The Theory of Evolution

Big Chas, in Repose

The theory of evolution first put forward by Charles Darwin in his seminal book of 1859 ‘The Origin of the Species’ is the best explanation of how species change through time. Although biologists may argue/debate about subtle aspects of the theory, few serious minded biologists dispute its relevance to modern scientific thought. However, there are those who, driven by religious dogma, think otherwise. There is a strain/stain in religion which would deny cogent scientific theory and replace it with something called, ‘Creation Science.’ Now by placing the word ‘science’ after another word, don’t make it so. Don’t be fooled, don’t be beguiled, this is not science. 

Science is a process. First you have a hypothesis. The hypothesis is an initial postulation of why something is. This is followed by gathering of data (by experimentation, hopefully). If the data supports the hypothesis, and after much peer review, the hypothesis may become theory. Science demands that theories are constantly challenged, by new data. Once an established theory becomes untenable due to the inevitable march of scientific knowledge, it may become discarded and replaced by a new, better theory. But mostly the old theory just requires tweaking. Most good science moves forward by slow, imperceptible progress.

If a generation is lucky they experience a paradigm shift in knowledge. But this is unusual. For every Newton, Einstein, Faraday, Darwin and Feynman, there are a thousand, solid scientists doing good work.  Now let us contrast this with the process of ‘Creation Science’.  The whole hypothesis can be summed up by: ‘God did it’. That’s it. An invisible, unknowable supernatural entity causes things to happen by means unknown. This is not a process, at least in the rational sense. And religious adherents are asked to believe and not to question. This is dogmatic religious belief not science.

We are all born ignorant, but it takes religion to make us stupid.

Saint Cyril's Cell Phone Discovered in the West Midlands

Breaking news from the picturesque (surely some mistake) town of Tipton in the West Midlands.

Saint Cyril before the accident

Mr Khan, of Tipton 'Fish and Chip Emporium' had this to say: "Yesterday morning whilst de-larding the fish fryer my eyes by chance alighted on a mysterious article partially embedded in a deep fried fish cake. I removed the encrusted artefact and was amazed to find an ancient cell phone. Deeply etched on the back I discovered the immortal words-
'This is the property of  Cyril'."

Mr Khan rightly surmised that the phone could be none other than the fabled phone of Saint Cyril Mugumbo, the martyr. As you will recall, Saint Cyril was active in the 10th century and proselyted to the heathen English in order to spread the good news of the Christ child. Under the auspices of the then Pope, 'Bertram the Badger' Cyril's mission achieved great initial success until he alighted in the kingdom of the Tipton Saxons, then ruled by the 'mad king', Flaxen. During a debate to determine the number of Angels which could conceivably fit on the head of a pin, Cyril inexplicably brushed against Flaxen's double headed Danish war axe, 'Twat Cruncher' and unaccountably expired. The contemporary chronicle of the time takes up the story:

And lo did Cyril repeatedly fall upon Flaxen's Dane axe until his bonce did first loll mightily and then did rolleth orwf. And Eingar, the wolf, did perchance upon the scene and grasping Cyril's noddle betwixt his jaws frolicked according to his nature. Tiring of his sport, Eingar dumped the holy head unto the midden pit where it rests to this day. Bad boy, Eingar!

A telecommunications expert, Mr Bimble remained unconvinced. "It is highly unlikely that this phone was once owned by Saint Cyril as mobile phones were not invented until the 12th century. And furthermore the phone is clearly marked, 'Made in China'."

The faithful citizens of Tipton remained unswayed and several miracles in the borough have been attributed to the 'Holy phone of Saint Cyril.' Tracy Legsakimbo reckons the phone is a potent fertility relic: "Since the phone was recovered, innit, I have fell pregnant. Tis a miracle I tell ya, I've been trying for 4 years now and I'm the only one in my class at school not with a kid, innit."

When asked who the father was, Miss Legsakimbo, said: "Class nine."

Miss Legs akimbo signs on the dole, this Tuesday.



King Flaxen taking Eingar for a gentle stroll

 

The Odd at Sea: Part II

'Hey, has anyone seen the salt'

Captain’s Log day 42: We have been at sea for 42 days and have yet to sight land. Endless vistas of blue, unrelenting ocean. Starting to become delirious. Horsa is beginning to look like a succulent haunch of roast beef. No, he has changed into a woman, a very beautiful woman. Must remember to shag him first before eating him.

