The Gallipoli centenary: we must remember them

The centenary of New Zealand’s landings on Gallipoli, this weekend, is also a moment to remember all New Zealand’s war dead. We know who they were; their names are inscribed into memorials from Bluff to Kaitaia, from Palestine to Egypt, to North Africa, to Italy, France, Belgium and many other places.

Names of the New Zealand dead, Tyne Cot cemetery, near Ypres.

Names of the New Zealand dead, Tyne Cot cemetery, near Ypres.

Here is a list on the wall of the New Zealand Memorial at Tyne Cot cemetery, near Ypres, a photo I took some years ago and which still resonates today. This memorial commemorates the 1200 Kiwis who died between August and October 1917, during what is usually known as the Third Battle of Ypres.

We will remember them.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Writing inspirations – In Flanders Fields

One of the most moving experiences I’ve had as a writer was on the day I visited Ellis Farm, a preserved aid post from the First World War, near Ypres. It was here that Canadian doctor, Major John McCrae, penned what has become the signature verse of the war: In Flanders Fields.

Remains of the aid post in Essex Farm where John McCrae wrote 'In Flanders Fields'.

Remains of the aid post in Essex Farm where John McCrae wrote ‘In Flanders Fields’.

He was inspired by the death of a friend, Alexis Helmer; and during the evening of 2 May 1915 began drafting his famous rondeau. The timing is significant; in 1915, nobody guessed that the war might last another three and a half years. And yet the spectre of death – and the iconic flower of that war, the poppy – already loomed close.

It was an inspiring moment for me to visit that place. And inspiring, I hope, for you.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Writing inspirations – working within the limits and getting a result anyway

It was remarkably difficult to get this photo of sunset over Wellington, New Zealand. The camera I had wasn’t great for low-light shots, and was way too heavy for the tripod I was using, which meant it wobbled everywhere if I so much as breathed near it, let alone hit the shutter.

Sunset over Wellington from Petone beach.

Sunset over Wellington from Petone beach.

Still, I managed to get a photo that was reasonably illuminated and not too blurry – which I did by trying to work within the limits. And that, to me, is inspiring, because it’s something writers have to do all the time, if you think about it. And yet that doesn’t stop us. Does it? A thought to inspire.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

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Why does everything taste of chicken, except chicken?

I’ve always had an interest in discovering the secrets of the universe – you know, does dark matter exist, why we can’t have antigravity – and why every weird steak from crocodile to ocelot always has to taste of chicken.

Gallus gallus domesticus on Rarotonga, looking very much like the Red Jungle Fowl (Gallus gallus).

Gallus gallus domesticus on Rarotonga, looking very much like the original Red Jungle Fowl (Gallus gallus).

This last has been puzzling me a lot. Not least because even chicken doesn’t taste of chicken. I found that out in 2012 when I spent a few days in Rarotonga. Over there, chickens run wild – as in, not just free range. Wild. We had one perching on our breakfast table several days in a row, hoping to be fed. They don’t get soaked in antibiotics. They don’t get imprisoned in horrible conditions before being lightly killed, dropped through a macerator, and re-constituted into Chicken Niblets. They are entirely natural. And when anybody wants chicken – let’s say to add to the khorma I bought in an Indian restaurant in Awarua – they go out and catch one.

That natural living means that Rarotongan chickens don’t taste like battery chickens. Actually, they don’t even look like battery chickens. They look more like what they actually were before humans got at them, Red Jungle Fowls, which – like every other bird – are actually a variety of flying dinosaur. Recently a geneticist even found out how to switch on the gene that makes chickens grow dino-jaws instead of a beak, a discovery welcomed by other geneticists with loud cries of ‘nooooooo!’ and similar endorsements.

Here's the diorama - Velicoraptor mongoliensis, Dilong paradoxus, and, off to the right - yup, their close relative, Gallus Gallus. A chicken.

Think birds aren’t dinosaurs? Here’s Velicoraptor mongoliensis, Dilong paradoxus, and, off to the right – yup, their close relative, our friend Gallus Gallus domesticus.

I conclude from all of this that (a) what we call ‘chicken’ doesn’t actually taste of chicken; and (b) if I’m to define ‘tastes of chicken’, I should be thinking of Rarotongan chickens. And I have to say that of all the unusual stuff I’ve eaten over the years, few of them taste of it. For instance:

1. Snail (restaurant in Paris, Rue de Lafayette). These don’t taste of chicken. They taste of garlic flavoured rubber bands.
2. Ostrich (dinner to mark release of one of my books). Definitely not chicken, but could have been confused for filet steak.
3. Something unidentifiable in rice (riverside in Kanchanburi) I know it was meat. It didn’t taste of chicken or, in fact, anything else. I ate it anyway.
4. Goat (my house). Absolutely not chicken. More like a sort of super-strong mutton.
5. Venison (my house). Reminiscent of liver.
6. Duck (my house). Bingo! Yes, this actually did taste of Rarotongan chicken. And duck.

