Sinking

I knew this was going to happen soon. Having stopped doing anything interesting 9 days ago in a bid to let my body recover from whatever was wrong with it, I've sunk into depression. I thought that it would happen sooner, but it only really hit me at lunchtime today. I feel like crying, but the tears don't quite reach the eyes, and I feel like sleeping, but the eyes don't quite close.

I saw the doctor this morning, and she explained that my blood was fine, my organs were all right, my pulse was the right shape and only 50 beats per minute. She suggested that I try to get a grip on my life, find a girlfriend and live more healthily. I think it was the admission of smoking the odd joint that tipped her off, but she quickly grasped that I'm slowly fucking up my life.

I just don't know where to start. Movement would be good, but my legs feel knackered: I got left behind by my colleagues whilst walking to the canteen. Working would be good, but my eyes feel tired and my mind is somewhere else.

Summing up the past couple of weeks, it looks most likely that I took three days off last work to recover from exhaustion caused by an alcohol-fuelled weekend in Hamburg and two football matches.

Wasting time on Wikipedia

When I started my new job in February, I decided to stop sending emails and surfing the web during worktime in a bid to improve productivity. This didn't really help, as I decided that wikipedia was too useful not to use, and whenever I am not feeling up to working I look at occasionally interesting articles, such as the tale of Lieutenant Hugh Goldsmith and the Logan rock near Treen. Never underestimate a dozen seamen with a lever and a place to stand.

Walking not very fast

The residents of my street might have been surprised to see a young man break into a sprint and then stumble along for several yards, as if he was starring in a bad western and had just received a poisoned arrow through the shoulderblades. I was that man, and this morning I was trying to work out what was wrong with me.

The last four days I've been walking around at a sub-pensioner pace. I was overtaken by a guy with a walking stick (he was just holding it, not supporting himself on it—fucking show-off) and I just got some sympathy from a couple of spanish girls who thought that I was going to fall asleep whilst changing escalators in the U-Bahn. I considered running after them to explain that I was ill and am not usually so slow, but I decided that they might be freaked out by a madly stumbling wanabee matinee hero.

They weren't far off the mark with their idea that I might fall asleep, as I have spent most of the last days sleeping: a good night's sleep, followed by a morning nap and an afternoon nap. And the naps are long, deep and dream-filled, too.

Apart from sleeping lots and being unable to walk normally, there is nothing much wrong with me, which is how I came upon the idea of sprinting. Maybe the illness was imaginary, and I just needed to snap out of it, I thought. So I suddenly changed from a slow and sleepy trudge into a sprint and then a stumble. I'm now convinced that there is something wrong, but I don't know what.

I saw a doctor on Thursday, and I think she was wanted to prescribe me a girlfriend and some career ambition, but she eventually plumped for the more conventional blood test and ultrasound scan.

Hermes 4 - DESY Old Guys 4

I'm back at DESY in Hamburg for one last time. The Hermes experiment has stopped running, as has the accelerator where it was situated. To mark this occasion all past and present workers were invited to a 2-day-long party.

The highlight of these celebrations was a football match against the senior team of the accelerator. The match was quite a light-hearted affair, with numerous substitutions and an age range of approaching 50 years. I played for both sides (the DESY team had a couple of injuries and no substitutes) and ran around a lot.

A player from the DESY team told me that there are plans to build some new accelerator facilities on the DESY football pitch. This seems a pity, for the football pitch was one of the nicest things about DESY.

Pölen

I have a text message invitation for tomorrow evening, encouraging pölen. This is a word unknown to Germany's finest dictionaries, and is apparently only used in the area around Essen, Bochum and Dortmund. In case you haven't guessed, pölen means to play football, and Torpedo Entenhausen have begun their summer training regime.

The geographical limit of this phrase has been somewhat found here (you may wish to put on your sunglasses before opening the link), and a quick discussion in the U-bahn revealed that the term was unknown to test subjects from Stuttgart and Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania.

Pölen has, oddly enough, a second slang meaning. The german word for oil is Öl, and oil from plants can be called P-Öl, or Pöl for short. Sticking -en on the end creates the verb pölen, meaning to run a vehicle with vegetable oil, which is apparently all the rage in Germany due to a generous tax break.

Strawberry, Cherry, Cream and Custard flan.

