I’m a big fan of the metric system, mainly because it is consistent and easy to work with, but I still find that I end up using other measures for sanity sakes: miles for distances (which our roads are still measured in) or inches for clothes sizes (although I have a sneaking suspicion that many clothes manufacturers choose to either scrimp or flatter their clientele). However, there are many folk measures in use which are possibly useful for rule of thumb comparisons and that maybe should be more accurately defined.
One of the commonly used ones is the size of Belgium. A Belgium is 30,528 km2 which makes it approximately 1.5 Waleses, 80 Isle of Wights or 4,275,000 football pitches. The Empire State Building is 449 metres high which is in itself over 4 Big Bens, 8 Nelson Columns or around 100 double decker buses . Similarly, weight often refers to elephants, 6 family cars (at least 1980’s ones) or 6,000 bags of sugar (for those too dim to work out that a bag of sugar is 1Kg).
There are also some odd ones. When I used to go to a gym on a regular basis I devised a system to grade aerobic workouts which was the Mars Bar scale. This was determined due to most of the aerobic workout machines being calibrated to show the total energy expired during the workout and a Mars Bar at the time containing roughly 250 kcals (1,000 kJoules) of energy. Hence a moderate workout could be a 1 Marsbar routine whereas an hour and a half flat out could hit the 4 or 5 Marsbar level. An interesting aside to this is that the exercise was only of any real benefit if one did not consume the Mars Bars afterwards.
Recently, I’ve noticed an interesting unit of measure in the media which is a universal unit of unhealthy food. This unit is the BigMac and refers to comparisons to McDonald’s iconic signature hamburger. For reference a BigMac can refer to 508 kcal of energy, 25g of fat (of which 9.5g are saturates) 43g of carbohydrates (of which 9g are sugars) or 2.3g of salt and, I suppose, could also include 3.6g of fibre and 26g of protein although the latter two are probably quite good for you.
The upshot of this is that newspapers and TV documentary makers can come up with such shocking things as tomato soup or a cottage pie containing more salt than a BigMac. Sandwiches contain more sugar than a BigMac and even more surprising is that many packaged salads (you know – the health things that we are meant to eat five of a day) contain more fat than a BigMac. Of course, I could just play Devil’s Advocate with this one and suggest that, on its own, a Big Mac isn’t anything like as unhealthy as its reputation would suggest?
Sunday, 28 August 2016
Sunday, 21 August 2016
A Principle of Moments
I occasionally keep an eye on Amazon’s Marketplace in case some second hand bargains come up for sale. Recently, I noticed Robert Plant’s “Now and Zen” album popping up for 24p plus postage. That’s not bad, in fact it is a very good album although I don’t often listen to it as I only have it on vinyl and that doesn’t work too well in the car’s CD player. Like a dog watching a sausage I thought, “I’m having that” and with a few magic clicks of Amazon’s website it was on its way to me. Whilst I was at it I thought I’d have a quick look through some of Plant’s other albums that I only have on LP and so begins yet another sorry story of why it is a bad idea to go online shopping whilst slightly inebriated.
As far as Robert Plant’s back catalogue was going I seemed to be in luck as there were quite a few of his old albums going for pennies. I picked up his first solo effort, Pictures At Eleven, for just under a pound and whilst it isn’t my favourite of his albums it is worth having. I then saw “The Principle of Moments” going for only 35p. This was plant’s second solo album and one of his better ones. The production now sounds hideously dated to the mid-80s but it has some great songs on and even gave him a hit single and an appearance on Top Of The Pops at the time.
The next morning I checked my emails and noticed that “The Principle Of Moments” had an odd name next to it: Romeo Vendrame. I quickly checked and discovered that this was not, in fact, Plant’s “The Principle Of Moments” but another “Principle Of Moments” by someone I had never heard of. I tried to cancel but was informed by the second hand disk seller in Germany that he had already dispatched it (or more likely he was finally rid of the thing – so tough). Oh well, I’m always one for a voyage of musical discovery so what would this unknown wonder sound like?
