, and we were both blown away. What a perfect way to discover a wonderful piece! |
| Mussorgsky | The Great Gate of Kiev | |
| Nick Lowe | I Love The Sound Of Breaking Glass | This memory is so far back, I don’t even know where it came from, but 1978 was a great year for new music (think Wuthering Heights!) |
| Norah Jones | Turn Me On | |
| Norah Jones | The Nearness Of You | |
| Old 97s | Question | This is taken from the moment when Ed proposes to Carol in Ed (obviously!) |
| OneRepublic | Good Life | |
| Paul McCartney | No More Lonely Nights | |
| Peter Best | Echo Billabong | I’m not ashamed to say that Linda Kozlowski in a swimsuit had something to do with this…! |
| Peter Gabriel | Biko | |
| Peter Gabriel | In Your Eyes | Cameron Fairchild, where are you now?! I met him in Amarillo, TX, and we were best friends for a few months during my year off. He was a fan of Peter Gabriel, and we played Risk, Axis & Allies and Conquest of Empire until the early hours before retiring to Denny’s for the all-day (and all-night!) breakfast… |
| Peter Gabriel | Red Rain | |
| Peter Gabriel | Solsbury Hill | |
| Peter Gabriel | Mercy Street | |
| Peter Gabriel | Book Of Love | |
| Peter Gabriel & Kate Bush | Don’t Give Up | |
| Pogues | Love You ‘Til The End | |
| Pointer Sisters | Jump (For My Love) | |
| Pretenders | Human | This is the theme from Cupid with Jeremy Piven and Paula Marshall, the best TV show never to be given a full season |
| Propaganda | Duel | |
| Puccini | O Mio Babbino Caro | I have to admit I heard this first on the soundtrack to A Room with a View, but they certainly picked the right version and the right soprano to sing it! |
| Puccini | Chi Il Bel Sogno Di Doretta | Again from A Room with a View, and I almost prefer this aria now |
| Puccini | Nessun Dorma | I had a friend Pete Bouman at Oxford, who was an exchange student passionate about opera. One day in his rooms, he tried to play me an aria in which a soprano hit top C, but while he was fumbling with the fast forward and rewind buttons I heard this wonderful classic and made him play it for me. An early taste of Italia ’90! |
| Rachmaninov | Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini | Groundhog Day is my favourite film ever, and this music has an important part to play! |
| Rachmaninov | 2nd Piano Concerto, Mvt 1 | Who but the most cynical of viewers could fail to be moved to tears by the score of Brief Encounter (even if my mother happened to catch me…!)? |
| Rachmaninov | 2nd Piano Concerto, Mvt 2 | |
| Rachmaninov | 2nd Piano Concerto, Mvt 3 | |
| Ray Charles | What’d I Say | |
| Remy Zero | Fair | |
| Remy Zero | Save Me | This one’s from Smallville. US teen dramas don’t get any cornier (so to speak…) |
| Rolling Stones | Gimme Shelter | |
| Rolling Stones | Start Me Up | |
| Rolling Stones | Sympathy For The Devil | I was once at a party with Damian Hinds, who insisted on playing this even though nobody could dance to it! |
| Rolling Stones | Wild Horses | Vicki again. Sigh… |
| Run DMC & Aerosmith | Walk This Way | This was the soundtrack to my very first race off the lights in Amarillo, TX. Eighty miles an hour, top down all the way. Glory… |
| Sam Fonteyn | Pop Looks Bach | |
| Sarah McLachlan | Possession | |
| Scorpions | Wind Of Change | |
| Semisonic | Closing Time | |
| Sinead Lohan | No Mermaid | |
| Sixpence None The Richer | Kiss Me | |
| Sixpence None The Richer | There She Goes | |
| Smashing Pumpkins | 1979 | |
| Steve Reynolds | House I Built | |
| Stiltskin | Inside | What a great Levi jeans advert! The music and pictures were in perfect harmony. Amish girl in black and white plus heartthrob and rock music – sounds like Witness! |
| T Rex | Cosmic Dancer | From the soundtrack to Billy Elliot… |
| Take That | Back for Good (Radio Mix) | |
| Toploader | Dancing In The Moonlight | Anyone who went to Bananas in Val d’Isere around midnight would remember this one (and Angel by Robbie Williams)! |
| Train | Drops Of Jupiter | Stand up, Craig Campbell. I only managed to make you dinner once that season in Mottaret, but we told so many stories while listening to so many songs that I have to credit you with the inspiration for this post! |
| Trespassers William | Lie In The Sound | |
| Trevor Jones & Randy Edelman | Ascent/Pursuit | From The Last of the Mohicans. Definitely a better film than the book! |
| Trevor Jones & Randy Edelman | Last Of The Mohicans (Main Theme) | |
| U2 | Walk On | |
| U2 | Where The Streets Have No Name | This is the theme to the promotional video of the Gnat Display Team, which I managed for a while in 2010-11 |
| U2 | Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses | |
| Vanessa Carlton | A Thousand Miles | |
| Verdi | Dammi Tu Forza, O Cielo! | Julia Roberts ‘peed her pants’ to this in Pretty Woman. What more can you say?! |
| Waterboys | The Whole Of The Moon | |
| Who | Baba O’Reilly | |
| Who | The Seeker | |
| Yazoo | Only You |
A few months ago, I received a letter demanding £6,000. If I didn’t pay it by the end of January, the amount would start to go up. If I still didn’t pay it, I’d have all my possessions taken from me.
