Let's Make a Deal

Long before Sir Noel Edmonds* wasted hours upon hours, but making shedloads of money, opening boxes in Deal or No Deal, there was a US show called Let's Make a Deal. This included a far less drawn out affair in which contestants chose one of three doors. Behind one of the doors was a prize, such as a car, whilst behind the other doors lay nothing. Once the contestant had made his or her choice, the show's presenter, Monty Hall, would then open one of the doors that had nothing behind it and ask the contestant if they would like to change from their original chosen door (which remains closed) to the one remaining door. And that was it.

Doesn't sound like much, does it? But it lay the basis for one of the most talked about mathematical 'problems' of recent years. The question was, should the contestant stick with their original choice or should they change their mind and choose the other door? Does it make a difference? Which would you do?

It became known as the 'Monty Hall Problem' and the perhaps surprising and counter-intuitive answer is that you should change doors. By changing doors, your odds of winning the car double, from 1 in 3 to 2 in 3. You might think that changing doors would make no difference, but you'd be wrong. You might even think that it would be better to stay with the door your first chose, as at least that way you are less likely to feel regret if you end up not having chosen the winning door: Wouldn't it be worse if you changed your mind and found that the door you had first chosen was hiding the car all along? You would feel as though you almost had the car in your hands and then lost it. But the statistics say you'd be wrong not to changed your choice. If you stuck with your original choice you would halve your chances of winning the car!

I'm wondering if there are similar statistical surprises hidden in Deal or No Deal? Or is it just Noel Edmonds randomly opening boxes hour after hour?

*As far as I'm aware, Mr Edmonds is not a Knight of the Realm, nor are there any plans to make him one. It's just that I think he deserves one. Not for Deal or No Deal. God no. I'm referring to his sterling efforts presenting Multi-Coloured SwapShop back in the 70's. If he managed to swap a pair of roller skates for scalextric once, he must have done it a dozen times.**

**Speaking of which, if anyone has any scalextric track they would like to swap for, well, a pair of roller skates then put your details in one side of a postcard...

One day you'll be dead

[This article is due to be published in a new magazine called Haunted. It is reproduced here by kind permission of Will Felix.]

Some weeks ago, a certain Mr Felix rang me up to tell me he was planning on publishing a new magazine (yes, the very one you now have in your hands). He was looking for people to write for the magazine who were credible and authoritative on all things paranormal. And so, he contacted me… to see if I knew anyone who was credible and authoritative on all things paranormal. As I couldn’t think of anyone who fitted the bill, we agreed I could write something instead. And here it is.

By the way, I’m sorry if the title of this article sounds a little harsh. And I hope it isn’t too morbid to be talking about death (although I guess morbidity and death kind of go hand in hand). And I really hope that this news hasn’t come as too much of a shock to you. But it’s true. One day you’re going to be dead. You won’t be here any more. You’ll just be a memory in the minds of those who you have left behind. It’s a sobering thought isn’t it? And for many people it can be sufficiently motivating to encourage them to get off their backsides and get on and start doing the things they always told themselves they would do before they died. And these days there are plenty of books that will tell you all the places you need to see and all the things you’re supposed to do before you die. So I’m not going to do that. (Suffice to say that visiting Stapeley Water Gardens really should not be on anyone’s list. Don’t be fooled by the title… it’s just a garden centre.)

Instead, I want to ask the question of what it is you’re going to do after you die. For some of you this is probably an odd, if not meaningless, question. What am I going to do after I die? Not much. Very little in fact. I might even be so bold to say I’m going to do nothing at all. And I think this is a very understandable response, and the reason that many people regard their lifetime as a finite period in which to do all the things they want to do, as there isn’t going to be any second chance.

But for many of you (in fact possibly most of you given that you’re reading this magazine!), this might be a question that is reasonable to ask. There are a number of possible answers you might opt for. You might be taken with the idea of taking your place in Heaven (or maybe even somewhere warmer?) Or the whole notion of reincarnation might be more up your alley. You could come back as a dog, or a flower, or even just come back as yourself again and try and get it right next time (although that one just seems to be rather lacking in imagination to me…). Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll come back as a ghost and haunt people.

Now, if we’re to entertain the possibility that death is not the end. If we are to consider the hypothesis that there is another kind of existence waiting for each and every one of us after we shuffle off this mortal coil. If there really is some kind of afterlife, then I’m not so sure that the idea of spending eternity (which I gather is quite a long time) haunting a draughty old castle or an underperforming public house is that appealing. Why would anyone want to spend their afterlife doing that?