I do have a fairly broad palate of musical tastes. I’ll listen to Classical, Rock, Jazz, Folk, weird electronica and even, on occasion, the odd pop song. I’ve listened to Ligeti’s micropolyphony and enjoyed it. I’ll listen to late-60s Musique concrete and Stockhausen’s Elektronische Musik. I’ve listened to Free Jazz that sounds like a fight broke out and the drummer was kicked downstairs. I’ve listened to Norwegian folk ensembles. I’ve listened to Death Metal that sounds like someone has filled a washing machine with rubble, put it on a 1600 rpm spin cycle and gone “AARRRGGHEUTTHH!” all over the top of it. So what would Romeo Vendrame sound like?
Well, I put the CD on and it sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. Literally nothing. As in nothing, no sound, not a peep. I turned it up and I could hear a faint rumble in the background. OK, there was something. I suppose the nearest I would have in my collection would be some very early Tangerine Dream but possibly the outtakes from the studio after they were packing up the oscillators and left the tape machine running. So it turns out to be a very Avant-garde electronica in which very little appears to happen and often nothing at all. I don’t suppose that I can be too critical as it is not entirely removed from music that I already have in my collection but whereas I could happily listen to Tangerine Dream’s Zeit or Ligeti’s Atmosphères over and over I don’t think this one will be escaping from its jewel case that often.
Anyway, the Robert Plant album of the same name has now appeared so I’ll go and listen to him singing about his Big Log – whatever that is…
As far as Robert Plant’s back catalogue was going I seemed to be in luck as there were quite a few of his old albums going for pennies. I picked up his first solo effort, Pictures At Eleven, for just under a pound and whilst it isn’t my favourite of his albums it is worth having. I then saw “The Principle of Moments” going for only 35p. This was plant’s second solo album and one of his better ones. The production now sounds hideously dated to the mid-80s but it has some great songs on and even gave him a hit single and an appearance on Top Of The Pops at the time.
The next morning I checked my emails and noticed that “The Principle Of Moments” had an odd name next to it: Romeo Vendrame. I quickly checked and discovered that this was not, in fact, Plant’s “The Principle Of Moments” but another “Principle Of Moments” by someone I had never heard of. I tried to cancel but was informed by the second hand disk seller in Germany that he had already dispatched it (or more likely he was finally rid of the thing – so tough). Oh well, I’m always one for a voyage of musical discovery so what would this unknown wonder sound like?
I do have a fairly broad palate of musical tastes. I’ll listen to Classical, Rock, Jazz, Folk, weird electronica and even, on occasion, the odd pop song. I’ve listened to Ligeti’s micropolyphony and enjoyed it. I’ll listen to late-60s Musique concrete and Stockhausen’s Elektronische Musik. I’ve listened to Free Jazz that sounds like a fight broke out and the drummer was kicked downstairs. I’ve listened to Norwegian folk ensembles. I’ve listened to Death Metal that sounds like someone has filled a washing machine with rubble, put it on a 1600 rpm spin cycle and gone “AARRRGGHEUTTHH!” all over the top of it. So what would Romeo Vendrame sound like?
Well, I put the CD on and it sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. Literally nothing. As in nothing, no sound, not a peep. I turned it up and I could hear a faint rumble in the background. OK, there was something. I suppose the nearest I would have in my collection would be some very early Tangerine Dream but possibly the outtakes from the studio after they were packing up the oscillators and left the tape machine running. So it turns out to be a very Avant-garde electronica in which very little appears to happen and often nothing at all. I don’t suppose that I can be too critical as it is not entirely removed from music that I already have in my collection but whereas I could happily listen to Tangerine Dream’s Zeit or Ligeti’s Atmosphères over and over I don’t think this one will be escaping from its jewel case that often.
Anyway, the Robert Plant album of the same name has now appeared so I’ll go and listen to him singing about his Big Log – whatever that is…
Monday, 15 August 2016
Lochleven Castle
In fact, it isn’t just in the middle of Fife, but it is in the middle of a loch in the middle of Fife. This means that it is only accessible by means of a small ferry boat (allegedly seating 12 passengers but I think it was a good job that half of them were children). Being a Saturday it was quite busy but, as the weather was nice, we took a couple of hours to walk around the nature trails before getting the boat across.
