Carving the impossible

To expand Stephen Fry's TV programme about Gutenberg they got a craftsman to build a replica of G's original printing press. This required him to carve a huge screw out of wood and both the end-product and the sawing/chiselling process were a delight to contemplate. But a screw is no use if it has no mirror-image to engage with and even the most adept carpenter would find it difficult to carve a thread on the inside surface of a hole. But those medieval woodsmiths knew a thing or two. Drill a pilot hole and introduce a shaft embedded with three metal blades. Rotate the shaft and, providing the measurements were correct, the female thread emerges. Voila!

TECHNO-ART You may not recall the name of the painting but chances are you'll recognise it when you see it. Totes Meer (Dead Sea) by Paul Nash is a moon-washed seascape cluttered with the wreckage of Luftwaffe planes. It's the authenticity of the latter that gives the painting its power and memorability.

Introducing two mega-stars

In seven very famous words ("Oh my America, my new found land.") Donne evokes the thrill of a distant country, creates a combined pun and metaphor and reports on his progress during a love-making session. Aso, unmistakably, he writes a line of poetry.

Georg Simon Ohm used only three symbols to formulate Ohm's Law: current equals voltage divided by resistance. Concise, easy to understand and still at the heart of virtually all forms of electrical activity. Circuit-breakers pop open (and fuses blow) in obedience to the law which also predicts that electric kettles will heat water. Houses may burst into flames because of a set of circumstances which the law explains.

I read Donne off my own bat (another Northern expression). The RAF forced me to learn the significance of Ohm's law. I'm lucky. Many people turn away from technical stuff thinking it to be too knotty - especially when there's maths in the offing. I did myself until the RAF revealed the range of punishments it kept in store for those who chose not to understand Ohm's law.

As I say, I'm lucky. To me Donne and Ohm are not in competition they're names in the same pantheon. And that's part of the reason for this blog.

Protection against red-eye

In the home page picture (top right) I'm wearing my Maru goggles. Swimming crawl means immersing your head for much of the stroke cycle and you need to protect your eyes from the irritative effects of the disinfected water. Initially I used goggles made by a more famous manufacturer; they looked flashier but they lay over the eye socket and (it's only a theory) water entered - almost capillary fashion - via the eyebrows. The Manus fit into the eye sockets like a pair of monocles and remain waterproof for the full mile.


To prevent steaming up use a drop of washing up fluid on the inside of each lens, half rinse and let them dry overnight without wiping. Manu has changed my life.

Imperatives of bath enclosure

I am not a shower person - showers inhibit reading. The douche in our French house was quickly replaced with a bath and I then had to cover up its vitals. I made a wooden framework and went off to the bricolage for some boarding-off material.

I explained my needs and the man nodded. Use faience he said, which in this context translates as tiles. This would have meant first boarding off the bath so there was surface to which the tiles could be glued. More than that I was struck by the formulation he used. His reply employed devoir which can mean "must" in English.

I paraphrased: "So I must use tiles to enclose the bath?" He nodded. Any alternative? He shook his head. But tiles would complicate a simple job. He stared at me. Tiles, he repeated, and ostentatiously looked around for another customer.

I left enraged. Elsewhere I found compacted panelling in pretend-wood that was perfect (Ask for lambris). Then I simmered down. I've been taking French lessons for decades and this was proof, if I needed proof, that they'd last the rest of my life. Language is not just words, it's culture and that's much harder. Confirmation too that France is a foreign land.

TECHNO-ART The second-best play with a technological basis is called "The Affair" and is based on a C. P. Snow novel that pre-dates the Strangers and Brothers sequence. It concerns a scientist who fakes his crystallographic results. It's OK but the technology is somewhat peripheral. There is, of course, a much better techno-play which became a West End success. We'll get to that later.

Miss Prim's such a comfort

SATNAV - PART ONE Has satnav done the job? Artics are still getting stuck in green lanes in Devon. Even enthusiasts (like me) admit that intelligent awareness is better than blind faith when Miss Prim says: "At the roundabout, take the second exit".

But consider the skills required to create even an imperfect system that maps the backlanes of Britain and France and receives guidance from man-made planets. All contained in a cough-drop box and retailing for about £250. Surely that's worth a tip of the hat.

Forget direction-finding for a moment. Switch to ETA mode so that the device calculates - and updates - the time left before you arrive at your chosen destination. Strangely comforting to see the minutes tick off, even on motorways.

The picture shows a satnav holder made by my DIY perfectionist brother, presently doing Land's End to John O'Groats on foot. Without electronic aids.

TECHNO-ART Technology in literature? Well, let's start with fiction. Neville Shute helped design the R101 airship before turning his hand to best-selling novels in the fifties. Best-known probably for "A town like Alice" and the apocalyptic post-nuclear "On the beach". In others nuts-and-bolts were the heroes - as for instance, "Trustee from the toolroom", which suggests - unfairly - that titles weren't his thing.

The unforsaken merman

Already I'm cheating on my stated aims. Can swimming crawl possibly snuggle under the umbrella of technology? Belatedly I open the dictionary. The first two definitions are predictable, the third offers a Damascene moment: "The totality of the means and knowledge used to provide objects necessary for human sustenance and comfort." That word objects - surely it has an intangible well as a tangible meaning: goals as well as things? For me crawl works, it's the most effective form of aquatic self-locomotion. The hard bit is learning the breathing. After that it's pure sensuousness. I experimented with my kick this morning: kicked hard and felt the resistance to my arm stroke diminish in the water. Joy.

Here’s how you hoist up the John B sail

This lovely thing is a Meissner Classic winch and is intended for hoisting and releasing a yacht's sails. It withstands enormous forces as becomes apparent if you incautiously unhook the rope from that beautifully shaped securing device and leave your fingers in the way. Engage a crank in the top and the mechanical advantage allows a human to haul with the power of ten. A ratchet prevents the wind-filled sail from biting back. That's all there is, really. Yet those on my brother's yacht cost £700 each. A matching pair would look good on your mantelshelf (as they say in the North).

Car door needs protecting from physics

Remember the law of levers. The longer the lever the greater the force that can be applied. My car door is just one example of why you should always stay on the right side of this particular law. When open, the door's edge extends some 1.5 m away from the car body. Far enough for the weight of the door itself (no lightweight) to deliver plenty of destructive force at the attachment point to the car. The idea of a driver leaning on the top of it while chatting to someone in the car park doesn't bear thinking about. Which is why the hinge (one of two) in the centre of the photo is extremely substantial. I'd be overdoing things if I called the hinge pretty but it has its own rugged charm. Rugged and reassuring. I glance at it with pleasure every time I get into the car.

TECHNO-ART Which painter made best use of technology as a subject in an acknowledged masterpiece? Answer: Turner in "Rain Steam and Speed". Closely followed by his poignant canvas of The Fighting Temeraire being towed to the breaker's yard by a steam tug.