Some ghosts, it seems, like to make their presence felt by moving or throwing things around or by making banging or rapping sounds. Strictly speaking, paranormal researchers like to separate these phenomena from other types of haunting which are usually associated with apparitions. Instead they like to refer to these as ‘poltergeist’ phenomena (‘poltergeist’ literally means ‘noisy spirit’). Whilst some parapsychologists feel that these kind of effects, if genuine, are more likely to be explained in terms of some kind of ‘psychokinetic’ (literally ‘mind movement’) ability among the living, there are those who prefer the noisy spirit interpretation. And it would seem that some of these effects can actually be quite subtle. A student of mine recently described to me an apparent poltergeist experience in which it seemed that something or someone caused the TV remote control to move from one arm of the sofa to the other. Spooky. Again, though, question has to be why bother? Is that really the best use of being able to transgress the known laws of physics and prove that there is an afterlife. You’ve just had your Near-Death Experience, although in fact it was your Actual-Death Experience because you don’t come back from this one and after travelling down the tunnel towards the light you have passed away and you have reached your ultimate resting place. But instead you actually realise you’re able to communicate with the living and make it known that you continue to exist in some kind of spirit world. So what do you do? You move the remote control from one end of the sofa to the other. Brilliant. I’m sorry but if that’s what the afterlife is all about, then I’m not impressed.

The other option, it seems, is to let everyone know that you’re still around (in some kind of non-physical spirit reality) by actually telling them this news. For this, you’ll probably need to find yourself a decent medium who will be able to pass on your messages. And that could be easier said than done. A good medium is actually quite rare (some would say non-existent!) as many (some would say perhaps all) who claim to be mediums are either charlatans or are deluded.

But if you do manage to communicate with one from the ‘other side’ then please try to make any messages that you are sending through as clear and as specific as possible. It must be very frustrating for those genuine mediums (ahem, if there are any…) to receive and pass on messages that are intended for “somebody whose name begins with ‘B’, or ‘P’, or could it be ‘T’…? Barry? Harry? Carrie?, etc.”. That’s no use to anybody really, is it? All that does is make the medium look, well, a bit silly. No, if you can, try to be as specific as possible. Why not give first names and last names? An address or two would be really good too, perhaps even a date of birth. That would give the sceptics something to ponder over. Oh, and if you want to try and prove that you’re real by telling the medium how you died then you’ll have to do better than clutching at your chest, “He’s clutching at his chest… he’s saying it’s his chest, he’s finding it hard to breathe…”. Would that impress you? No, again you need to be as specific as possible. Why not tell us the time you died? Or where you were when it happened?

Perhaps I’m asking too much, but let’s make an agreement now. When we are dead, if it turns out there is an afterlife we’ll make sure the people we have left behind know about it. Deal?

Now, where did I put that remote control, I’m sure I left it on the end of the sofa…

A new word?

We've been doing something called 'Yogalates' recently which is where you do yoga poses while drinking a cup of milky coffee. It's actually a mix of yoga and pilates, and is the concoction of an Australian woman, Louise Solomon. I just wanted to ask, has anyone else ever used the term or ever heard the term "gaze adristy with the eyes..."? It's that word 'adristy'. She seems to use it to mean a soft focus, but I've never heard it before. Is it an Australianism?

Yin and Yang of Choice

As I mentioned in a previous post, called you get to choose, it seems to be rather important to realise that we always have choices. In another post, I linked to a YouTube video under the heading go with the flow. The way these ideas link together is captured poetically in the following excerpt from the book Profound Simplicity by Will Schutz:

The principle of choice describes the reality that I am in charge of my life. I choose it all, I always have, I always will. Because, at bottom, the world is simple, there are paths in the universe, a natural flow that makes my choice, simple and obvious. I discover these natural paths when I am open and receptive, when I sense what is inside and what is outside my body. As you and I acknowledge our self-responsibility and as we open ourselves to the paths, we flow together. Our paths are harmonious and we create a joyful community and society.

Will Schutz, Profound Simplicity (1979, p. 78).

I think it's about time I blogged about the film Back to the Future. Indeed, the film itself is about time. Or time-travel. In fact, I think it is about much more than that. It's my favourite teen movie of all time. I was 14 years old when it came out and I saw it at the cinema

Twenty Past Two

Ray, a friend of mine who works at the same University as me, has a son who writes a blog at fourteentwenty.com. I only just looked at it this week for the first time. I like it. A couple of things that caught my eye were Flat Life, a 10 minute animated short, included here:



and Dreams:


Flat Life shows how much each of our lives are connected with other people's lives, and Dreams shows us there's more to life than simply meeting other people's expectations.

