Friday 12 March
Am called into the editor’s office at New Scientist. My former colleagues have already warned me what’s coming. I can’t decide if it’s a good idea or not. The editor, Roger Highfield, has this way of putting things: “it’ll be fun… you don’t have to say yes straight away… we think you’d be the best candidate…”  I manage to leave his office without saying yes. On the way out, I learn he has already been turned down by someone else. But, with the result likely to be announced on my 40th birthday, it does seem like a good way to distract myself from the crushing weight of being THAT old already.


Saturday 20 March
I still haven’t said yes, but I know that I’m going to do this. My wife wants to know that there is absolutely no chance of me winning before she gives it her blessing. I tell her there is none. How can I be so sure? Because, thanks to a piece on the Guardian website, I’ve just found the perfect opponent.

Bosworth MP David Tredinnick believes the NHS should “think out of the box” and try medical astrology. He claimed astrology software and training on MP’s expenses. He seems to want doctors to use remote psychic healing techniques that involve staring at a blood sample and sending “healing energies” to the patient. He’s the only MP who survived the cash for questions scandal. Now he is trying to keep homeopathy on the NHS despite the fact that a committee of MPs have shown that it does not provide value for money. Most important of all, his majority is enormous. Someone else might beat him, but not me. I can just help. The word “Kingmaker” comes to mind. I get the first sense that I could enjoy this just a little too much than is appropriate. The word “narcissist” also comes to mind.

I don’t actually know where Bosworth is, but that’s what the internet is for, isn’t it?

 
29 March
And we are go. I need 10 constituents to nominate me before I can get on the ballot paper. I contact Simon Perry, the chair of the Leicester Skeptics in the Pub. He sends out an email to his entire mailing list asking for nominators in the Bosworth constituency. He blogs and tweets it too. I am panicked into doing the same – and issuing a press release. The Guardian and the Times get in touch, and ask me to write something on their science blogs. I do the Guardian for now; I’m already working on something for New Scientist. The Leicester Mercury’s political correspondent is on the phone asking for quotes. Within a few hours it’s become real. And surreal.


30 March
I’m in the Leicester Mercury today. My father-in-law hears about all this and sends me a disapproving email suggesting I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. He doesn’t know the half of it, I think, but I make a mental note to stand firm and not answer his questions about my stance on immigration, criminal sentencing and the growing need for elderly care.

Spend the morning registering a political party: the Science Party. It only takes two of us – me and Sumit, New Scientist’s Web supremo. He is the Nominating Officer; I am the Candidate, Treasurer and Agent. Can’t help feeling I’ve been suckered. Especially since I’m also paying the £150 registration fee. Still, it’s in the post now…

4pm. I have five of the ten nominations I need. Already.

 
1 April
I have a dozen people ready to sign the papers. It was that easy. On Twitter, a local Lib Dem implores me not to stand as I could split their vote. Laughable.


2 April
Driving up to Bosworth to collect signatures. En route I formulate a policy on immigration, just in case.

My second nominator tells me I’ve no chance of getting my deposit back, let alone winning. “This is Tory heartland,” he says. As if to confirm, I am deafened by the sound of clay pigeon shooting as I collect the third signature (from a man who wants to know my stance on Palestine. I have no well-thought out policy on this).

I collect all ten signatures in just a couple of hours. Am overwhelmed by the welcome I receive from one family, who declare I should come and stay whenever I need a campaign headquarters.


6 April
Off on holiday – on the very day the election is called. Egypt for a week, then back to hand in my nomination forms. My publisher has sent me Chris Mullins’ political diaries to read. They are sure to deter anyone from a life in politics, he says. I don’t need help in that respect: I’ll read them when I get back.

 
13 April
Back, reluctantly. Refused to answer phone or check emails while away. Regretting it now that there’s a mountain of stuff to deal with. Three days until party registration closes, and no word from the electoral commission. On the plus side, I was front page news in Hinckley last week: TREDINNICK TO FACE SCIENTIST, the headline screamed (they only used "...TOP SCIENTIST" online. But oh how everyone at New Scientist laughed when they saw it). Apparently, he’s “very flattered” that I am taking the trouble to stand against him.

