Category Archives: conversations

How to use maths to get chatted-up

Posted on by
2

Fact: Bad mathematics can get you chatted-up. Well, sort of. Bad mathematics certainly got me chatted-up once; I don’t know if it works that way for everyone. Well, when I say chatted-up, I mean spoken to unexpectedly by a member of the opposite sex—which pretty much counted, back in the early 1980s. Or it might even have been the late 1970s.

Irish Mick and I were on our way home from school. For some reason, we were on the top floor of a bus. There must have been something wrong with the trains. Anyway, it had been raining heavily, and the windows were all steamed up, so I explained to Irish Mick (who wasn’t even Irish Mick back then) how I could prove mathematically that two equals one. I wrote my proof in the condensation on the window. It went like this:

Let a = b
∴ a² = ab
∴ a² – b² = ab – b²
Factorise…
(a + b)(a – b) = b(a – b)
∴ (a + b)(a – b) = b(a – b)
∴ a + b = b
But remember, a = b, so…
b + b = b
∴ 2b = b
∴ 2 = 1
Q.E.D

Irish Mick looked on bemused, then went back to reading The Lord of the Rings. After about ten minutes, however, this cute girl on the seat behind us leant forward and said, “Excuse me, I’ve been staring at that proof for ten minutes, and I can’t work out what’s wrong with it. Can you explain, please?”

So I did.

I never saw her again.

Lesson: Never explain anything: it totally destroys the air of mystery.

Pond’ring

Posted on by
Reply

A nice Asian lady named Jennifer phoned me on Wednesday and asked me some questions about our house. She said something I didn’t really understand about government grants and home insulation. We had a rare old chat: I must have kept her gabbing for a good quarter of an hour at least.

Jennifer seemed quite surprised to hear that our house is almost 800 years old, and that it doesn’t have a roof. Apparently, that disqualified us from government assistance for loft insulation. I would have thought, if anyone had need of loft insulation, it would be someone whose house does not have a roof.

Jennifer then said that she assumed we did not have cavity walls either. I said that our walls are full of secret passages and priest holes, and that they would probably count as cavities. Jennifer seemed to doubt that they would. I more than half suspected that she didn’t know what a priest hole was, but was too polite to ask.

“What about the fish pond?” I asked.

Jennifer seemed confused. I explained that our fish pond has a modern, brick wall around it, and that there are cavities in that. Jennifer began to sound a lot more encouraged. She asked me several questions about the fish pond, such as whether it had a roof. I began to wonder whether Jennifer was not quite right in the head.

After a while, it dawned on me that Jennifer seemed to be under the misapprehension that The Fish Pond  was the name of a second property that I happened to own. I soon put her straight on that.

“How big is the wall around the fish pond?” Jennifer asked, once this silly misunderstanding had been cleared up. I explained that it was about a foot high and twenty feet in circumference. “It’s quite a small pond, but the wall definitely does have a cavity,” I assured her.

Jennifer then gave me the excellent news that I was entitled to a government grant for 50% of the cost of having the cavity wall around my fish pond insulated.

“So, who pays for the other half?” I asked.

Jennifer sounded rather embarrassed, and explained that I would be expected to pay for the other half.

“Can’t the fish pay for the other, half?” I asked.

At which point, Jennifer said that she would have to consult her supervisor. Sadly, we were then cut off.

Is it me, or has the world gone crazy? We are in the middle of the biggest financial crisis in a generation, and this coalition government has got money to fritter away on insulation for fish ponds, when there are people living in 800-year old houses without roofs over their heads!

I should probably write to my M.P.

Gone phishing

Posted on by
1

“Hello, my name is Alice…” said the woman at the other end of the phone.

My heart skipped a beat: I thought it must be Dr Alice Roberts phoning to thank me for my vote of confidence the other day. Those crazy Italians sure missed an opportunity there! But then I realised that this lady did not sound at all like Dr Alice Roberts: she did not have Dr Alice Roberts’ low, slightly nasal, West Country accent. I am by no means an expert on accents, but I would put good money on this particular Alice’s accent originating somewhere on the Asian subcontinent.

Before I could ask Alice whether, by any chance, she happened to know my good friend Jackie Chan Singh, Alice explained that she worked in the IT Support department of the company named Microsoft Windows, and that the computer which was attached to my telephone had reported to them that it was about to crash.

Yikes! I said that sounded very serious and asked Alice if there was anything she could do to help me. Fortunately, there was.

While I waited for my computer to boot, I asked Alice where she was phoning from, as the quality of the line was appalling, making it very difficult for me to hear what she was saying. Alice explained that she was calling from Manchester. I told her that I had heard of the place. It did not occur to me to ask Alice how my computer had managed to report that it was about to crash when it had been turned off for the last 24 hours. Computers are so clever these days!

Alice then proceded to give me some instructions in order to prevent my computer from crashing. They were awfully complicated. It took me a good few minutes to locate the first key she wanted me to press. It turned out that she wanted me to press the Windows key. I think she must have been trying to avoid using technical jargon. Then she wanted me to press the ‘R’ key. The responses I was giving were not at all what Alice expected. It turned out that she wanted me to press the Windows and ‘R’ keys at the same time. Stupid me!