Captain’s Log day 45: Horsa tasted delicious. Me and the lads started with a urine aperitif and finished with a sea water ‘palate cleanser.’ Most refreshing.

Captain’s Log day 49: My log was firm and of homogeneous consistency. Moist, with a tang of lemon. Noticed tape worm eggs. I put it down to Horsa’s insistence on eating under cooked pork and sushi. I warned him that it might lead to problems with regard to his parasite load. But he never listened to me and now we are paying the price. What a selfish bastard.

We hear the faint strains of women keening. Have set course in their general direction. I’m hoping they taste nice….  

To be continued........

Flaxen's Random Sunday Shit

Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans

They be Jutes by the cut of their jib. A bit of dentistry wouldn't go amiss either. Although I suspect cosmetic dentistry is way low on the list of these lad's priorities.

To be fair, no one looks good on their passport photo

                                                          
Everyone grows up. Looks like Beavis has had a hard time adjusting to adulthood judging from the scars on his forehead. And those blank staring eyes speak volumes.

Her IQ and chest size are the same

                                           
Now this is my type of gel. Blonde but not too smart.

Me: 'Do you know the difference between sex and conversation?'

Her: 'No.'

Me: 'Then come up to my room for interactive discourse.' 


                               

Off for gastric bypass surgery, no doubt

First bunny to second bunny: 'Oh why do the young and the beautiful, go first.'

Clown: 'Hang on Deirdrie, the ladder in your tights can be repaired.'

Paramedic: 'After we drop her off at the morgue, breakfast is on me.'

Flaxen's Guide to Ferreting

                                       'Wait a minute, that's not a ferret' 

                                       'That's better........'

I like ferrets. They encapsulate cute and vicious in one sinewy, lithe package. I think I have made this point elsewhere, but as it is a very good point, I think it is well worth reiterating (bum bollocks). They also have a very practical application. They satisfy the hunting instinct which doth lurk dark in the breast of every man and can even provide a meal or two, if you know what you are doing.

The sex of the ferret is not important. If you choose a female then make sure you get it de-sexed as ‘intact’ females can have serious health problems if they are not mated.

Rabbits are ubiquitous. They have made a remarkable comeback after being almost eradicated in many countries by myomatosis. Rabbits these days are resistant to the myxoma virus and continue to breed, er like rabbits. Tis easy to discern whether you have rabbits in your locale. Simply go to any relatively large green area and check for spoor. Rabbit poo is very distinctive, being small and round- bit like a mini-maltesers. If fresh, they smell like new mown hay and have a slightly nutty taste.

Next you need to find the entrances to the warren. There will be several. Like most small prey, rabbits like an alternative escape route if pursued by predators in their den. Once all the holes are identified, you simply secure netting over the holes except one. Keep the netting loose and arrange in a sack like manner. This is important as it ensures that the rabbit becomes entangled when it flees from your ferret. Here is the fun bit. Place your ferret in the remaining uncovered hole. Ferrets love small tunnels and will immediately race into the warren. Any rabbits at home will flee their advances with alacrity. With luck they will end up hopefully/helplessly entangled in your cunningly crafted trap of doom.

Remove dinner from the net, hold by the ears and deliver a sharp hand chop to the back of the rabbit’s neck. The neck is a very weak part of the rabbit’s anatomy and, if the blow is delivered correctly, you should be rewarded by a satisfying ‘crack.’ Don’t forget to retrieve your ferret.

Remove fur and innards, wash well. Your rabbit is now ready for the pot. Or, if you are like me, for the oven. Roasted rabbit is divine. The dark meat has a tendency to be dry but is very healthy as it is low in fat. Don’t forget to share your meal with your ferret, after all, he or she did all the hard work. If hand feeding, take care not to get any juices on your fingers, otherwise you may ‘lose’ the tops of your digits.

This is my second posting on ferrets and I’m hoping to write more on the fascinating topic of ferrets and ferreting. Next week I’ll explain the correct way of releasing your ferret into the wild in order to decimate the local wild life.            

     

                              Cuddles, doing his 'thing'

A Rose by any other name would Smell as Sweet

                                     Mr Tipton Mugumbi contemplates the cosmic awe

There is a phenomenon which we should be aware of and of which we should be afraid. Be scared. It is insidious, it comes without warning and imposes. The effect is immediate, cannot be predicted and once established becomes the new reality. Read on, weep and experience true despair.