If that still didn’t cover it, I’d be taken by force and locked up without ransom in an unknown location for months or even years. If I ran, I’d be followed. If I resisted, I’d be shot.
The whole experience was obviously incredibly traumatic, and I had no choice but to comply. The letter, of course, was my annual tax demand…
Only freaks see taxation as extortion or the police as kidnappers, but the only difference is that this is a crime our elected representatives have actually voted for! As one of those freaks myself – we like to be called ‘libertarians’… – I’m used to people disagreeing with me, but I’ve long since given up believing I’m right.
I accept that economic arguments are almost always about values and not methods. Who am I to say that something is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’? You can’t prove a ‘should’. Like everyone else, all I have is a strategy for survival and reproduction.
Just because my genes (and an early trip to America when I was ten) have programmed me to believe in individual freedom doesn’t mean I should become Chancellor of the Exchequer or Governor of the Bank of England. I just have a problem with authority!
John Rawls tried to finesse the values issue in A Theory of Justice by asking what kind of society each of us would like to be born into. The more equal the society, the less the risk of poverty and ill health, but the more unequal the society the greater the chance of ending up lord of the manor.
It’s a brave attempt to define ‘fairness’ from first principles, but everyone from Socrates to Kant has had a different opinion. Even the Judaeo-Christian ‘golden rule’ is no more than a simple version of ‘tit-for-tat’: “I’ll trust you until you betray me, then I won’t trust you again until you’ve proved to me that you’ve changed.”
This strategy (or a modified version of it) is the dominant strategy when pitted against less philanthropic – and even downright criminal – versions in computer simulations carried out by sociobiologists, but it still won’t drive out all the rest. The point of the exercise is to show that all of them can happily co-exist, even when the majority of ‘law-abiding’ citizens tries to lock up all the ‘criminals’.
People can’t easily or consciously change their strategies (even if there is such a thing as ‘free will’), and the idea that something is ‘not fair’ is a familiar rallying call, even if ‘fairness’ collapses into what sounds more like tribal loyalty.
In an exit poll for a recent British election, the main reason Labour supporters gave for not voting Conservative was that it was ‘the party of the rich’, but, in the words of Mandy (Rice-Davies, not Lord Rumba of Rio), they would say that, wouldn’t they?
Given a choice of voting for wealth creation or redistribution, the have-nots will always choose the latter as they have more to gain. It’s an unwritten law of economics that the many will always be poorer than the few. It’s an unwritten law of democracy that the few will always get screwed by the many!
Take the BBC licence fee as an example. When it was first introduced, the justification was that it wouldn’t be ‘fair’ for people to tune in to the BBC without paying something for the privilege, and the technology didn’t exist to prevent them.
The unfortunate side-effect, though, is that anybody who doesn’t watch (or listen to) the BBC still has to pay for it. How can that be fair?! Well, in the game of high-stakes poker we call economics, a cross-subsidy always beats a free rider. Now that’s freakish…
“Are you a priest or a democrat?”
That was the question my English tutor asked me during my very first tutorial at Oxford. Confused, I thought he might be talking about my father, who happened to be a Methodist minister, but instead he was introducing me to a rather useful distinction.
It turns out that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who believe decisions should be made by the best and brightest and those who believe the people should decide for themselves – however misguided they may be – for fear of tyranny or incompetence.
At that stage in my career, with all the arrogance of an ‘Olympian Oxford Man’, I considered myself one of the best and brightest and therefore a ‘priest’, but now, when I think of all the bad decisions made by our politicians, business leaders and others in positions of authority and how powerless I am to influence them, I can’t imagine being anything but a ‘democrat’.
It doesn’t stop me moaning, of course, but at least I have the hope that the existing lot might eventually be thrown out and a new lot brought in to clean up the mess.
