Laughing Numbers

I am sat here doing something I am very muchly so good at: procrastination.

You see, currently staring me right in the face is my maths homework. Part of the 'intermediate' Mathematical Challenge of 2007.

The focus here being the word 'intermediate.'

Intermediate. 


Now I've never been a mathematical whiz, but I confess to be at a total loss for what to do. Questions 1, 2 3 and 4- done. Question 5- partly done because I was caught in the sticky ethical dilemma of whether or not calculators are permitted on this thing. I presume I'll give up eventually and go for yes, calculators are allowed- because I'm not big on my 1234 times tables.

Feeling slightly confident, I press on to number 5.

The sum of 9 consecutive positive whole numbers is 2007. What is the difference between the largest and the smallest of these numbers?
A: 8 B: 9 C: 10 D: 18 E: 223


I've got a one in five chance of getting this right. It's make or break time. Which number will be lucky? I finished my cup of tea and I've got numbers staring me in the face. I can see them just laughing at me. And the mathematical academics too- laughing (I always picture them with graduation caps on, although I'm fully aware those aren't reserved purely for mathematicians).

And then it hits me. And suddenly, I'm giggling nervously and blushing as the imaginary board of pretentious maths geniuses watch me have a revelation. It's not maths it's common sense. The 2007 was a ploy, put there to confuse me. But the answer's 8! I feel smart! I feel powerful! I feel guilty for using my calculator on questions 5 and 7! Nothing can stop me now!




8. The mean of three numbers x, y and z is x. What is the mean of y and z? 
A: 1/2 x B: x C: 2x D: 3x E: 4x


Oh, come on!

Giant Horror Rabbit at Thorpe Park

Last night I had a dream that I had to choose whether I was going to go on Strictly Come Dancing, or Dancing on Ice.

This was unusual for a number of reasons:
a) I can't dance.
b) Usually my dreams involve me accidentally killing someone's pet and then going on holiday.
c) I don't watch Dancing on Ice.
d) When I had the riveting morning conversation with my father his voice took on a grave quality as he said, 'I hope you chose Strictly.'

I thought that instead of recounting the dream to you (because that would be so interesting) I thought I'd do a bit of research into dreams. Because they're weird and can give you the willies (a term I've never used before and hopefully never will again).

The scientific study of dreams is called oneirology and it has been scientifically proven that all mammals dream. We know that dreams have been a sort of fascination for humans over the years- philosophy, science, ice breakers- but I think it's strange to think that all mammals dream. If you were a sloth, what would you dream about? Or a cat? Cats get up to 16 hours of sleep a day (the lucky buggers)- and seeing as people spend an average of about two hours dreaming a night (and dreams almost always occur) you'd think that the feline subconscious had run out of stuff to talk about.

And as it turns out, males and females actually dream about pretty much the same things (which is boring, but hey ho). A survey showed that 73% of men and 74% of women have dreamed of falling.

Our ideas about dreaming have changed over time. Whilst now you may only sit there pretending to listen as your husband (with his monstrously bad morning breath) details how he went on a roller coaster with Frank from Donnie Darko and ate a banana and ham sandwich, if you were living in the Greek or Roman periods you'd think it was either a direct message from the Gods, or from the dead (spooky). 


A Hungarian psychoanalyst by the name of Sándor Ferenczi (died 1933) proposed that the dream, when told may communicate something that is not being said outright. For example, as you husband recounts his giant horror rabbit unusual sandwich escapades at Thorpe Park, you may say, 'I had a dream last night too. And you were there. And it was 6am- very early: morning. And you were eating horse poo. Strange, huh?' 


A small minority of people say they only dream in black and white. These are probably the hipsters of the dream world. Because coloured dreams are way too mainstream. 

Aristotle Knew Nothing Of Working in Cafes

Today I made my first step into the world of work.

Except it wasn't so much a step as a trip down the stairs.

You see, internet, there's a small cafe that is found in a very small village near where I live. You know the sort- just picture doddery old women gossiping over tea and scones. I went in, fully confident, head held high with determination. Within several seconds I had the attention of a blonde woman who worked there.

'I am looking for a Saturday job, and was wondering how old you had to be to get one,' I announced with the air of someone who knew their shit. Which is a clever ploy when I had no idea what I was doing and thought taking my floppy hat off constituted for looking responsible.

Blonde woman looked me up and down. 'We already have a Saturday girl at the moment, and you have to be 16. Sorry, love. How old are you?' Her tone was slightly undermining considering I was a full head and shoulders over her (her big hair was fooling nobody).

Slightly less confident than I was before, I replied, 'Oh. I'm 14.' Which I'm not, but I will be by next Sunday. As it happens my research into the legal working age (you can work at 14 actually) has proved fruitless because my employment all hung in the balance of the people actually a) having a vacancy and b) letting a 14 year old- albeit a very committed and intelligent one- work for them.

She then told me that I could leave my details with the manager. To which I was thought, and wait a whole two years before you get back to me? I think not, madame, I shall be taking my custom elsewhere. But I just smiled and said 'Thank You' because that's good manners.

That was shortly after 10.30. It is now 12.02 and I do not have a job, nor the means of getting one. I believe that (well, quotationspage.com leads me to believe) Aristotle once said, 'All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind.' But Aristotle lived from 384 BC till 322 BC, and evidently nobody had told him that working in cafes staffed by vertically inadequate blonde women earning money was a lot better than spending your weekends sat on you arse doing nothing.