I keep coming to Erlangen with the intention of moving out of my old room, but as soon as I arrive I get drunk and am then too hungover to go and get some packing cases and move my stuff out. This time the drunkenness was predictable: my housemates had organized a big garden party with 40 crates of beer, three large punch bowls and a chili-con-carne so large that it could only be stirred by a length of 2" by 1" wood.

After several hours of partying, I decided it would be a good idea to bake a cake, so I went to the market to buy the ingredients at 5am, thinking that this would allow me a nice lie in. When I woke up I found that I had acquired a punnet of strawberries, a bag of cherries and half a watermelon. This evening I finally got round to baking a cake with the ingredients.

Strawberry, Cherry, Cream and Custard flan

(There is no real need to buy the ingredients while drunk, but it won't hurt).

Base: Shortcrust Pastry, about 5mm thick. Find a suitable recipe and make enough to fill the base of your container. Bake at 200 deg. Celsius until done.

First Layer: Custard, I used Bird's custard powder, which thickens nicely when cooled. Pour the custard on the base, and place in the fridge.

Second Layer: Strawberries and cherries. It is OK if they sink into the custard, but they don't have to.

Top Layer: Whipped cream. I used just enough to cover the top of the fruit.

This recipe is rather vague, but is based on the hope that anything involving strawberries, cherries, cream and custard is going to taste good, even if it ends up as a collapsed mush in your fridge. By some miracle, my flan had a good shape at the end, and was swiftly devoured by my flatmates, who were admittedly quite hungry.

Hocheschwindigkeitsaufnahmen

The jumble of letters in the title is almost a german word. Only almost, for, believe it or not, it is missing a letter! This word was the title of a slide during a student's talk which I was listening to today. If you insert a 'g' after the second 'h', then you have the german word for high speed photographs.

When the talk was finished, the assembled students and supervisers were asked for comments as to the style of the talk. I immediately pointed out the spelling mistake , and followed up with a tirade against the german language, which is full of words so long that a spelling mistake somewhere within the word approaches a statistical certainty.

I am worried that most of my co-workers fail to see anything odd about words with 29 letters in them. It's like english people who think that 5 days for a game of cricket is most reasonable; you can only see these things from the outside. Having grown up in a country where 28 letters is enough to make a word notorious, it is worrying to work with people who can happily throw around 29 consecutive letters without any sense of guilt or humour.

I later received a minor ticking off from a colleague who explained that the idea was for the students to do most of the analysis, which I guess was a polite way of saying to stfu. The poor student hopefully went home crying and will be emotionally scarred enough to check her slides more carefully in the future. Let this be a lesson to her: there will always be at least one annoying pedant in the audience.

The perils of wearing a cricket helmet.

or

A good excuse to write dislodged lots

Today England beat the West Indies in the Old Trafford test match. The oddity of the match was Kevin Pietersen being out, "Hit Wicket", due to his helmet being dislodged by Dwayne Bravo.

This wouldn't have happened 25 years ago, as players then played without helmets, despite the rather hard ball being aimed at their heads often enough. Here is Ian Botham showing how to do this successfully and without bothering to look at the ball, and here is Brian Close facing a much more dangerous West Indian fast bowling attack than the current one with a lack of protection.

When I started this post, I thought that this danger started with helmets, but having read the wikipedia article for hit wicket above, apparently the weight of a cap is enough to dislodge a bail, and caps can be removed from heads by either the ball or the wind. Several such incidents are recalled here anecdotally, including one of being out "hit wicket" via a dislodged toupee.

Blasphemy

At the end of a disappointing football season, the usual excuses are rolled out: injuries, suspensions, poor refereeing decisions, the state of the pitch, etc. I present my excuse for Torpedo Entenhausen's low league position: Herbert Fucking Grönemeyer.

Today we should be playing a "basement duel" against Megolomaniacs Herne, but crucial members of the squad are watching Bochum's favourite son in a live concert, so we had to concede the match.

I'm feeling a bit down, as these matches are usually the highlight of the week. I'm not getting anywhere fast with my job, and none of the publications or theses I'm told to read make any sense to me.

Today I managed to go through an entire lunch break with my colleagues without uttering a word. They were deep in conversation about abstract rating scores and conference hotels, something I don't care about. So I just ignored them all for 45 minutes. They probably now think I'm a boring fucker too.

Football hooligans ain't what they used to be.