I used to have many alcohol-fuelled arguments with people about economics, politics and ethics, but I don’t any more. That’s partly because I see the futility of such conversations (and the enormous potential for offence!) and partly because I realise most arguments are caused by a simple difference in values.
You can’t prove a ‘should’, as they say, so the chances of convincing people that they’re wrong about what ‘should’ be done are virtually non-existent. My tutor used to say we should be discussing the classical trinity of ‘the true, the good and the beautiful’, but perhaps all three collapse into just one truth. Whether we’re talking about morality, science or aesthetics, we wouldn’t want to say anything that wasn’t true, would we…?!
It’s also a matter of perspective. The classic appeal of the Communist is: “I’ve got nothing. You’ve got something. Let’s share!” He’d be lucky to get half my money, but that doesn’t stop me from understanding his point of view.
We all have strategies for getting on in life. Some of those are conscious, some unconscious. We are what we are, and a Darwinian would suggest that we’ve reached an equilibrium point with a mixture of angels and devils, heroes and villains, go-getters and scroungers.
It’s like the story of the hawks and the doves. Just because hawks are birds of prey and eat doves for breakfast doesn’t mean they’ll dominate the skies, because they need the doves to provide food, and if they ate them all then the hawks would die out, too.
That means there’ll always be a balance. The girlfriend of my roommate at Oxford was actually a biological determinist, and she once told me that we didn’t have ‘free will’ at all. It’s just an illusion. How could we possibly make ‘decisions’ when there’s no effect without a cause?
We’re simply glorified computers desperately trying to maximise our well-being under an unpredictable bombardment of conflicting drives, both physical and intellectual. As such, our minds can only ever come up with one answer, just as a computer will always ‘decide’ that 2 + 2 = 4.
We might get it wrong sometimes, but we’ll always reach what we feel is the ‘best’ conclusion given the information available.
Come to think of it, that worldview makes any discussion of ‘priests’ and ‘democrats’ pointless, because we can’t even choose to be one or the other, but I still believe in freedom – even if it is illusory – and I can still watch from the sidelines, cheering on my fellow democrats!
If you fall over a lot, you probably won’t be that good at sport. I fell over once on an all-weather hockey pitch and sliced a wound in my knee that needed to be re-bandaged every day for two weeks in hospital, so I was never going to turn pro!
However, it’s not just physical balance that’s needed in sport. Club owners, fans and players alike need balance in the rules of the game and the relative strength of the teams. If that balance is upset, sport becomes ‘unfair’ and often boring.
Football is the world’s favourite sport partly because it achieves this balance. The rules are simple, and there seems to be a natural equilibrium between risk and reward.
On the pitch, what drives owners, fans and players to distraction is anything that interrupts that balance. That normally takes the form of poor refereeing decisions, but administrators could solve the problem through use of TV replays, public ranking of officials’ performance and one simple change to the rules.
Offside decisions cause more outrage and frustration than any other, but why is there an offside law in the first place? It is common to almost all team sports, but is it really necessary? Thousands of football games in the school playground manage without it, and hockey has shown the way by bravely scrapping the law altogether.
Rugby is another sport that could benefit from deregulation. It has so many rules, it’s no surprise referees make so many mistakes, but the IRB doesn’t help itself by introducing such bizarre and counterproductive rules. If a player catches a perfect up-and-under and is immediately swamped by chasing opposition players, why does he win the scrum feed?
If a player kicks the ball into touch within an inch of the try line, why does the line-out get pushed back five metres? Whatever happened to fair play or the balance of risk and reward…?!
Off the pitch, sporting bodies achieve balance in different ways. Surprisingly, you’ll find more of a free market on the Continent, where clubs such as European champions Barcelona are allowed to cement their dominance through individual TV rights deals, than you do in America, where the franchise system, the draft and the equal sharing of TV and even merchandising revenues gives a small town, ‘Moneyball’-inspired team such as the Oakland As the chance to beat even the great New York Yankees.
What makes it easier for the Americans to carry out their little communist experiment is that their baseball and American football franchises don’t have to compete with anybody else.
The rules clearly prevent any individual club from reaching its free-market potential, but that might be a price worth paying when you don’t have to worry about relegation or losing to a bunch of foreigners! Agreements between clubs also tend to be a lot easier when you don’t have to deal with FIFA corruption or UEFA’s Financial Fair Play rules.
There is always a conflict between shareholders and fans, because profits can always be spent on higher wages or transfer fees, and changing the rules is hard when you have the weight of history and inertia to deal with, but I hope I live to see the day when a little more balance and fairness is introduced to the games we love.