Talk to Trisha

Or rather listen to her... you can still listen online to the radio show mentioned below by clicking here. I gather it will be available until Sunday 15th June, after which it will be replaced by Trisha's next show! Our bit begins about 1 hour 16 minutes into the show, so if you want to you can skip the (frankly depressing) part with the woman who has written a book called No-one Wants You: Memoirs of a Child Forced into Prostitution (an undoubted best-seller with a joyous title like that).

A Life Less Meaningless?

The eagle-eyed among you will have noticed from the list over on the right that an event called "The Big Hope" is currently underway at Liverpool Hope University. This Global Youth Congress, involving several hundred delegates from over 50 countries, is the University's main contribution to the year-long celebrations in Liverpool as European Capital of Culture 2008.

When the organisers were preparing this event I was one of a number of people who were asked to lead a 'strand'. This would involve leading some kind of activity for a small group of 10-15 delegates throughout the week that would ideally lead to an outcome of some sort. Inspired by the strap-line that appeared on the cover of the University's prospectus, For a life with more meaning, I proposed a strand called simply 'Life with more meaning'. The idea would be that we'd work to develop materials for a short course that encouraged 'young' people to explore the big questions in life such as why are we here, how do we decide what to do with our lives, what it's all about... all the interesting stuff!

This weekend the delegates, from far flung places like Kosovo, Belgium, Tibet, Uganda, Zimbabwe and Yorkshire (!), have been out and about armed with camcorders filming video-diaries and conducting interviews with people about the meaning of life! Yesterday, four of us took part in a radio show talking about what we'd been up to. So if you're really interested you can listen to the show on-line this evening at CityTalk FM on Talk with Trisha (yes, the Trisha!) between 8pm and 10pm UK time. I think our bit features in the second half of the show.

Feed Me

I think I might have just added an RSS feed. I can't be too sure, but I've just done something through FeedBurner and now there's an icon over on the sidebar that strongly suggests that I've added an RSS feed. Or something. For those of who understand what this means, I hope this helps. For those of who don't know what I'm talking about, I think it means you can somehow subscribe to this drivel. Or something.

What you readin' for?

Bill Hicks used to talk of a time he was eating in a waffle house ("I'm not proud, I was hungry...") on his own reading a book. The waitress comes over, chewing gum, and asks "What you readin' for?". "Wow, I've never been asked that", he replies, "Goddang it, you stumped me. Not what am I reading, but what am I reading for? I guess I read for a lot of reasons but one of the main ones... is so I don't end up being a f**king waffle waitress."

I often find that I read several books at once. That's because I'm not very good at actually finishing books and so I start reading another book before I finish the first one. At the moment, I have about 4 or 5 books on the go. I think the one I started reading first (I can't be sure as it was a while back!) was Bill Hicks: Agent of Evolution by Kevin Booth and Michael Bertin (hence the recent Bill Hicks references, though I've been a Hicks fan since I was a student). I then picked up, and started reading, a book called Profound Simplicity by Will Schutz from a second-hand book shop in Devon. Half way through that I borrowed The Never-Ending Days of Being Dead by Marcus Chown from my dad. This one is a library book so I'm feeling that it's this book I should aim to finish first but, as it tries to explain quantum vacuums and gravitational mass, it's taking me a while. Dad's had to renew it three times already.

The other books on my bedside table, with bookmarks indicating where I'm at, are Flow: The Classic Work on How to Achieve Happiness by Mihaly Czskiszentmihalyi (that's got to be a made up name, right?) and New Age Living: A Guide to Principles, Practices and Beliefs by Paul Roland (another library book). For the record, just to prove that I can actually finish a book occasionally, I've just read (to the end!) Things the Grandchildren Should Know by Mark Everett (frontman of the Eels rock band and son of Hugh Everett III who was the quantum physicist who came up with the idea of Parallel Universes!) and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, a novel written from the perspective of a boy with Asperger's Syndrome. Both highly recommended.

I'm hungry. Waffles anyone?

My Name is Freya

Who am I? I have an answer to that eternal question... it would appear that I'm Freya. Not the answer I was expecting, granted, but an answer all the same. I discovered my identity this week when I took my baby daughter (who is coincidentally also called Freya...) along to Rhythm Time. Within minutes of arriving I had a sticker stuck to my chest announcing I was Freya! So there you have it.