The Lib Dem candidate has emailed his best wishes and a speech he gave to the local party. He shares my view of Tredinnick. Nice gesture, I think.


14 April
Ha! I am the head of a new political party, officially registered with the Electoral Commission. Is it really that easy? Now I can fill out the rest of the forms, and head up to Bosworth to hand in my papers at the last possible moment. Not because I’m a drama queen, but because if I’m going to wave goodbye to £500, I’d like to leave myself as much time as possible to reconsider.

16 April
Printing leaflets and questionnaires. I leave a lab coat, to be printed with the Science Party logo, with a local T-shirt printing company. The proprietor looks at the logo and raises an eyebrow. “Go on,” he says, “what’s all this about?” I explain and he smiles wryly like he’s met every idiot in the world now. My phone rings: it’s the Times Higher calling for quotes. Am rather gratified. My twitter account is chirping with tweets of support. Am rather enjoying myself. This buzz, something inside me warns, is what gets people into politics. I remind myself that I’m going to lose. Badly. And then it won’t feel so good.


Monday 19 April
The lab coat looks fantastic. I have bought some protective eyewear from a DIY shop opposite New Scientist’s office, but the combined effect is not a good one. Give me a bloodied drill and I would look like I’d walked off the set of a horror film. Canvassing politicians are meant to kiss babies, not scare them half to death. The lab coat will be enough on its own.


Tuesday 20th April
Drop the children at school and jump in the car: back to Bosworth. After following a few false trails, I find the council offices in Hinckley. A pair of officials check my papers and take my money. I’m in. I’m going to be on a ballot paper in a general election.

Walking away from the council offices, I glance at my watch. I still have two and a half hours to withdraw…

Am now standing in the main street of Hinckley, wearing the Science Party labcoat and trying to get people to answer my questionnaire. I tell myself to pretend I am someone else. It’s not easy to intercept shoppers who employ all the tricks I habitually use to avoid people like me. Eye contact is broken off at ten metres distance. Suddenly, they veer to the outside of the street, out of my reach. I find the best tactic is to suddenly turn around and nab the unsuspecting person coming up behind you.

Two hours later I have done 25 surveys. Managed to ask one man if he cares about cancer research just 5 minutes after he has been diagnosed with skin cancer. Am exhausted. But the Hinckley Times have been out to photograph and interview me. Media attention – isn’t that what it’s all about?

7.30 pm: in Leicester, at the Square Bar. Jon Ronson is about to speak to the Leicester Skeptics, and I am stealing two minutes of his time to make this the official launch of the Science Party. Slip on my lab coat and preach to the choir about David Tredinnick. Get rapturous applause. But Ronson is funnier…


21 April
Still in Leicester, waiting to talk to local BBC Radio reporter. When he arrives, he asks me about immigration. I silently thank my father-in-law for his wise disapproval.

Back home. Speak to Oak FM on the phone. The reporter seems quite hostile. She asks what my reaction will be if I win. I say I will be astonished. I manage to add, “and delighted, of course.” I think she heard the tone of voice, though, the tone that said, “utterly devastated that my life will be in thrall to the demands of others.”


23 April
Have made use of candidate’s privilege and reserved a room for a hustings debate. Invited the main candidates. Will anyone come?

At lunchtime I listen to a local radio debate between the three main candidates at lunchtime. It’s available over the internet. I have contacted my supporters and asked them to send in questions for Tredinnick. One does, and I hear the chair ask Mr Tredinnick why astrology might help doctors do their jobs better. Tredinnick, to my delight, says something about the heavenly bodies and their effects on us: lunatic asylums, he asserts, are so called because the moon affects our mental health. Brilliant.


24 April
Lib Dem candidate Michael Mullaney is coming to my debate! This is democracy at work. I hope there’s an audience.