Last night Torpedo Entenhausen took on the Bochum Ultras. These are the hardcore fans of VfL Bochum, and I thought that they would be a bunch of violent thugs. It turned out that they were very well behaved. They told the ref not to give them a corner he was going to award, and left their dressing room in perfect condition. The only slightly annoying thing they did was to take the three points with them.

We played the cunning trick of starting with 10 men and bringing on the 11th after 15 minutes, and at times we played some good football. I scored a header direct from a corner; the ball flew into the net and the keeper didn't even bother to dive for it. Somehow we conceded 6 lucky goals and lost by the even 2 goals in 10.

Today we had a meeting at work. The only topic of discussion which generated any debate was the plans for the car park. It is possible to spend lots of money on new electronics without anyone disagreeing or asking questions, but any discussion of parking places causes uproar. The car park for our institute is going to be flattened (don't ask) to build a new building. I made no friends by suggesting that a brisk walk across campus from the other car park wouldn't do anyone any harm. I was tempted to say that this development may delay the point at which the number of chins in the department double the number of employees, but I refrained.

PhD Hat

It is traditional to grant students who complete their PhD a souped-up mortarboard. My department in Erlangen went for relatively simple yet personal and loving designs: mine had a red lamp, a green lamp, a cricket bat with some ashes, a bicycle, a crossword, a union jack and franconian flag, some alcohol labels, a broken glass tube, a high-frequency solenoid and another glass tube filled with little red balls.

The department in Bochum, being electrical engineers, seem to favour the major electronic approach. I spent most of Thursday helping to solder 30 Diodes and 160 Resistors onto a circuit board. The hat itself is in the mechanical workshop, and the ultraviolet LEDs and fluorescent foil should arrive on Monday. I'm not quite sure what this hat should do when it is finished, but it should be impressive.

Apparently some hats in the department have been considerably more complicated than the work for which the PhD was awarded, and this devotion could explain why it takes so long for anyone to finish their PhD.

It is impossible to stand on one leg.

I'm in Erlangen again, and drunk again. The most telling signs of irresponsible use of alcohol and other intoxicating substances so far:

1/ The two bottles of exploded beer in our freezer. Someone put them in to chill, but now the beer can only be consumed as an ice slush. Maybe someone will drink it soon, as we have even run out of Oettinger and are getting desperate.

2/ My flatmate Timo playing the theme from the A team whilst drinking a beer and smoking something or other for breakfast.

3/ My housemate Katja using the scaffolding on the building site next door as the most convenient path between first and second floor balconies.

4/ Me walking straight into a set of traffic lights at 4am without a shirt on.

The beer festival in Erlangen has another week to go, but I only have to stick it out for 2 days.

SG Sundern 1- Torpedo Entenhausen 1

We secured our first away point of the season in a match which neither team deserved to lose (if you're being generous) or win (if you're being realistic). Lots of long ball punting, some poor finishing (I headed over from 6 yards, but I wasn't the worst culprit), a few nice moves, one great save from our keeper, and two hittings of the woodwork.

I wasn't sure if people still say that they hit the woodwork (germans say that they scored an Aluminium goal, Alu Treffer), but apparently the bbc do.

Skip this bit if you neither know nor care what Matlab is

I've cheered up since yesterday, and had quite a useful day at work. For a while I have been trying to work out what to do with Matlab. There are two major problems with this program: it costs a lot of money and lends itself to terrible programming.

I know that if I was to program something well, and document it well, then the main beneficiary would be the mathworks, for my successors would be doomed to keep buying Matlab licenses in order to use my program. This combination of vendor lock-in and awful programming caused me to question what the point of it all was, but now I understand that the two problems cancel each other out. By writing awful (but quick) Matlab code I can positively encourage my successors to use anything but Matlab. I will therefore do my best to confuse imaginary numbers with loop variables (i=1), to assign floats as numbers (sin = 3) and to find further ways of making fast but unreliable code.

Skip this bit if you don't care about my toenails

Yesterday I cut off two toenails. On one toe. The outer layer was about to fall off, so I gave it a good tug, only to find a second shrivelled toenail beneath. This I cut off too, leaving a small toenail which is growing slowly upwards and outwards and some hard skin. I had to vent the room for a few minutes to remove the cheesy smell of mouldy toenail, but now things are fine, and the toe stood up to a full game of football.

