Thoughts on Teleportation and Fracking

Those who are familiar with the BBC comedy 'Only Fools and Horses' will know what I mean by 'Trigger's broom.'

The joke was along the lines of "He's had had the same broom for thirty years. It's had ten new handles and eight new brush-heads." So the philosophical argument is, 'Is it the same broom?' Most people would say 'no,' but now let's turn it around.

The human body is in a constant process of renewal, and scientists say that there will not be a single atom in your body that was part of you ten years ago, so are we the same people that we used to be? Or are we really just a new machine running to an old computer program (our brains)?

Similarly, I often used to puzzle about the science fiction scenario of 'teleportation'. The idea of this is that you step into the machine and it analyses you before destroying you and recreating an exact replica of you in a different location. If such a thing ever existed, I wonder if my consciousness would instantly transfer to the new me, or if I would simply cease to perceive anything while the new me seamlessly carries on with all my thoughts and memories and therefore no sense of being a new being. Funnily enough, I explored this quandary in one of my stories in 'The Kent-erbury Tales,' which can be tracked down on Amazon.co.uk - how's that for a seamless plug?

Changing the subject slightly, there seems to have been a marked rise in the glorification of war in recent years, so I was pleased to read a column in the local rag recently, highlighting the true human cost and that the only real winners are the arms manufacturers, who no doubt love a good war now and again to keep business ticking over. In short, we flog the weapons, and then when they get used we've got ourselves another war. I don't buy the argument that if we didn't make the weapons some other country would, as by this logic we may as well plough up the rape seed and start growing fields of opium!

Sadly most of our banks are instrumental in investing our money in the arms trade. We do have a choice though. The Co-op bank (although not completely white as we have seen) does not invest in this sector and neither do many building societies, so we can get our money out of arms if we choose to. If you want to see which accounts measure up when it comes to ethical investments visit http://www.ethicalconsumer.org/buyersguides/money for live updated rankings.

Sadly many of our politicians view the arms industry as important for jobs, when like many people I'd rather see the jobs shifted to creating a green revolution which would give young people real hope rather than the prospect of just more of the same (endless wars and a recession every 20 years, which will of course be somebody else's problem so short term savings and unsustainable 'solutions' seem to be the order of the day. Now that the plans for a huge hydroelectric dam across the mouth of the River Severn have been scrapped and 'fracking mania' has been given the go ahead, does that mean that the official line is that all the fears we had about global warming have just vaporised? Or has nobody read up on the 'greenhouse qualities' of natural gas? Joined up thinking hey, who needs it?!

Wendover, Wallingford, Watlington & Wetness - a Cycling Perambulation

This is a short resume of a cycling expedition that is featured in more detail in the 2016 book 'Stair-Rods and Stars' (ISBN: 978-1513605258) - available now on Amazon and by order from all good book shops.

My most recent cycling expedition took me along the Chiltern Hills and involved camping for two nights, as always eschewing the option of paying to use an official site, and instead diving into the nearest wood as things get dusky. I alighted with my bike at Tring station and headed southwest along a B-road which forms the Upper Icknield Way. I diverted down Tringford Road to join the towpath of the Wendover arm of the Grand Union Canal, but discovered that the gap on the map, which I'd assumed to be a tunnel, was actually a gap of several miles in the middle where the canal was allowed to dry up. I rejoined the B-road and bridged the A41 (pictured), which was the tenth longest road on the UK until the authorities decided to hack out the middle chunk and renumber it as a B-road!

After enjoying the impressive view, I descended Tring Hill and rejoined the towpath, which was hard surfaced here (as opposed to just grass) and very pleasant, winding beside the narrow, often overgrown waterway to Wendover. After a look at this pleasant town, which reminded me of Cranbrook in Kent, and visiting a micro-brewery (basically a pub in a shed) where I sampled the excellent Chiltern Gold ale at £2.20 a pint, storm clouds were gathering. Lightning flashed around as I continued southward on the bike. When the hail started, I was just outside Princes Risborough and had no option but to lay on the grass verge and pull the tarpaulin I was carrying over myself and wait half an hour for the torrential downpour to subside.

I then headed for the nearest Tesco (not something I make a habit of) and used their hand-driers to expunge the absorbed liquid from my clothes and stock up on a few supplies. I then headed for the hills to set up camp for the night. A tree groaned and creaked above me, and having seen what an uprooted cherry tree can do at my regular camping woods near Appledore in Kent, I decided to pick up all my gear at midnight and move twenty feet away.

The next day involved cycling the Ridgeway trail to Watlington. This runs along the bottom of the hills (unlike the western section beyond Goring) and passes beneath the dramatic M40 cutting.

Just after Whatlington, the Ridgeway departs as a footpath, but the byway continues as Swan's Way (reminiscent of Proust?). I then followed the undulating lanes to Goring on Thames, heading for the first pub I could find for a calorific breakfast. I was stunned to learn that this would cost £9.95 and didn't include a drink. So I opted for a £7.95 'smoked haddock and poached egg' instead. I think they call this 'nouveau cuisine' but I just called it small!

£13 lighter (I had two cups of tea), I had a wander up the Thames path and tried some crab-apples, before the drizzle sent me scuttling to the nearest bar, which was actually a hotel. The beer was £4.10 a pint - expensive in my book but maybe about standard for such a plush establishment.

I sat on some decking, watching the boats on the Thames, while a friend confided in me about his relationship troubles on the phone. I then decided to cycle the Thames Path to Wallingford. Eventually leaving the Thames to join the A329.

From a board in the centre of this pleasant town I learned that William the Conqueror had travelled here seeking to cross the Thames. Initially he was refused, but when he returned with something resembling an army, permission was granted and the town was rewarded with an extra hour of trading after the 8pm curfew. I also learned that the town doubles as Causton in the TV series 'Midsummer Murders', so I took a few pictures to show my mum.

On the way back along the bottom of the Chilterns, this time on a B-road, I stopped at the Red Lion in Chinnor. A 6-year-old boy called Adam seemed fascinated by my maps and kept asking where various places he'd visited were. Relishing the attention, I stayed there for another half an hour!

I ended up back in Princes Risborough and made a beeline for the nearest kebab van, opting for a healthy 'shish'. Then it was back into the hills, to join the owls for the night.

The rain began at 5am and my tarpaulin had puddles in it by 9am, so I hastily packed everything away and had a free bath as I cruised back down the hill into Princes Risborough. Thankfully, there is a clock tower in the centre of the town, which is on brick 'stilts', so I sheltered underneath until the rain eased enough for me to search for a cafe.

After a £6 breakfast which included a cup of tea (hurrah!), I had to dispense with my plans to ride the old rail line to Thame and head for the current rail line instead. The journey to Marylebone was quite pleasant; the bike ride to St Pancras less so!

Another hour and I was home again and ready for a well-earned snooze. A real bed never felt so good!