1 pm: the conservative agent replies. He wants an independent chair and just an hour-long meeting. But, if that happens, Tredinnick is coming!


Sunday 25 April
Rory Palmer (Lab) is also turning up!

I’ve done it now. What if there’s no audience?


Wednesday 28 April
Back up to Bosworth for some door-knocking and the debate. We have agreed a format, the timing, and an independent chair (it will be the Lib Dem activist who, to be honest, has been making rather snide remarks about me on Twitter). All we need is an audience. Can’t worry about that now: I have to don the labcoat in an idyllic rural market town and knock on doors with my questionnaires.

An elderly lady invites me in. She shouldn’t: I’m not carrying any ID. I go in anyway: she’s very insistent. She thinks Tredinnick is an awful MP, she tells me, but will vote for him anyway. I ask why and she looks at me like I’m a bit simple. “Well I’m a Conservative, dear,” she says.

A middle-aged couple recognise me from the newspaper, and I am rather pleased. They tell me Tredinnick was around here door-knocking just last week. They were out, they say – and glad to be. “Can’t stand him,” the husband says.

“I call him the invisible man – we never see him,” says another old lady on her doorstep. “But I will vote for him. I wouldn’t vote for any of the others.” I suggest she could vote for me. “But that would be a wasted vote, wouldn’t it?” she says. Not sure how to respond.

I drive into Hinckley to do some more door-knocking. “Aha,” says one man on opening his door. “It’s Dr Michael Brooks!” Am slightly unnerved by this. It turns out he’s not a crazed fan (surprise!) but someone who is extremely well-informed about local politics and chaired a hustings event last week. We have a long talk about the value of science. He tells me that he’s not going to vote for me, of course. Did he have to add the “of course”? I console myself with the fact that my wife will be pleased that no one is going to vote for me.

All this and the debate tonight! Today I am in love with democracy. How many places in the world could I do this, and get national and local attention and respect for standing up for something I believe in? Whatever the eventual outcome of my campaign, democracy will be the winner. Make a mental note to include that in my election night address.

Scrub that mental note and replace it with one to stop taking myself so seriously. This can only end badly.


7 pm: The Debate! Hinckley Council Chamber looks like the lair of a Bond villain. There is impressive technology everywhere: full video coverage wherever you sit, and microphones that light up when we turn them on. Gordon Brown has had his Bigotgate moment today; there must be a joke in these microphones, I think.

Rory Palmer (Lab) turns up first, then Michael Mullaney. Then in walks Mr Tredinnick. I go towards him and he shakes my proffered hand. But he looks the other way as he does it.

And we’re off! Opening statements, answers to questions about science. The audience is about 40 strong (weak?) but fiercely anti-Tredinnick. People are actually shouting , “Liar! Liar!” at him. Part of me is terribly smug: I, I think, made this happen. Everyone is here because of me and my grabbing opportunity with both hands.

My moment of self-congratulatory introspection is brought to a screeching halt by a finger pointed in my direction. “Did you on the 7th Feb 2008 say that there are aliens in space that know that we are here?” says Mr T. “I think I heard that on a blog.”

I’m rather blindsided by this surreal incursion into the debate. I offer to explain my position on aliens. Mr T doesn’t want to know. “I’m sorry,” he says rather insistently, “but you said this – it’s on the record. You were talking in an interview about aliens and time travel.”

Well, it’s possible, I think; I talk about them quite a lot. It’s part of my job. I ask what relevance this has. “You’re accusing me of having some odd ideas about science. I’m saying you’re on the record as saying aliens know we’re here.” I’m having trouble making out what he’s saying because the audience are laughing very loudly at him.

The night doesn’t really go very well for Mr Tredinnick at all, actually. He accuses scientists of being borderline racist for rejecting Chinese and Indian astrological medicine. There are hecklers who are shouting him down over the Conservative council’s closure of carehomes. Michael Mullaney, it turns out is a young firebrand, not afraid to bang his fist theatrically on the desk. And the chair lets the whole thing roll on far past the agreed hour. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself, and allow the feelings of smug self-congratulation to return.