I bet you more people have heard of Schrodinger’s cat than the Law of the Excluded Middle. I say that because people like paradoxes if they show how ‘fab and groovy, windswept and interesting’ they are, but how many people ask enough questions to resolve the paradox?
That’s usually the job of scientists, but with quantum physics and Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle those questions remain unanswered. In fact, it’s worse than that. In order to explain certain quantum phenomena, scientists have had to resort to suspending the laws of logic.
How can Schrodinger’s cat be both dead and alive? Paul Boateng once asked the same question about the Labour party at an Oxford Union debate on ‘zombie politics’. The answer was that it depended whom you asked.
The Lib Dems wanted Labour to be dead, but the Conservatives relied on the party being very much alive! It’s the same in the world of astrophysics and quantum mechanics. If you believe Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity, you get one set of answers, but if you believe his Special Theory of Relativity you get another.
The world of the very large and the world of the very small appear to behave according to different sets of rules. Admittedly, those rules make scientific experiments predictable to an astonishing level of accuracy, but they’re still different rules. Is it too much to ask that we have only one set of laws however big the objects we’re trying to describe?
Now, physicists are obviously working hard to reconcile these contradictions, but they haven’t got very far considering they’ve been at it since 1905! What nobody seems to have done is to look at things from the other end of the microscope (or telescope): what if it’s not a problem with science but a problem with logic?
What if the rules of logic that scientists have been following for thousands of years just don’t work?
The Law of the Excluded Middle states that a proposition is either true or false, but it can’t be both. The Schrodinger’s cat thought experiment appears to be an exception to the rule, as the cat exists in a ‘superposition of states’ until it’s seen by a human observer.
Now, in what other avenue of life do we accept that different versions of the truth exist in a ‘superposition of states’ or that cause and effect can be reversed? Do schoolboys only find out whether they’ve done their homework when their teacher opens their books? Can they then decide that they did it after all and see the answers magically appear like the keys to the jail in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure?
You can’t have your cake and eat it – unless you happen to be a quantum physicist…
Another case where logic is set aside is the nature of light, which is either a wave or a particle beam, depending on what you had for breakfast that day. You would think that it could only be one or the other, and that was certainly what I thought when my old physics teacher playfully asked the class which it was.
What I didn’t know was that it was a trick question: it’s both!
I thought he was just messing with our 15-year-old heads, especially as it was the last physics lesson before the summer holidays, but it turns out we’d just gone through almost the entire O-level syllabus without being told the whole truth. “You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!” as he didn’t say…
Whether it’s photons or subatomic particles, physicists usually get away with breaking the rules of logic by invoking probability theory. Now, probability theory is just a decision-making tool and not any kind of explanation of cause and effect.
The only reason we calculate probabilities is that we don’t possess complete information. If we toss a coin, we say the chances of it being heads or tails are one in two or 50%, but that’s just because we haven’t tossed it yet.
Once we’ve tossed the coin, and it turns out to be tails, say, the ‘probability’ of that outcome collapses to 100%. If it’s tails, there was actually never a chance that it was going to be heads. It’s just we didn’t know all the variables such as how high the coin would be thrown or how fast it would be spun.
With perfect information, probabilities are meaningless. However, quantum physics begs to differ. Whether it’s the rate of radioactive decay or the presence of electrons at different energy levels, outcomes are given probabilities as if that predicts and explains the phenomenon.
Making predictions is fundamental to the scientific method, so we surely deserve a better answer than, “Well, it might do this or it might do that…” Logic demands that there is no effect without a cause and that causality runs from the past to the future.
How have we reached such a pass that both those ideas have been thrown out the window? People used to ask whether knowledge of the positions and masses of every particle in the universe would theoretically make possible accurate predictions of every single event in the future.
The uncertainty principle seemed to put an end to such speculation, but not in my book. If probability doesn’t actually ‘explain’ anything, then you’re back to looking for good, old-fashioned cause and effect.
Unfortunately, that throws into doubt a whole lot of notions we tend to take for granted. Take free will. How can I be said to make a ‘choice’ when it’s simply the result of a collision between subatomic particles…? Do we all have to be biological determinists now?
When it comes to very big things rather than very little, physics has similar problems. There is no such thing, we are told, as ‘action at a distance’, and yet that is exactly what the effect of gravity seems to be.
Physicists would say that gravity is ‘explained’ as the curvature of space-time and that we can visualise it by throwing little balls ‘in orbit’ round a big, heavy ball on a trampoline, but that’s (literally) a circular argument because it relies on the existence of gravity to explain gravity’s existence! When a theory is no more than a visualisation or a metaphor, you know you’re in trouble…
And another thing…in fact, a very big thing. If every effect must have a cause and nothing in the real world is infinite, then how did the universe get started in the first place? Religion bumped heads with this one a few thousand years ago, but making any kind of god the ‘first cause’ or ‘prime mover’ just begs the question, “Well, if God created the universe, who created God?”