I explained to Alice that I could now see a box which said Run at the top and Open underneath. Now we were cooking on gas! This was exactly what Alice was hoping I would see. She then got me to type in a whole pile of letters one after the other: “E for Edward, V for Victor…” and so on. I was still having great difficulty hearing what Alice was saying, so I ended up making lots and lots and lots of mistakes. It took me ages. I have to hand it to Microsoft Windows, the people in their IT Support department have the patience of saints.

After what seemed like an age, Alice finally managed to get me to type in the word EVENTVWR and to press enter.

“What does it now say on your screen?” asked Alice.

“OH MY GOD!! IT SAYS I’M UNDER ATTACK!!” I almost shouted. “WHAT SHOULD I DO?!!!!”

“I’m sorry, I did not hear you properly,” said Alice. “What does your screen say?”

“There’s a big warning box on my screen. It says: ‘You are under attack: a very naughty woman calling herself Alice is trying to get you to do very silly things on your computer as part of a scumbag phishing attack!’” I gasped. “I have absolutely no idea what that means, but it sounds really bad! Do you have any idea what it means, Alice?”

Alice was still struggling to hear me and asked me to repeat the message.

I repeated the message. Before I could ask Alice whether she was in any way connected with News International and my sworn enemy, Murdoch, however, the line went dead. Those damned dodgy Manchester telephone exchanges!

So I thought I’d better post this quick update before my computer crashes.

Normal disservice will be resumed as soon as possible.

Using my swede

Posted on by
Reply

Jen and I had roast pork for dinner last night. It was excellent. We had it with mashed carrot and swede. As usual, there was too much swede, so we only used half. The following conversation took place:

R: There’s half a swede left. I could use that to make the world’s biggest potato-print!
J: But it wouldn’t be a potato-print; it would be a swede-print.
R: Hey! I might win the Turnip Prize!

(I’m here all week, folks!)

Chan Singh his luck

Posted on by
9

Cold-caller (with a very strong Indian accent): Can I speak with the home-owner please?
Richard Carter: Hello, speaking.
CC: Hello, my name is Jackie. I am calling to tell you…
RC: What? Is your name really Jackie?
CC: Erm… Yes.
RC: Wow! I would never have had you down for a Jackie! What’s your surname, Jackie, as a matter of interest?
CC: Erm… My name is Jackie… Chan.
RC: What, as in the movie star? The chap who does all that kung fu?
CC: Erm…
RC: He’s great! Did you ever see that film where he fights with those ladders?
CC: …?
RC: … Is your name really Jackie Chan? That’s amazing! Isn’t he Chinese?
CC: Erm… My name is Jackie Chan Singh. Erm… My parents are big fans of his.
RC: Wow! That’s totally unbelievable! How can I help you, Jackie?
CC: I am calling to tell you that your property qualifies for a government grant.
RC: Ooh, that’s good! A government grant for what?
CC: A government grant for an upgrade.
RC: FANTASTIC!! Could I use it to build a tower? I’ve always wanted a tower!
CC: … I’m sorry, sir, I am having difficulty hearing what you are saying.
RC: Could… I… use… it… to… build… a… TO-WER?
CC: Did you say tower, sir?
RC: Yes. Like they have on castles. I’ve always wanted one. Could I use the government grant to build a tower on the side of my house?
CC: Erm…
RC: And possibly a moat?

At this point, the phone line went dead. A power cut wherever Jackie was calling from, I’ll bet. Or something like that. I tried dialling 1471, but his number had been withheld. I suspect he’ll call back when the power comes back on.

In the meantime, here is Jackie Chan—the Chinese one—fighting with the aforementioned ladders:

The gloves are off

Posted on by
1

Gruts’s ongoing war against Murdoch’s media empire continues unabated. There can be only one winner. The gloves are off. Keeping hitting them while they’re down, that’s my motto.

On Tuesday, I phoned Sky TV:

Man from Sky: Hello. How can I help?
Me: Hello, I’d like to cancel my Sky subscription please.
Man from Sky: Which modules?
Me: All of them.
Man from Sky: Can I ask why you think you want to cancel your subscription?
Me: I think Rupert Murdoch is bugging my phone.
Man from Sky: [Stifles laugh.]
Me: That one’s not on your script, is it?
Man from Sky: Erm… No.

(Always try to get them off script, that’s the trick.)

Murdoch must be shitting his pants. Now, all we need to do is get every other Sky subscriber to follow my magnificent example.

Pass it on!

Modern communication

Posted on by
1

When you think about it, the Internet has totally transformed the way in which we communicate. What might once have taken you several weeks to track someone down to find out the information you needed, now, thanks to the wonders of online chat and email, takes mere days:

4 Feb
18:00 Me: Hello.
20:25 Carolyn: helo, hello helllloooooo
20:50 Me: Sorry we missed each other.
22:23 Carolyn (via email): me too

6 Feb
20:45 Me: Hello.
21:17 Carolyn: hi

7 Feb
22:36 Me: Are you there?
22:53 Carolyn (via email): No!
22:54 Carolyn: Are YOU there?
22:55 Me: Yes! Hellooooo!!!
22:57 Me (via email): Just missed you again!