29 April
Back in Castle Street for some more questionnaires. This time, alarmingly, I don’t even hesitate before pulling on my lab coat. That’s it, I think: I’m now officially shameless. I used to think it was that strangely self-confident people went into politics. Now I’m thinking this might be just what politics does to modest, ordinary people.

Thinking about it some more, while people avoid me in Castle Street, it occurs to me that this not what politics does to modest, ordinary people. Modest, ordinary people don’t go into politics. Politics is for ambitious, shameless, self-promoting narcissists.

It’s great getting these insights. So glad I did this.

6 p.m. At home. I have a sense of completion. There is less than a week to go before the election. There are people in Hinckley giving out my last 500 leaflets. I can’t really afford to print any more, and it’s such a drop in the ocean, in terms of reaching the voters, that it doesn’t seem worth worrying about. I am in the Hinckley Times again, answering questions alongside all the other candidates. I have got myself into this election, got myself in the papers, sparred with my fellow candidates, knocked on doors, canvassed in the street and – apart from kissing babies – done everything a politician is supposed to. Bring on polling day, because I’m spent now. I will blog some more, tweet some more, but my political currency is probably as high as it is going to get.

 
5 May
I am writing my speech for tomorrow night. I shall be the consummate gracious loser. But I don’t want to lose. I’m not one of life’s happy losers. Am suddenly gripped by the realisation that I have not factored this into the equation. I desperately want some votes. How many do I expect? I honestly do not know. 10? 100? I’d be very happy with 1000. This is the reason I don’t run marathons (well, one of the reasons). If you never take part, you can’t let yourself down. I am taking part in this election, and I am going to let myself down. Very badly, perhaps. I realise that I have spent the last week reminding everyone around me, as loudly and as often as possible, that I’m only standing to raise issues, not votes. Actually, I do want votes. I want a thousand. I am kidding myself, but I do want a thousand votes tomorrow. Disappointment looms as heavy as the clouds in the sky outside.

I am getting chirps of support through Twitter. Mark Henderson has forgotten to include me in the list of science vote candidates. Roger Highfield reminds him, and Mark adds a postscript. “He's unlikely to win – but if he does well, and especially if he can keep his deposit, it would send an important message that scientific issues matter.”

I like the sentiment, but it fuels my loser’s anxiety. How does Mark define “does well”? I resist the urge to email him and ask.

 
6 May
Have made a Science Party rosette by bastardising a Pony Day rosette my daughter won last year. This is, I reflect, possibly not what the other candidates are doing this morning.

After lunch I drive to the Bosworth constituency. I compose soundbites for the media on the way. I can make losing sound like winning, I know I can. Not sure which media I'm thinking of.

Just for a bit of extra Twitter fun, I check my horoscope in the Sun. Mystic Meg says my plans are "winners". A slight sense of triumph ensues, followed by one of unease. I don't really want to be a winner. My speech preparation doesn't allow for that eventuality, either. Then I remember I don't believe in astrology. Sumit makes me laugh by tweeting Tredinnick's horoscope. It actually mentions a "job search". Unease returns. Then I remember I don't believe in astrology. Boy, it's not easy being rational: it's constant hard work keeping your guard up.

We meet at the count at 10 pm. I quickly become obsessed by my rosette. It is too small. It also has polka dots on it. Everyone else’s rosettes look great.  I have rosette envy.

After 30 minutes, we realise that the pubs will close soon, and disappear for an hour. Actually, it's a bit more than an hour, because I turn 40 in The Baron of Hinckley in Regent Street. It's a Wetherspoon pub: not how I imagined that moment at all.


7 May
Back at the count, I sporadically spot papers with a cross next to my name. More than 10. 11, in fact. Shall we call that success? To pass the time, Sumit and I, with our dark skin, play a game with the BNP activists. We walk up and stand next to them as they watch the count. Invariably, they step away to another table. As a control, we do the same with the Lib Dem and Labour activists. Invariably, they turn and talk to us.