That leads to an infinite regress.
Again, scientists have an excuse. The accepted version of events suggests that talking about anything ‘before’ the universe began is nonsense because time was only created during the Big Bang. Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they…?!
Unfortunately, the laws of thermodynamics don’t deal very well with the idea that a couple of particles of matter and antimatter just ‘popped’ into existence, collided, exploded and created the whole universe because of a slight imbalance. There’s no such thing as a free lunch – unless you’re Schrodinger’s cat, and we all know how that worked out…
Bertrand Russell upset the apple cart when he showed that the logical basis of set theory in maths was faulty, but nobody has done the same with science yet.
Either science doesn’t stand up to logic or logic doesn’t stand up to science. Who knows which? The only stupid question is the one you never ask…
One of the frustrations about learning French is that you’re not given the words you really need to know.
I studied French up to A-level, but I was sometimes at a complete loss when I went out with my French girlfriend and a few of her friends in Lyon.
I was feeling suitably smug about following the whole conversation in French…until everyone started talking about chestnuts!
At the end of almost every story, someone would mention them. Now, it’s not often that chestnuts crop up in conversation (!), so I thought I’d check with Isabelle later on. When I asked her about it, she said her friends hadn’t been talking about chestnuts at all.
When I pressed her, she said they hadn’t been saying ‘marrons’ but ‘marrant’ – which is slang for ‘funny’! The next day, I started a list of all the slang words – or ‘argot’ – I came across, and within a few weeks I had over a hundred.
This is just a trivial example of what anyone knows who has lived and spoken French among French people: the words they use are almost never the ones you find in Longmans Audiovisual French!
More often than not, they are ‘argotique’ or slang. For example, a house is not a ‘maison’ but a ‘baraque’, and a car is not a ‘voiture’ but a ‘caisse’ or a ‘bagnole’. In addition, there are rules about when you can use slang and when you can’t.
I got into real trouble with my girlfriend when I threw a few slang words into my conversation with an old family friend of hers. I was just trying to practise my ‘argot’, but Isabelle told me in no uncertain terms that you NEVER, EVER use slang with someone you address as ‘vous’!
Pupils spend a long time being taught vocabulary for a given set of situations and environments – doing the shopping, going to school, going to the cinema etc – but they are rarely given a simple list of the most common words.
You can easily find such a list online (http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Wiktionary:French_frequency_lists/1-2000), and learning those words strikes me as much more useful than wasting time with ‘le muguet’ (or lily-of-the-valley), which I remember cropping up in my own Longmans text book!
| French Argot | English |
| une pretexte baroque | a bizarre or flimsy pretext |
| une benne | a skip — where you dump things |
| merde | s**t – can mean almost anything you want |
| le chef | boss |
| la bagnole | car |
| la bite, bitte | c**k |
| cool | cool |
| le pénaliste | criminal lawyer |
| au tapis | down (as in dead) |
| laisse tomber! | drop it! Leave it! |
| stupéfiants, stupes | drugs |
| s**t | drugs, such as cannabis resin – as in “cent grams de s**t!” |
| gagner du fric | earn money |
| une escort girl | escort girl |
| la femme de compagnie | escort girl |
| poilu | First World War veteran |
| magouiller avec | f**k with |
| marrant | funny |
| le gentleman | gentleman |
| le flingue | gun |
| tu as plongé? | have you started using [drugs] again? |
| c’est du bluff | he’s bluffing |
| la baraque | house |
| j’ai des comptes à régler | I have scores to settle |
| je sais ce que vous traversez | I know what you’re going through |
| illico | immediately? |
| embrouillé | in a fine mess |
| mediatique | media-friendly, media-savvy |
| la crise d’angoisse | panic attack |
| le proxénétisme | pimping, profiting from prostitution |
| dégagez! | piss off! |
| le merdeux | s**thead |
| bouché | stupid |
| point final | that’s it, end of story |
| la salope | the bitch, the disloyal woman |
| larguer | to dump |
| fumer | to kill |
| les chiottes | toilets |
| t’as reçu un pain | you got punched in the face |
If you’re looking for past papers with answers, especially in the run-up to 11+/13+ exams, GCSEs or A-levels, you can visit my Past Papers page and subscribe for just £37.99 a year.
Well, it’s finally happened. Frustrated by the 140-character straitjacket of Facebook status updates and Twitter tweets, I’ve broken free into the blogosphere!