Phew! What a scorcher!

I am feeling remarkably sanguine, against all the odds you may say. I look at it this way, one of the bastards is going to be the death of me, so I am wasting my time concerning myself about the identity of the specific individuals.

I am likely to die of heart failure, brought on chiefly by those caring people who have offered me work during my adult life, and included stress as part of the package. Their insistence that I work at a desk with a computer screen on it for long hours, instead of gaily skipping down the lanes of North East Hampshire, further compounds their guilt.

I may suffer an aneurism of some sort by venting my ire on those fellow beings who annoy me. There are not many of them, and they have no lasting impact, so that is unlikely.

I am perhaps likely to contract some tumour or other brought about by pollution created by the running dogs of capitalism whose greed outranks all concern about humanity and the future of the planet.

None of these options are particularly attractive. There is little chance of my dying peacefully while caressing the buttocks of Goldie Hawn, and even less while watching Tom Graveney compile a beautiful not out 120 at Worcester, as the saintly man’s playing days are almost certainly over.

There is an element of irony, however, in the possibility that we will all perish together when Professor Gonadwit and his team of nerds in Geneva put a shilling in the meter and activate the Large Hadron Collider this summer.

To digress briefly. I do not know whether it is the Hadron or the Collider that is large. I don’t know how big a typical Hadron is, nor a Collider for that matter, so have no clue how to distinguish a large one from an average one. I do not know what a Hadron is, what colour it is, what it likes for dinner or whether it supports Arsenal rather than Spurs. I understand the concept of collision. Collisions are things that, all things being equal, I prefer to avoid. Some twat has spent several fuckillion dollars building a device to encourage collisions. Obviously not acquainted with the concepts of love and peace.

They continue to reassure us that the creation of a black hole that will consume all matter with which it comes into contact is a very small risk. That’s OK then.

What still, kind of, baffles me, is why someone has given all of this money to these people. (I used the qualification “kind of” there because it does not really baffle me. The propensity of our race to act with the utmost stupidity is so obvious that only a very naïve person would be baffled.) These are physicists. They are revered because they speak of things that no one else understands. When I was young, speaking of things that no one else understands was called 'being mental'. Would you give a physicist limitless amounts of money for experimentation? Think back to your physics teacher at school. Try to form some idea of how much you would trust him/her/it. Would you allow them to run the country? No? How about being head of a large business? No? Would you let them teach physics in your Alma Mater? No? Would you lock them in a room and never let them out?

We had one chap at school (there may have been more, who knows?) who showed an aptitude for science. I will call him “G”. He was very bright, and was suspended from school for a time because he had “borrowed” some equipment for an experiment. This experiment (and I am very hazy about the details) involved a very loud noise (heard a mile away perhaps), a garden shed, and a hole in the roof thereof. Or something like that. I am happy to report that G is no longer a physicist but a computer professional. Those of us who belong to the group (loosely, in my case) of IT professionals, have a deep common understanding that what we do is of very little consequence and mostly harmless.

So, how shall we celebrate the end of the world? We have already elected Boris to be Mayor of London. We are celebrating the epitome of sporting fairness by staging the Olympic Games in the back garden of one of the world’s most totalitarian regimes. We are quibbling about what we should do about our poisoning the planet, and will do anything to stop that process as long as we can drive there to do it.

I shall continue to record all of this in Kaliyuga Kronicles. I expect that, in several billion of our years, another civilisation will find my writings, introduce them to the school curriculum, and use them to educate their young, but also to provide endless hours of bowel emptying laughter at the antics of homo sapiens.