3 a.m. The returning officer has declared. I have come in last, with 197 votes. Am quite pleased it wasn’t less than 10. Mr Tredinnick has 23,132 votes. Michael Mullaney, the Lib Dem, is next with 18,100. Mr Tredinnick, it seems, is bulletproof: the Kevlar Kid.

There are speeches, but most people are leaving. By the time my speech comes around, there is hardly a gaggle, even around the platform. Despite all my preparation in the car, I am winging it. For some reason, I promise that the Science Party will be back in the next election.

“You’re a disgrace,” a Lib Dem party worker shouts at Mr Tredinnick as he steps off the platform. “You’re a bad loser,” a Conservative woman shouts back. For a moment, it looks like it might all kick off. Then, suddenly, it doesn’t.

It’s over.

I thank the Returning Officer, and walk out of the emptying hall. Taking one last look back, I see the Conservatives are in a circle around David Tredinnick, drinking champagne. I let out an involuntary sigh. I came into this hall a 39 year old with a dream. I’m 40 now. And I’m officially a loser.

I thought, on the eve of the polls opening, it would be fun to look at the wisdom that David Tredinnick, a sitting MP for 23 years, has offered up during this campaign:

“…if the sun affects our lives and the moon affects our cycles, there is a certain logic, I would suggest, that other heavenly bodies might have an influence too.” (Hilltop Radio, 23/4/10)

“There is a long tradition … that certain people are influenced by the movement of the planets at different times. We used to have, instead of care homes for those with mental disabilities, what were called lunatic asylums. That’s because at certain cycles in the moon there was perceived to be more activity. This has been proven many times by police forces.” (Hilltop Radio, 23/4/10)

“The problem is, science hasn’t found a way… of understanding very dilute preparations… What we need is better measurement.” (Hinckley Council Chamber, 28/4/10)

“It’s much better to use observation, and not randomised controlled trials.” (Hinckley Council Chamber, 28/4/10)

“In the old asylums there were always more staff on at a full moon….you can laugh, but these are facts…I think these things should be considered because I think they do have a bearing on health.” (Hinckley Council Chamber, 28/4/10)

“I do think science can be too rigid. Sciences move: before the atom was split, there was no splitting of the atom. Before stents were invented for surgery there were no stents.” (Hilltop Radio, 23/4/10)

"There is a danger that so-called scientists are so set in their ways that they are unable to consider alternative viewpoints. Systems of healthcare in India and China have linked medicine and astronomy for centuries. Are we really just dismissing their views?" (Leicester Mercury, 30/3/10)

 

“It’s unfortunate that the scientific community are unable to make the correct assessment of homeopathic medicine, but it is effective.” (Hilltop Radio, 23/4/10)

“The criticism of Chinese medicine and Ayurvedic medicine is perceived by some people in the minority communities to be racist…I think it’s pretty borderline at times.” (Hinckley Council Chamber, 28/4/10)

People of Bosworth, over to you…

Since it’s already happening out there on Twitter, I guess it’s time for the blog to catch up. I’m looking for 10 people who would be willing to sign my nomination form to stand in the general election in the Bosworth-Hinckley constituency.

The point of standing is to highlight the fact that science is not just an indulgence for the curious, but is vital to British life, culture and economic well-being.

Science contributes more to Britain's GDP than the financial services sector. It also seeds future economic benefit. Science-based healthcare has made all of our lives immeasurably better.

And yet science does not really figure on political agendas; it is an add-on, at best. The Conservative shadow science minister has already said science funding will almost certainly be cut under a Tory government. Labour is promising more, but funding for science has actually flatlined under Labour, and is lower than it was in 1986, when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister.

It's not just about science and scientists. Science feeds into most aspects of modern life -- this is about what kinds of qualification we want our MPs to have. Do we want politics and economics graduates making the decisions? Or do we want MPs who are qualified to deal with scientific and technological questions, and able to analyse a problem using a skillset that has proved the most powerful tool we have: rational, scientifically-based thinking?

