When the scientists who first dreamed up the large hadron collider at CERN first got together around the kitchen table (do scientists who build large hadron colliders - or even mini colliders - get together around kitchen tables? I like to think of them sitting around their in-house bars, on stools shaped like beer barrels, dipping their wispy beards into mugs of foamy home brew, whilst giggling about smashing stuff together and using words beyond my comprehension like 'science', 'collide' and 'achievement'. Am I getting off the point a bit? Sorry) did they realise then that their discussions and the ramifications of those ale infused chats would in time lead to incomprehensibly important discoveries that open up new and exciting frontiers in a phenomenally boring way?
One would imagine so, as science is the study of cause, effect and observation. Each step taken on the road which started with the discovery of fire has led inevitably to each new horizon as the blinkers of ignorance are trumped. The men and women working on the colliderscopeotron had achieved all they could on paper and the time had come to build a massive thingy to test it all out. This in turn will lead to decades of people sitting around kitchen tables, using what their predecessors observed at CERN to make their own innumerable fag packet calculations and figure out the next big thingy they have to make (please let it be cooler next time - is using a DeLorean really so hard?).
My point is that these people have purpose. Those who went before them laid down their discoveries on paper for the next generation to pick up and carry forwards, unrestricted by the technology of the past. Einstein wrote a bit and had funny hair, meaning that the bloke from D:Ream could write a bit more and have slightly better hair. They had vision, purpose and despite being isolated on the cliff face of discovery and battered by the winds of conformity, they were driven to excel. They have vocation, they have ambition, they have a selection of delicious cheesy snacks to get them through late night sessions trying to make X = something giddy.
I have returned to England from the comfort, guaranteed income and hedonism of living in Saigon this week and face a challenge to build my own metaphorical CERN. Coming home gives rise to the usual ponderings, especially when faced with the big question: "So, what are you doing now?". Frankly my dears, I don't have a clue. If I was a welder, I'd start welding things together. If I was a plumber, I'd plumb things. If I was a drug dealer, I'd move to Rugby. But I'm not, and I wont (although option 3 is always a possibility - it's a sellers market).
As it is, I'm part of a generation of lost little puppies who are on the cusp of larking about and getting their shit together. Overeducated and underemployed, we wonder the bedroom harvesting opinions from Guardian blogs and posting artistic mish mash scavenged from YouLube in an attempt to appear 'connected' and not at all hollow eyed insomniacs suckling at the internet crack pipe, jealously 'Icoulddothat'ing at all the smart arses getting rich off blogging or actually achieving things while we silently stare at a luminous laptop screen waiting for our Pot Noodles to cool down.
Still, I've only been back a week and a half, so it's not time for panic just yet. I'm still feeling the cold and people are still honestly asking and appearing to be interested in my Saigon adventures. But it can't be long before a single mention of 'noodle soup' at a restaurant will cause my mates to leap across the table and use a funnel to force lighter fluid into my windpipe before setting my vocal chords on fire until they pop like pork fat under a hot grill. Actually, my pals are so polite it will probably go the other way and they'll smile and nod while secretly pushing steak knives into their thighs in an attempt to stave off the narcolepsy.
I'm glad to be home, I'm glad to see seasons again and not be the walking freak show who's twelve feet taller than everybody in the country. Now if I could just channel this into something productive I'd be a'OK. The time for talking is over. It's action stations. It's Countdown.... oooooo.
Th'Th'Th'Th'Thatsallfolks xx
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