Chirp

This weeks exercise was about pulse compression, which is used in radar and ultrasound devices. By transmitting a pulse which increases in frequency, it is possible to find out accurately where distant things are. The name of the chirp comes from the likeness to birdsong, although some birds sound much more melodic than a linear chirp.

The exercise was a disaster in terms of educational value. It consisted of me telling some students what the answer would be if they took time to convolute the signal with itself, which is not the point of an exercise at all. The exercise is too complex for the students to solve themselves in the given time, so it ends up being a "look at me, I have the answer sheet, this is how it's done" thing. When someone designed the question, they must have felt great about themselves, showing how clever educational people can be, and what clever things can be done.

I am learning basketball, and the comparison between basketball training and electrical engineering training is telling. In basketball, the trainer explains something simple, like passing the ball, then tells you to do it 100 times. I'm sure there are lots of clever and complicated things that you can do in basketball, but there are also simple things which must first be learnt. I hope that if basketball training consisted of the trainer doing round-the-back slam dunks and explaining to the students that they couldn't do this yet, then people would see that he is a useless show-off.

Looking back, the honourable thing to have done would have been to sit there and let the students try to solve the exercise themselves (this approach seems to be an exception in our faculty). They would have failed, as the mathematics was too complicated to be solved in the given time. I could then have explained to my colleagues that it is useless as an exercise.

This would have taken more courage than I have at the moment, and would probably have achieved fuck all. I guess the colleagues would probably decide that the problem is with me and not with the exercise.

Torpedo Entenhausen 4- BW Bochum 3

BW stands for "Black-White", as the opposition played in black and white. Some related footballing two-tone colour facts:

1/ Teams from Essen, Oberhausen and Erfurt all call themselves Red-White and play in red and white strips. (see here, scroll down to "teams which say what they mean on the tin).

2/ Essen is the german word for food, and many Germans like to eat chips with ketchup and Mayonaisse: Red-White chips. Thus if you are not too fussy about your adjective endings, Rot-Weiss Essen is possibly the only edible football club.

3/ Except for the Hamburger SV.

4/ A favourite song of Arsenal fans, directed at rivals Tottenham Hotspur, is "You won the league in black and white". Still, their fans have had a shorter wait than those of FC Schalke 04, who claim to have been wearing blue when they last won the league in 1958.



5/ As far as I can tell, no team is named after the same colour twice. The governing coalition in Berlin, however, is called the red-red coalition. Maybe the politicians could form a football club and play in red and red stripes (or maybe hoops would look better).

Anyway, we won the first match of the season yesterday! I scored a stunning 12 yard looping header from a free-kick. Sadly it was an own goal, but I like to think of it as the killer goal-scoring instinct prevailing.

Black-White Bochum were down to 9 men by the end of the match due to two red cards for "pulling the emergency brakes", and we managed to force the win in the final minutes.

Problem group

I held my first problem group for electrical engineers this morning. I apologised in advance for using i's instead of j's for the square root of -1, and for not knowing much about electrical engineering.

On the plus side I managed to explain why the sky is blue, discuss the family line of Lord Rayleigh , and lose the chalk and the answer sheet (this is my trademark move).

I think that not really understanding the subject you are teaching could be the way to go. I quote from Bertrand Russell.

Passive acceptance of the teacher's wisdom is easy to most boys and girls. It involves no effort of independent thought, and seems rational because the teacher knows more than his pupils; it is moreover the way to win the favour of the teacher unless he is a very exceptional man. Yet the habit of passive acceptance is a disastrous one in later life. It causes man to seek and to accept a leader, and to accept as a leader whoever is established in that position.

If you establish at the outset that you really don't know more than the pupils, then they start to think about what you are doing and whether it is correct or not, and are prepared to offer their own views. As long as you keep some kind of order to proceedings then everything is fine.

Odd bit of knowledge: Rather good physicist Paul Dirac studied electrical engineering.

Odd bit of english culture: Cheese Rolling.

Things you may not wish to know.

1/ I have one black toe nail and one white toe nail which is about to fall off. I would go to the doctor, but he/she would tell me to stop playing football, so I won't.

2/ I headed a goal from a free kick for Torpedo Entenhausen this week. I saw the ball at the last second, tried to stick my head in the way and nearly missed it. The result was a most professional-looking glancing header just inside the far post. We lost the game, but only just. Here is a completely unrelated piece of footballing commentary, in German.