I will stand for Parliament in order to get people across the country talking about what they want from their MP. Hopefully that will cause them to ask difficult questions of all their candidates, such as whether their children will be able to work in science in Britain, or whether they will have to go abroad to the countries who are currently increasing their science funding: France, Germany, China and the US, for example.

Why Bosworth?

The sitting MP, David Tredinnick is symptomatic of the problem facing the future of Britain. Not just because he was involved in cash-for-questions and in the expenses scandal, but because he is exactly the kind of MP who undermines science. Tredinnick’s expenses included a claim for astrology software. Do we want MPs to be making decisions about the future of our country based on where Saturn happens to be in the sky on the night before a vote in the House of Commons? Tredinnick has also tabled an “Early Day Motion” suggesting that the House of Commons Select Committtee’s report into homeopathy, which recommended that the NHS no longer fund homeopathic treatments, was poorly researched and should not be taken seriously. He is a champion of pseudo-science and a hindrance to rational governance.

If we are to secure the future of science and engineering research, and thus secure the future of Britain’s economy, we need to make sure that our MPs will not ignore and undermine the scientific traditions on which this country is built.

Getting Tredinnick out of office will be a good start. Hopefully we can populate the House of Commons with people who understand what really makes the world go round – literally and metaphorically. We need a scientific government for this scientific age.

But in order to get this off the ground, I need ten people who are registered to vote in the constituency – so it’s over to you in Bosworth…

I have a piece on New Scientist blogs today, about whether scientists should rule the roost when it comes to policy decisions. It comes from a talk I went to last night at the Royal Pharmaceutical Society. Just wanted to flag up something else that came up, though.

DEFRA, the dept for food, environment and rural affairs (though not necessarily in that order) has downgraded some of its research lines. One of those is animal welfare: there’s a feeling, it seems, that they now know what they need to about the subject.

I reckon that’s pretty good news. It suggests that the animal welfare campaigns of the last decade or so have succeeded in bringing these issues to the fore. Kudos to the campaigners. It’s also good news for the campaigns of now: raising public awareness works.

Other downgraded issues include noise, pesticides and transmissible spongiform encephalopathies (eg BSE and CJD). On the up? Biodiversity, food chain, soils and sustainable development, as well as the inevitable adapting to climate change.

You can get the DEFRA document here, or watch Bob Watson present it (at breakneck speed, if last night is anything to go by).

I received a fascinating insight from a reader who had a special interest in the “Free Will” chapter of 13 Things That Don’t Make Sense. In that chapter I talk about the surgeon Itzhak Fried who discovered he could give people the “urge” to perform an action just by stimulating certain areas of the brain with electricity. This reader reports similar urges as a result of Tourettes - or something.

I’ll keep the action anonymous, but the back-story is that “Ralph” has had Tourettes since the age of 7. He was only given medication when aged 32. He has to concentrate incredibly hard if he wants to fend off the verbal tics, and can only manage it for about 5 minutes at a time. But here’s the real grind: he also has murderous thoughts if not medicated:

“I would sit drinking tea with my mum and be constantly having the urge to kill her, in fact every person I met I had the urge to attack, not just the thought but the urge - suppressing these urges was/is a constant strain. However, I can suppress them (maybe because the voice suggesting I attack others is my own and does not seem external to me as maybe some voices heard by schizophrenics do). But I can suppress them. Of course it could be said that my urges are not as strong as some which is why I don't act on them (and never have), however, perhaps it is the complexity of an urge which makes a difference, and complex urges we can control which does suggest a level of free will.”

It doesn’t seem a stretch to me that there are electrical misfirings that cause such urges, just as Fried was able to create urges to move in his patients (they gave in to the urge if he increased the current). So is “Ralph” fighting against electrical currents in his brain, and if the currents were stronger, would he not be able to fight them?

This scenario creates a nightmare when this is translated into issues of legal responsibility. I can imagine “Ralph” could be sectioned under the mental health act if things got any worse and he was considered a danger to others. Yet judging by his email, he is entirely lucid and rational.

