Last night Angus and I sat down to watch a Horizon episode about gravity. We like Horizon. Horizon is like the poor man's university. We like poor universities.

Anyway, about 20 minutes into the program, when the chappie who needs a haircut started to explain Einstein's space-time continuum concept, a little puff of smoke emitted from behind my eyeball as my brain blew a fuse trying to understand what he was talking about. I think particle physics is like cricket-you either understand it or you don't, and no amount of trying will get you to connect two schools of thought will succeed if there just isn't a bridge there to support it. Thus entered Helen into the familiar territory known as "Hey, I just don't understand this, so I'm going to start taking the piss".

Angus, who blew his own fuse a little while after I did, joined me.

Apparently Newton's theory of gravity isn't correct when it applies to space, because lots of scientists with too much time on their hands spent lots of time (40 years. Seriously, they've spent 40 years. Blows my already blown mind.) trying to determine the distance between the moon and earth. What they've found is that Newton's calculations on gravity are wrong - his formula causes you to miscalculate the roughly 250,000 miles between earth and the moon by 10 meters.

That's right.

The chap was wrong by 10 meters.

Cue much haranguing from Angus and I.

"What, he misplaced the moon by 10 meters? Pretty careless of him."

"He couldn't even get it right! Off by 10 meters? What a maroon."

The scientist then went to the Deep South in America to study gravity.

"They have gravity in the Deep South," I said thoughtfully. "You know, when you pull that broken down pickup off the cinder block? Yeah. The truck falls. That's gravity."

(A little secret about me - I was born in the Deep South. This, I feel, gives me the right to make fun of it, much like I make fun of most everything about me.)

But my new excuse for everything is going to be Einstein's space time theory. Apparently Einstein said the earth's mass warps the space time continuum, which thus throws everything off. That's going to be my excuse for all kinds of things. "Sorry I'm late, it's this damn space time continuum." "I would do it, but I feel really blue today thanks to the space time continuum." "I could garden, but the space time continuum is telling me to just sit here on the couch."

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I've decided that periods are actually a very good thing. This after a week of eating everything and anything that:

1) was a carb
2) resembled a carb
3) planned on being a carb
4) once touched a carb
5) was in a school play dressed as a carb and had the line "I provide your daily supply of starches!"

I've always been grateful for the blood flow, because it helps me instantly drop the fistful of dried pasta and Golden Grahams clasped in my grubby little hand, as suddenly I'm just not that bothered anymore.

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You've maybe noticed that on the top left hand side of my blog page (in case you haven't noticed I'll wait here while you scroll up. Go ahead. I'm not going anywhere. OK? Back now?) that I have ads. I know they're not beautiful. I know you probably ignore them. I feel a bit embarrassed to have them myself, but I am going to ask a favor.

As of March we have shocking expenses hitting us left and right (more on that later) for a long time to come. The belt tightening has already begun. I know a lot of bloggers have ads, some of them very altruistically, and I'm very happy to take the ad revenue that I may make and donate them to a good cause (gifts for folks, bottles of sympathy wine for those who need one) once the belt tightening has ended, but in the meantime believe it or not, I could use the extra income. I don't make a lot from the ads, it won't get me rich and I won't be able to quit my job and become a career blogger ( in fact, the ad revenue won't even keep the un-potty trained in this house in diapers for a fortnight) but every little bit helps.

You don't have to buy anything, all you have to do is click on the ads if you see one up there. Your bank details will not be sent to a cartel in Russia, you will not be inundated with online games, and you won't find your cursor has changed to a vibrating smiley face designed to send you into a seizure. But the clicks on the ads are tallied and stats sent to would-be advertisers who really would like to ensure their ad monies go to places where clickies will actually happen, so if you don't mind and if you have a spare clicking second, I'd really appreciate any help. I'm really sorry about it, too, and admit I feel embarassed to even ask you for this, but I'll be honest - we all have a price and my price is a few weeks worth of Pampers.

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Captain Constipation is still very much in place, although I have taken the lovely Martha's suggestion and I have my daily prune juice warmed up. I actually look forward to it, even. I like the taste.

It's official then. I'm an old person in the body of an almost 34 year old.

Next week: How to Cook With Cat Food and How to Tell Those Damn Kids to Turn Down Their Damn Music.

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I'm off to the health visitor tomorrow to talk very seriously about weight gain for the little people and about post-natal depression because sometimes even Warrior Goddesses can't get out of something without some help. I'll keep you posted.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:45 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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