8 Feb
20:40 Me: Hello!?! Are you there this time?
20:42 Me: Hello?!
20:42 Carolyn: yes.
20:43 Me: Result!
          …I’ve forgotten what I was going to say now!

9 Feb
19:18 Carolyn: How do you make licorice mead?

So much easier than a phone call!

Movie star

Posted on by
2

Last week, during my lunchbreak, I was walking along the Liverpool waterfront with my sunglasses on, cup of coffee in hand, when I notice a young couple looking at me from inside a bus shelter.

As I approached, the lad stuck his head out of the shelter and announced, “‘ey, mate! Me girlfriend reckons you look like one of them movie stars!”

The lad’s girlfriend went scarlet. I suspect what she had actually said was something more along the lines of “Who does this fat tosser think he is? Some kind of movie star?”

I turned to the blushing girl. “Happens all the time,” I said. “You’re thinking of either Sean Connery or George Clooney.”

2 ton truck

Posted on by
2

Carolyn has a unique style when it comes to SMS text messages. She will, quite out of the blue, start off a new conversation-thread with some utterly bizarre question. Here are the latest three examples:

Did you buy iodine or was it a comparable?

Whats the iq score for Mensa? Are u in it?

What size roughly is a 2 ton truck? Is it a big one?

Having long since given up trying to fathom the world of wonder that is Carolyn’s mind, I nowadays just try to answer her questions as if I have a baldy clue what the hell she is on about. Which is how, yesterday evening, I found myself Googling: how much does a landrover discovery weigh?

1,977 kg, apparently.

I call that close enough to two tons. I would not have known that, had it not been for Carolyn. She certainly keeps me on my toes.

Oh, and for the record, I am not in Mensa, nor would I want to be: IQ tests are a big, steaming vat of bollocks.

See also: Texterity

Not exactly Pythagoras’ Theorem

Posted on by
2

I went to buy a book in Waterstones this week. Its recommended retail price was £25, but there was a sticker on the front saying there was £9 off. Woo-hoo!

The girl on the checkout zapped the book. “Oh, the computer hasn’t taken the £9 off!” she said, and she walked away.

I watched open-mouthed as the girl returned a minute later with a pocket calculator and began to punch in a calculation.

“It’s £16,” I said: “twenty-five minus nine is sixteen.”

“You’re right!” the girl said, clearly impressed. “I’m hopeless at maths.” I didn’t say that I could tell.

“The trick is to take off ten and add one,” I said. The girl looked at me as if I was from another planet. “Taking off ten and adding one is the same as taking off nine, but it’s easier,” I tried to explain. The girl looked back at me blankly.

So I paid my money and left.

Thinking about it afterwards, I should have pointed out that 9, 16 and 25 represent the squares on the sides on a classic Pythagorean 3, 4, 5 triangle.

That should have made it a lot easier.

Ud

Posted on by
1

Online chat with Fitz this evening:

Richard: Yootle!
Fitzroy: Sqigs!
Richard: Snurt!
Fitzroy: Shumplong!
Richard: Tooey!
Fitzroy: Kurks?
Richard: Nek Kurks! Haddo!
Fitzroy: abdrab – hink-hink!
Richard: Nok!
Fitzroy: Dwibby Dweeek!
Richard: Fnep!
Fitzroy: Peeeeeuuuurgggghhhhh!
Richard: Handro nog!
Fitzroy: Nga Nga! Ud.
Richard: Tep!
Fitzroy: pnuz!
Richard: I bet you say that to all the girls.
Fitzroy: Only when they ask me, which is often.

Sexing calves

Posted on by
1
Sexing calves

Sexing calves this afternoon.

Farmer: Is that one a boy or a girl?
Me: How the hell should I know?
Farmer: Lift its tail!
Me: [Lifting calf's tail.] I can’t see anything.
Farmer: Well, have a feel.
Me: I’m sorry, but you can fuck right off! This is where I draw the line. I am not about to start feeling up cattle!

(Not that I’d have been any the wiser if I had.)

Lest we forget

Posted on by
1

Yesterday was the 90th anniversary of the 1918 Armistice. I spent the night at my parents’ house. We watched a documentary in which Rolf Harris visited the First World War battleground on which his father was injured and his uncle killed.

“They were very brave, weren’t they, the Aztecs,” observed mum.

She meant Anzacs.

Overheard in the bar the other night

Posted on by
2

Have you ever been to Sea World? It’s amazing. They have this killer whale named Shamu, and he does all these amazing tricks. He jumps out of the water, and he splashes everyone, and they’re all delighted because they’ve been drenched by Shamu. It’s fantastic!

I’ve seen whales in the Bay of Biscay too. They’re totally crap. They don’t do anything, they’re miles away, and you can’t see a bloody thing.