This is such a difficult area and we’re only scratching the surface. Neuroscience is a ticking timebomb. Are we ready for the blast?
 

There's not many days in your life when you have two books come out. By coincidence, the UK paperback of 13 Things That Don't Make Sense, and a new book of mine - The Big Questions: Physics - are both out today. The day has gotten away from me, so I'm going to do little more than highlight them here - more (especially about the new one) very soon.

Yes, it really does have a moleskine-style elastic cover strap.

Here's what's on the back:

THE BIG QUESTIONS series confronts the fundamental problems of science and philosophy that have perplexed enquiring minds throughout history, and provides and explains the answers of our greatest thinkers. In Big Questions: Physics, Michael Brooks demystifies 20 mind-stretching questions about quantum physics, relativity and the true nature of reality.

• WHAT IS THE POINT OF PHYSICS?
• WHAT IS TIME?
• WHAT HAPPENED TO SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT?
• WHY DOES AN APPLE FALL?
• ARE SOLIDS REALLY SOLID?
• WHY IS THERE NO SUCH THING AS A FREE LUNCH?
• IS EVERYTHING ULTIMATELY RANDOM?
• WHAT IS THE GOD PARTICLE?
• AM I UNIQUE IN THE UNIVERSE?
• CAN WE TRAVEL THROUGH TIME?
• IS EARTH'S MAGNETIC SHIELD FAILING?
• WHY DOES E=MC²?
• CAN I CHANGE THE UNIVERSE WITH A SINGLE GLANCE?
• DOES CHAOS THEORY SPELL DISASTER?
• WHAT IS LIGHT?
• IS STRING THEORY REALLY ABOUT STRINGS?
• WHY IS THERE SOMETHING RATHER THAN NOTHING?
• DO WE LIVE IN A COMPUTER SIMULATION?
• WHICH IS NATURE’S STRONGEST FORCE?
• WHAT IS THE ULTIMATE NATURE OF REALITY?

Big enough for ya?

And here's the very nice cover for 13 Things - complete with some very nice people saying very nice things about it...

There’s a brilliant story on New Scientist today about why you should draw second in a gunfight. The best thing about it is the recollection that Neils Bohr, the father of quantum theory, used to force his colleagues to participate in gunfight experiments:

Niels Bohr once had a theory on why the good guy always won shoot-outs in Hollywood westerns. It was simple: the bad guy always drew first. That left the good guy to react unthinkingly – and therefore faster. When Bohr tested his hypothesis with toy pistols and colleagues who drew first, he always won.

Turns out Bohr was right: the circuits involved in reacting to a threat work faster than those that are self-stimulated. But it puts a whole new spin on Heisenberg’s troubled relationship with Bohr. Bohr was a big bully, and the man behind the uncertainty principle recalls one discussion over the implications of quantum theory ending “with my breaking out in tears because I just couldn't stand this pressure from Bohr.”

Heisenberg should be glad that quantum theory was invented before paintball – otherwise Bohr really would have given him something to cry about…
 

So it’s been a very long break from blogging, while I work out what’s coming next. I’m now focussed on a new book, provisionally titled The Nobel Prize for Anarchy. My aim with this is to show that science isn’t what most people think: in fact, it could be described as entirely the opposite of what most people think. Scientists – at least good scientists – defy all the stereotypes. To get science done, you have to be willing to break all the conventional rules: in fact, anarchy is built right in: the very core of science is about overturning received wisdom, proving your predecessors didn't have it right - and that you do.

In 1974 there was an article in Science that asked, “Should the history of science be X-rated?” The author, Stephen J Brush, argued that the idea that the scientist is a rational, open-minded investigator who proceeds methodically, is grounded in the outcome of controlled experiments and seeks objectively for the truth, is "a useful one”. If young scientists were to find out what really happened in the history of their subject, it might “do violence to the professional ideal and public image of scientists," Brush said.