In terms of history, Lochleven is yet another one of those places that is tied in with Mary Queen Of Scots which probably does a great deal to draw the tourists in but is a bit of history that I am really rather bored with now. However, I loved it, not so much for the historical background but because the fact that the island on which the castle sits is only accessible by the small boat. Rather than the intrigues of Tudor-Stuart politics this really appeals to my romantic notions of travelling to remote inaccessible antiquities.
The only thing I wish I had done was to bring a picnic along to the island. There are lots of picnic tables on the island (and in the castle) as well as proper public toilets which seemed to be in short supply on the mainland. In fact the whole loch appealed to me with its nature walks and wildlife reserves. There is a trail which is some 12 miles long that loops right around the loch. I’ll have to go back and try this one day – and remember to bring a picnic.
Friday, 5 August 2016
The Falkirk Televisor
I took Sophia along to Falkirk’s Callendar Park on Saturday so that she could play in the park there. Unfortunately, by the time we got there it was raining – heavily. Rather than waste the trip I suggested that we look around the museum in Callendar House. Some of the exhibits, regarding the history of Falkirk, rarely change although are still of interest. They do have a couple of exhibition rooms that change their displays every few months and the current theme was “Everyday Science”. One of the exhibits was of great interest to me as I had heard of it but never actually seen it before: the Falkirk Televisor.
The Falkirk Televisor is, in effect, the oldest known existing prototype of a television camera. It was an electo-mechanical device but it’s principle of scanning images to transmit as an electrical stream was the basis of all video cameras up to the advent of digital broadcasting. The reasons for it ending up in Falkirk are a little more vague but relate to the work of its inventor, John Logie Baird, and the owner of a Falkirk radio supplies shop, John Hart. Baird presented Hart with the Televisor shortly after he had demonstrated television broadcasting in London’s Soho in January 1926. There is a plaque on the device to confirm this.
Hart displayed the Televisor in his shop window before it was eventually passed on to Falkirk Museum. The shop is long gone although a blue plaque on the wall of Falkirk’s Howgate shopping centre marks the site. By pure coincidence, I once bought a Baird branded TV from the Radio Rentals shop that used to be located about 10 metres away in the shopping centre.
What appears to be more surrounded in mystery is what, exactly, the relationship was between Baird and Hart. Given the secretive nature of inventors there are very few records of what went on but as Hart was an experienced electrical engineer and in regular contact with the local Radio Club (who knew Baird) so it would seem natural that they would work together. There is an account from a George Shaw of Larbert that Baird tested his equipment at the Temperance Café in December 1925. This would presumably be a test run for his London demonstration but the only records of this appear to be aural tradition. The Temperance Café, on Lint Riggs, is now called Johnston’s Bar Bistro (and also now sells alcohol!)
It seems unlikely that any more information from Baird’s early research will be found but it does seem likely that such a world-altering invention has its roots close to home.
The Falkirk Televisor is, in effect, the oldest known existing prototype of a television camera. It was an electo-mechanical device but it’s principle of scanning images to transmit as an electrical stream was the basis of all video cameras up to the advent of digital broadcasting. The reasons for it ending up in Falkirk are a little more vague but relate to the work of its inventor, John Logie Baird, and the owner of a Falkirk radio supplies shop, John Hart. Baird presented Hart with the Televisor shortly after he had demonstrated television broadcasting in London’s Soho in January 1926. There is a plaque on the device to confirm this.Hart displayed the Televisor in his shop window before it was eventually passed on to Falkirk Museum. The shop is long gone although a blue plaque on the wall of Falkirk’s Howgate shopping centre marks the site. By pure coincidence, I once bought a Baird branded TV from the Radio Rentals shop that used to be located about 10 metres away in the shopping centre.
What appears to be more surrounded in mystery is what, exactly, the relationship was between Baird and Hart. Given the secretive nature of inventors there are very few records of what went on but as Hart was an experienced electrical engineer and in regular contact with the local Radio Club (who knew Baird) so it would seem natural that they would work together. There is an account from a George Shaw of Larbert that Baird tested his equipment at the Temperance Café in December 1925. This would presumably be a test run for his London demonstration but the only records of this appear to be aural tradition. The Temperance Café, on Lint Riggs, is now called Johnston’s Bar Bistro (and also now sells alcohol!)
It seems unlikely that any more information from Baird’s early research will be found but it does seem likely that such a world-altering invention has its roots close to home.
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