3/ When sober, I can juggle 3 balls with my eyes shut for quite a while. The first requirement is to throw accurately. If the first ball thrown doesn't land in the other hand then it's a nonstarter. No matter how well you throw, though, the pattern will slowly drift away unless there is some feedback of how things are going wrong. Usually when juggling this feedback comes from the eyes, but provided the corrections are small it can come from the hands, by feeling exactly where the ball lands, and correcting the trajectory of the next ball.

(So if your blind and reeding this why not try and learn teh juggling)

I can't do the whole thing anything like this well, though.

4/ When drunk, I can't juggle two half-filled half-litre plastic bottles. I found this out whilst travelling with the U-Bahn. The moment of inertia of a half-filled bottle is a very funny thing indeed, and the bottle seems very reluctant to go round in a circle. Trying to compensate for this I gave the bottle an extra twirl, causing it to fly through the carriage and nearly hit someone on the head. He was surprisingly understanding.

5/ Australia won the cricket world cup. For some reason the final of this tournament which has, in the best traditions of cricket, been going on for ages, had to be settled in one day. And it rained. So they shortened the match and finished up playing in the dark.

Vfl Bochum 2 - FC Schlake 05 1

The best ways to annoy fans of FC Schalke 04 are

1/ To ask when they last won the title.
2/ To misspell or mispronounce their club name.

Credit must therefore go to Carmen Thomas for a now legendary slip of the tongue, and to the Westdeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, who today reported the Bochum full-back Oliver Schröder as asking "Do we feel sorry for the Schlaker?" (his answer was no, by the way).

Ob uns die Schlaker [sic] ein bisschen leid tun? Warum? Ich glaube nicht, das sie andersrum mit uns Mitleid gehabt hätten. 39 pubkte [sic] sehen in der Tabelle nciht [sic] schlecht aus.

Torpedo Entenhausen 2 - Dead Trousers 2

Musical memories from german lessons at school in England:

1/ Singing a german cover of Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega, with something about a Currywurst, and the line "Wo ist Roland, oder Meier, oder Herbert Grönemeyer". This translates as "Where is Roland, or Meier, or Herbert Grönemeyer". I don't know who Roland or Meier are, but Herbert Grönemeyer is a famous singer from Bochum, who once sang a song about a Currywurst.

2/ Reading an article about the contents of Herbert Grönemeyer's dustbin, which had been sifted through by intrepid journalists, and then building a shrine in the classroom to worship this rubbish container.

3/ Finding out that a top band were called "The Dead Trousers", and finding this funny.

Over ten years have passed: I have no idea who covered Tom's Diner, I have forgotten quite what Herbert Grönemeyer had thrown away, and I have discovered that the Dead Trousers are actually quite good, despite coming from Dusseldorf. [1]

As you may have guessed from the title, "The Dead Trousers" is also the name a football team in the second division of the spare-time league in Bochum, and they are not very good at all. Torpedo Entenhausen should have won easily, having led 2-0 for most of the match and enjoyed most of the possession, but we then conceded two quick goals in the final minutes and drew 2-2. Still, that was at least the first point of the season.

[1] This may appear uncalled for, but in order to get a residence permit in Bochum, you have to sing a song by Herbert Grönemeyer and agree to dislike Dusseldorf.

EeeyEe0e

Yesterday I had a confidence crisis at work. It started off with an equation with too many E's in it. It looked to me pretty much like the post title, and described an electric field entering a region, whilst oscillating according to a power of Euler's number (e), and pointing in the direction of the y-axis, but only one unit (einheit) long.

So in summary, Electric (E), Einheit (e), Eintritt (e), Euler (e). I looked at this equation and was thrown into despair. It is an amazing ability to be able to look at an equation and immediately recognise the significance of each term, to see that the direction of a vector doesn't depend on a constant value, or that the time-dependence doesn't depend on the direction. I looked at the equation, and could only see and say "EEEEEE". That was it. The same understanding as a five-year-old.

I recovered slightly, read the foreword to Calculus made Easy by Silvanus P. Thompson, and found a book where they used "Incidence" instead of "Eintritt", and worked around the e for "Einheit". With most of the E's gone, things made sense again.

This happened to me once before, when I found an equation consisting of 17 J's and pretty much nothing else. I remember intensely wishing to never see a physics book again. The next time this happens, I will try to remember this advice: drop the book (or lecturer), but keep at the subject.