LONDON’S underground rail map has been an inspiration to topologists ever since Harry Beck produced . Before then, travellers had to grapple with representations of the of the city linked by a confusing network of tunnels dug by competing companies. Beck tidied it all up by showing the various lines as, well, lines, emphasising their connectedness rather than their geography.
In December 2009, Transport for London (TfL) took the topological theme a step further. It had had problems with the Circle line, one of which was a fashion among some citizens for occupying the trains’ carriages for circling beneath the city. Another was that, even in the absence of revellers, delays tended to accumulate. Only on a line that has an end, which the aptly named Circle line didn’t, can one send a train back from the end early in order to speed up the service.
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So TfL “unwound” the Circle. They made Edgware Road – one of the stations on the existing Circle – a terminal where trains travelling clockwise reversed and went back round in the opposite direction, and they added a “tail” to send these trains off to a second terminal at Hammersmith.
TfL chose snappy phrases to accustom passengers to this change. They were “extending the Circle”, they said in posters and leaflets. Into what? A sphere, a topologist might ask? Not quite: as Jim Grozier spotted, they declared Edgware Road to be the of the New Circle, or the Teacup, or whatever name eventually sticks. So now the underground map defies geometry as well as geography.
“The care instructions for the dog kennel John Straede bought advised: “Hand wash in warm water with mild detergent. Do not spin dry.”
How do “aspects” become “phpects”?
AT FIRST glance it looks as though a new word might be appearing in cyberspace – namely “phpects”, as in “phpects of vegetarian nutrition”, “phpects of the hospitality industry” and “phpects of security”. According to a famous internet search engine, there are literally thousands of examples (see ).
On closer inspection though, this mysterious word seems to be merely a stand-in for “aspects” – but why is the mistake, if that’s what it is, occurring so often? Surely it can’t be a typo – the letters “a” and “s” are nowhere near “p” and “h” on a qwerty keyboard. Can anyone explain?
THE website , which purports to be a drug information site, sternly advises: “Do not drink alcoholic beverages while taking Metronidazole.” It goes on to list the unpleasant side effects, such as nausea and vomiting, that can ensue from doing so.
It then cautions: “Do not drink alcohol while you are taking Metronidazole and for at least 3 days after you stop taking it.” It goes on to list the side effects, such as nausea and vomiting, if this warning is ignored.
It then warns: “Alcoholic beverages should be avoided while taking Metronidazole and for at least one day afterward.”
Lastly – and all of this is on the same page – it says: “You should avoid alcohol while taking Metronidazole, and for at least 48 hours after finishing the course.” It concludes by saying that this can cause unpleasant symptoms such as nausea and vomiting.
Leonard Winocur, who alerted us to this, wonders if Metronidazole and alcohol interact to induce repetitiveness and incoherence of thought in the people who write about them, even if they don’t ingest them.
A feast of q-word fruitloopery
FEEDBACK has observed that the word “quantum” often translates to “magic” or “expensive fruitloop magic remedy” (30 May 2009). Threatening to put this observation on a sound academic footing, Graham Barrow carried out a pilot literature-survey.
In just 5 minutes, a famous web search engine showed him many variants, starting with – of course! – “quantum crystal healing”. Then there was “quantum kinesiology”, which presumably begins with the recipient’s arm in a superposition of floppiness and firmness, and “quantum reflexology”, which could lead to your feet changing position without passing through intervening space – handy for avoiding the cracks in the pavement.
“Quantum homeopathy” is so obvious in retrospect that we’re ashamed we didn’t invent it: the remedy does and does not contain any molecule of the claimed active substance, until you open the bottle.
In “quantum acupuncture” we imagine the needle both punctures the skin and misses it altogether. And would a “quantum massage” involve a hand all over your body at once? But what on earth, or anywhere else, is “quantum reiki”?
We fear there may be answers – and more examples.
FINALLY, our colleague Stephen Battersby wonders if the most complex scientific experiment in the world could be replaced by a simple piece of kitchen apparatus. In a recent London pub quiz organised by Whitaker’s Almanack, one team’s scrawled answer to the question “Name the new particle accelerator in Geneva that is looking for the Higgs boson” was “The Large Hadron Colander”.
It makes a kind of sense, says Stephen. Presumably all the small hadrons fall through the holes in the colander, leaving only the more interesting large ones behind.