I don't agree. I’m not out to do any violence. But surely the truth is to be celebrated? The book will look at how real science, as done by very human beings, happens. And this is good science. It is the way progress has been made.

So here goes – I’m going to make the argument that science is a lot more rock ‘n’ roll than you might have thought: there’s drugs, fraud, near-death experiences, religious mania, hallucinations… and, remember, these are not the “crazy scientists”, but the successful ones. It raises an obvious question: are we missing something when we describe science as a “beacon of rationality” in an increasingly irrational world? Is it possible that, in reacting to the perceived threat from an “anti-science” lobby, scientists are in danger of cutting themselves off from the source of many of their best ideas?

What I’d really like to know is, how does science actually happen today? Most of the juiciest stories seem to come out decades later; so what are you privy to? I’m not asking for whistleblowers to come out of the woodwork, but it would be useful to collect some reliable tales of what fascinating (and maybe a little bit scandalous!) things scientists are up to, things that they, perhaps, wouldn't necessarily want the funding bodies to know about. If you’re working in science, or know someone who is, perhaps you could spread the word and put some feelers out.

I’m going to start putting some stuff out on Twitter too (related to this, not what I had for breakfast, I promise) that I hope people will respond to. I reckon new technologies can provide a new way to research books – it can’t still only be about losing hours in fusty libraries, surely?

Anyway, check back soon, and look out for the Twitter feeds (drmichaelbrooks). Let’s see where this goes!

 

I have an article on the nuclear fusion reactor being built in the south of France in this week’s New Statesman. ITER ( the International Thermonuclear Experimental Reactor) is an incredible project – the idea is to build something on Earth that operates at 150 million degrees, but generates useable, controllable energy through the same process that powers the sun.

The most interesting aspect of researching the piece was the fact that scientific objections are incredibly thin on the ground. There have been objections in the past, but now the project seems to have gathered enough evidence that it might just work.

It’s still an incredible longshot, though: a whole lot of factors have to come together to make it work. As someone said, "we're trying to put the sun in a box - but we don't know how to build the box." Others have been more directly scathing, and called it  “the science of wishful thinking”. Charles Seife’s book The Sun In A Bottle, for instance, concludes that, "so long as there are other energy sources available, fusion is unlikely to make a huge dent in humanity’s energy needs.” (It's a great book, by the way – Charles is an incredibly gifted writer)

For decades, people have joked that nuclear fusion is “just forty years away – and has been for forty years”. I don’t think that’s quite fair any more. Having said that, when you read the New Statesman article, you’ll find that it is still forty years away. At least...

I’m hoping that something staggering happened this morning. At 7.45 GMT, about an hour and a half ago as I write this, the spacecraft Rosetta performed a slingshot manoeuvre, using the Earth’s gravitational field to change course, rather than burning extra fuel. That’s not the staggering thing: that trick has become quite routine for spacecraft on long journeys. What is staggering is the possibility that, during the slingshot, Rosetta gained an extra 1mm/s in speed.

When the craft is travelling at 13 km/s, that doesn’t seem like a lot. But the gain in speed, if it happened, stands in defiance of all known physics. The prediction of an extra 1mm/s came from John Anderson, the man behind the NASA Pioneer missions in the 1970s. He has noticed that many spacecraft see anomalous speed changes during a slingshot. There is no law of physics that says why this should happen, but Anderson has worked out a formula that accounts for all previous speed changes in terms of spacecraft velocity, angle of approach relative to the planet’s spin, distance of closest approach and so on (you can hear him talk about it here). And, with Rosetta coming in for a near-Earth flyby, he was able to make a prediction about what would happen.

It’s scientific progress, right here, right now. We’ll find out what Rosetta did in a few days or maybe a few weeks. If Anderson is right, we have spotted a phenomenon that defies explanation. The history of science is full of such things; that’s how we got quantum theory started, for instance. If Anderson’s formula also works for Rosetta, maybe we will see the birth of something fundamentally new in science. It’s not often you can say that. Watch this space!