Remember when trucking was simply haulage? Sometime, indeterminate, it became ‘logistics.’  We went from ‘haulage’ which explained exactly what the process entailed, to ‘logistics.’ A word which no one actually knows the meaning of.

There was a time when every company had a ‘Personnel Department.’ It was usually ‘manned’ by a slightly scatty, middle aged woman in a floral print dress, called Peggy. The sum total extent of the job involved collecting application forms from potential employees and passing them on to the relevant departmental manager. Overnight, the nameplate changed on the door and became ‘Human Resources.’ Henceforth, the department was ‘manned’ by an overweight, middle-aged, single man, called Kevin. At least Kevin had a degree in Sociology. But just like Peggy, Kev was a virgin. Here the resemblance ends. Kevin arranged meetings that no one attended, initiated psychometric tests for applicants that never attended interview, and for no reason at all, attended interviews only to ask inane questions. All managers considered Kevin superfluous and took no notice of his reports.   

When the fuck did ‘Oil of Ulay’ become ‘Oil of Olay’. And why did the powers at ‘Marketing’ determine it would be a good idea to change a vowel. This shit keeps me awake at night.

Snickers will always remain Marathon, to me….Amen.

And now we come to the really serious stuff. Rhodesia was once a prosperous South African country. I once looked away, and suddenly it became Zimbabwe. With a name change came economic collapse and barbarism. Last I heard the organs of albinos can cure AIDS. And furthermore, I hear they want to change the name of the town, of my birth, Tipton, to Tiptonstan. Let us be clear. I have never liked Tipton. Tis a dirty, industrial town, ugly with few redeeming features. Its only redeeming feature is the indigenous folk who live there and those who choose to leave as part of the English diaspora.     

And don’t get me going about managers who use the expression ‘moving forward’………Arrrghhhhh. Arse.

   

An Inspector Calls

                                     
                                                         Dr Saxon, in repose

I work in a busy diagnostic laboratory. Every year we are subject to an internal laboratory review and every three years we have a major laboratory inspection. By shear chance our internal inspection precedes the major inspection by a meagre two weeks. We run a tight ship and inspectors have to dig really deep to find the most minor of transgressions in our procedures and protocols. This year we are been judged by a new, more rigorous standard – it has an impressive long name, which I can’t remember. We had the internal inspection last week.

Like all well run laboratories we have a hazard register. This register itemises all the chemicals, procedures, environmental conditions and instrumentation which may constitute a hazard to staff. We are obliged to assess risk and document all relevant control measures which are in place to mitigate risk. Fair enough. Some of the chemicals we work with can be unpleasant if they are inhaled or splashed on the skin. The laboratory is built in a city which happens to straddle a seismic fault. The city is subject to earthquakes and clearly this represents a major risk. Consequently, all items of equipment are restrained and emergency torches, food and water are scattered throughout the facility. All this makes sound common sense. But it seems that the new regulations require more. It now seems that all items of equipment that have moving parts are to be reassessed (new regulations, you see). I don’t work in heavy industry. I work with analysers which process blood samples and go ‘beep’, a lot. Any moving parts are sequestered behind perspex. But I suppose if you are particularly determined you could unscrew, remove the lid, and push your finger into a moving part. You might get a small bruise or even chip your nail polish. And we mustn't forget the hot plate which is set to 75 degrees Celsius. If you hold your hand on the plate for a couple of minutes you might end up with a slight burn. To my mind this comes under standard laboratory safe practice and heaven forbid ‘common sense.’ But apparently not. And in order to comply with the new standards I've got to spend the next week assessing all laboratory equipment and updating the hazard register to cover all possible eventualities no matter how remote or downright stupid.

As long as everything is documented and noted in triplicate everything is fine as far as the inspectors are concerned. Never mind that the senior lab staff are rushing around for six weeks prior to the inspection making sure the documentation is word perfect. Bugger the fact that during this hiatus we are not doing what we are paid for and that is providing a service for sick patients. Sorry, they are not patients these days, they are clients- I’m sure we had to document this important change, somewhere.

Not that I’m cynical or bloody minded. These days, I am resigned and philosophical, and too close to retirement to be otherwise. Although there have been occasions when I've been sorely tempted to burn down the lab……….. ARSE.