That’s it. It’s settled. Settled this morning, on the
drive to work, as I listened enraptured to Sir Edward Elgar’s Symphony No. 2 in
E-flat.
Ever been asked that question, “What time period would
you like to live in other than the present?” For years I’d reply “the early
1950s.” Why? The atomic boom. Er, not the boom from the bomb, but the boom from
the exponential expansion of atomic physics. I’d envision myself a young turk
physicist out in the black-and-white Joshua-treed deserts of Alamogordo.
Working at a secret US laboratory, delving the micro mysteries of the nucleus
and beyond. Shirtsleeves rolled up and a lit Camel clenched in my teeth, I’d be
at home swinging a hammer at an atomic pile or sketching chalk lines on a
blackboard teasing out the internal structure of Uranium.
Now, after listening to Elgar’s work, composed
arguably at the height of the British Empire (1910, I believe), that’s changed.
I want to be a Victorian man of science!
I now see myself with a top coat and ascot carriaging
through the English countryside. A man of independent means, with a housekeeper
and gardener to keep the family estate going while I and my valet trudge across
exotic landscapes conducting esoteric – and risky – experiments. I’d even
rescue a dazzling damsel in distress from the local natives with a clever plan
and some old fashioned fisticuffs: one of those dark-haired British beauties bedecked
in a fortress of fabric. My network of colleagues would extend across Europe –
and not without rivals, too, such as Arronax in France or Lidenbrock in
Dusseldorf. The race would be on to prove whose theory is correct – three
scientists enter, only one leaves! And in my spare time I’d prove the
unprovable theorems and solve the unsolvable conjectures by candlelight and
cognac at the hearth and blow dust of ancient mediaeval manuscripts …
Yes, that’d be the life for me.
A Victorian man of science!
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