Quantum socks

Higgs and socks

They think they've discovered the Higgs Boson. I think it's the particle without which the none of the other particles would have any mass. How does it do that? Subatomically, that's how. In our boring, bigstuff world, there's more predictability. Things get more weird and whacky when you go ultra-small. Things can, it seems, have no mass without the Higgs (I sort of hope the guys at the LHC call it the 'syrup' or the 'Ryan' or the 'archeological' or the 'Bay'), then suddenly have mass with it.

Equally mind blowing are socks. Monday to Friday I take it for granted that there's zero likelihood of putting on a pair of socks (almonds, or Grimsby's in the north) as despite the drawer being full, such a thing just does not exist. Saturday was simpler, with a pair of cricket socks needed. To play cricket in. As the quartermasters in those old black and white army films put it:

• Socks. Cricket. Playing for the use of.

Disaster today. BLISS announced that there was now a single cricket sock. Whereabouts of the other, missing sock unknown.

“I know” I thought, “I bet it's already in the sock drawer, and that'll sort things out, all will be right with the world again, if not in financial or all getting along terms, at least in respect of cricket socks. Locally.”

In the drawer I found not one, but a pair of cricket socks. How does this happen? I've gone from two (which was fine and balanced) to one (which was bad and so, so wrong) to three (which is a damn sight better than one, but still seems rather odd, as if we've entered the strange and wild subatomic universe where theoretical physicists and Shrodinger's cat live, only with the quirks, strangeness and alarm affecting only socks).

Henry

Henry's brilliant. Apart from supporting United. His boy's a Gooner, so his genes must be OK. Henry's a Quantity Surveyor. He's a blunt, plainly and often outspoken chap. Henry answers questions. In an increasingly cagey world, Henry trusts his experience and knowledge, and gives you the best answer he can. With the rest of the world it goes like this:

“How much for a permanent cradle and track. Eight floors. Twenty-five by fifteen metres.”

“Where is it?” This is plainly stalling as unless someone has erected an eight-storey block on an iceberg, costs are not going to be geographically dependent. The site cannot be too difficult or remote, or there wouldn't be an eight-storey block in the first place. It's also bad English. Where is it should be “Where's the building” as the 'it' refers to the cradle and track, which there plainly isn't, yet, so it can't be anywhere, being just a concept at the moment.

“London.”

“What's the roof made of?” More irrelevance. Eight floors. Must be a lift. Must be tankrooms. Whatever the roof is, it'll support a track and cradle.

After several exasperating minutes, I get the answer I knew was coming all along.

“Dunno.”

Different with Henry. Same question.

Henry: a while since I did one of those. Budget?

Me: absolutely mate. Ballpark. Won't hold you to anything.

Henry: won't get get much change from a hundred grand.

Me: thanks.

Henry gets a lot of work, because he provides answers and solutions and does not waste your time.