I can only conclude, on this highly – er – scientific analysis, that very little actually tastes of chicken, including chicken. But I may be wrong. Have you ever eaten anything that was meant to taste of chicken – but didn’t?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Quantum physics just might become rainbow gravity

One of the biggest problems with quantum physics – apart from the way it attracts new age woo – is that it doesn’t reconcile with Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity. The two don’t meet when it comes to gravity. And so one of the major thrusts of physics since the 1940s has been to find that elusive ‘theory of everything’.

The COBE satellite map of the CMB. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

The COBE satellite map of the Cosmic Microwave Background. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

We shouldn’t suppose, of course, that it’s ‘Einstein vs the world’. Our friend Albert was also pivotal to the development of quantum physics – he published, for example, the first paper describing quantum entanglement in 1935.

But he didn’t like this ‘spooky action at a distance’. To Einstein, intuitively, there was something missing from what he and fellow physicists Paul Dirac, Werner Heisenberg, Niels Bohr and others were finding. The so-called Copenhagen interpretation of their observations – which remains the basis of quantum physics today – didn’t ring true. The effects were clear enough (in fact, today we’ve built computers that exploit them), but the explanation wasn’t right.

Einstein’s answer was that he and his colleagues hadn’t yet found everything. And for my money, if Einstein figured there was something yet to discover – well, the onus is on to look for it.

The problem is that, since then, we haven’t found that missing element. All kinds of efforts have been made to reconcile quantum physics – which operates on micro-scales, below a Planck length – with the deterministic macro-universe that Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity described.

None have been compelling, not least because while the math works out for some ideas – like string theory – there has been absolutely no proof that these answers really exist. And while it’s tempting to be drawn by the way the language we’re using (maths) works, we do need to know it’s describing something real.

The Horsehead nebula, Barnard 33, as seen by Hubble. Wonderful, wonderful imagery.

The Horsehead nebula, Barnard 33, as seen by Hubble. Wonderful, wonderful imagery.

Of late, though, there have been proposals that Einstein was quite right. There WAS something missing. Not only that, but the Large Hadron Collider has a good chance of finding it soon, as it’s ramped up to max power.

Here’s how it works. We live in a four-dimensional universe (movement up-down, left-right, forward-back and time). It’s possible other dimensions and universes exist – this is a postulate of string theory. Another idea is that gravity ‘leaks’ between these universes. And this is where the LHC comes in. Currently, in its souped-up new form, the LHC can generate enough energy to produce a micro-sized black hole.

Exactly what this would mean, though, is up for debate. The results could point to some very different models of the universe than the one we’ve been wrestling with since the 1940s.

It could mean that string theory is correct – and provide the first proof of it.

Or, if the black hole is formed while the LHC is running at specified energies, it could mean that ‘rainbow gravity’ is correct. This is a controversial hypothesis – built from Einstein’s theory of Special Relativity – in which the curvature of space-time (caused by the presence of mass) is also affected by the act of observing it. This implies that gravity (which is a function of that curvature) affects particles of different energies, differently. Basically, the wavelength of light (red) is affected differently than a higher (blue). We can’t detect the variance in normal Earth environments, but it should be detectable around a black hole. And if it’s true then – by implication – the Big Bang never happened, because the Big Bang is a function of the way gravity behaves in General Relativity. It also makes a lot of the paradoxes and mysteries associated with bleeding-edge physics go away, because according to rainbow gravity, space-time does not exist below a certain (Planck level) scale.

Another possibility is that the ability of the LHC to make black holes could mean that a ‘parallel universe’ theory is right, and the Copenhagen intepretation isn’t the right explanation for the ‘quantum’ effects we’re seeing. This last is yet another explanation for quantum effects. By this argument what we’re seeing is not weirdness at all, but merely ‘jittering’ at very small scales where multiple universes overlap. These are not the ‘multiple universes’ that Hugh Everett theorised to follow quantum wave function collapse. They are normal Einsteinian universes, where particles are behaving in a perfectly ordinary manner. The math, again, can be made to work out – and actually was, last year, at Griffith University in Queensland, Australia.

It also suggests that our friend Albert was right …again.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Writing inspirations – celebrating a moment of dieselpunk

Long-time readers of this blog will probably know what a great fan I am of art deco and all things deco-styled. Including this Airstream-based coffee cart in Napier, New Zealand. It’s a fabulous shape, capturing the quintessential sci-fi look of the mid-twentieth century that often makes me think of Robert A. Heinlein’s stories.

Airstream coffee bar, Napier, New Zealand.

Airstream coffee bar, Napier, New Zealand.

And if there was ever a great author – and I don’t qualify that with ‘science fiction’, though he was that too, it was Heinlein. A thought to inspire.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Alexander Kartveli’s inspiring Juggernaut

A while ago I had the chance to see Alexander Kartveli’s classic P-47 Thunderbolt take to the skies above me. In model form, at least.

Truly a model aircraft...

Truly a model aircraft…

The work that the builders of these RT aircraft put into their hobbies is astonishing. Their models are real aircraft in miniature. And for me one of the highights remains this P-47D Razorback, the ‘Jug’ (Juggernaut) that helped wrest air superiority off the Luftwaffe and put it firmly in the hands of the Allies, over Europe in 1943-45. An inspiration for me to see it – even in model form – and, I hope, for you.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

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