I was the token dad there but I did my best to join in and to not feel like a complete pillock. I think I just about managed it. I definitely enjoyed it more than Lorraine seemed to. Lorraine was the helper who passed around and collected in the drums, tambourines, shakers, etc. for the babies to play with. She was also supposed to sing along with the songs and generally keep the atmosphere on an up. Instead she sat to one side looking like her cat had just been run over (maybe it had).

It turned out that this was Lorraine's final Rhythm Time, as she was about take up a new job as a clinical research nurse at the University of Manchester (the obvious career progression). I can't see her being missed.

By the way, a word of advice. If you ever find yourself going along to something like this, remember to take your sticker off before you go to the supermarket. Otherwise you will look like a pillock.

The Second (and Last) Run

Note to self: Do NOT register for Great Manchester Run next year. Repeat, do NOT register for Great Manchester Run next year. Thank you to everyone who supported me (both this year and last year!) by donating money to BLISS. Your support really is appreciated (and you can still donate money by clicking on the widget over on the right!). But I won't be doing it next year. There has to be easier ways to raise money for charity.

I surprised myself and ran the whole 10 km. Whereas the week before I had stunned the audience with my rather unique rendition of "Walk, Don't Run", this week all I could think was "Run, Don't Walk". And I did, for 59 minutes and 38 seconds. Three minutes slower than last year, but at least I did it in less than an hour.

Today my legs are aching so much it would probably take me 59 minutes and 38 seconds to walk to the kitchen and back. So no more running.

The First (and Last) Concert

Last weekend saw my debut public performance on the guitar. It was awful. So bad that it's taken me a week to even think about writing about it. When I mentioned it to Rachel this morning, she referred to it as the "guitar fiasco". And she's supposed to be my number one supporter!

As some of you will know I took up learning to play the guitar last year and signed up for weekly lessons with the Yamaha Music School. Every so often the school organises a concert for the students as an opportunity to 'showcase' their musical skills for friends and family. I said I'd play something, and opted for playing "Walk Don't Run", an instrumental written by jazz guitarist Johnny Smith (and apparently a hit for both the Ventures and the John Barry Seven). As it was the first piece in the Guitar Encounters Book 2 (yes, Book 2... be impressed!), and we'd been learning and practising it in class for what seemed like ages, it seemed the obvious choice. By the morning of the concert, last Sunday, I think I could play it pretty well, even though I do say so myself. With or without the backing track.

In the afternoon, we battled through a torrential downpour to the community centre where the concert was to be held. I was already feeling nervous, but as we went in to the hall, I became really nervous (possibly even more so than before the Skeptics in the Pub talk!). A quick look through the programme revealed that my slot was about half way through the proceedings, which meant about another nerve-wrangling half-hour of waiting but at least I could get a feeling of how good the other performances were before me. That didn't help. They were all really good, and what's more we're talking kids aged between about 6 and 12 years old here. (For the record, I'll be 38 next month.) They would each just get up, go to their instrument of choice (which was mainly the piano but there were a few guitar players), play their piece, and return to their proud parents in the audience. I was hoping for a few cock ups. Just one or two that made enough of a mess if it to lower the audience's expectations. No such luck. They were all pretty much note perfect. Gits.

Before each student's performance we were given a bit of background about the performer: "As well as playing the piano Sara is 8 years old and likes football and maths...", "Tommy, aged 6, is fluent in Spanish and German, and has a black belt in Aikido...", "Emily, 12, has a degree in Nuclear Physics and has built her very own particle accelerator in her back garden...". You get the idea.

My palms were sweating. Just two more to go then it would be my turn... Marc with "Minuet by Mozart" (show off), followed by Cara with "The Camel" (should be interesting), and then Matthew with "Walk, Don't Run". I felt sick. From the other side of the hall, Vernon, my guitar teacher who would introduce me, looked over and mouthed "are you okay?". He could probably sense my nervousness by the fact that my face was now almost the same colour as my green t-shirt. I looked back at him and shook my head.

Marc concluded his near perfect rendition of Mozart's Minuet. Vernon walked to the front and announced "Next we have Matthew...". Eh? What about Cara? Where's Cara? I was looking forward to hearing Cara play "The Camel"! Cara must have bottled it. Either that or she was unable to make it because her Karate lesson had ran over. Either way, it was now my turn. I took to the stage, sat down and picked up the guitar. Vernon continued, "...this is Matthew's first time playing guitar in public, ever!", "...and I'm very, very nervous!" I quickly added. As if it wasn't already obvious how nervous I was, "Oh, and I like football but I don't like maths".

After what seemed like an age, the backing track kicked in. This was it! Now the first note was fine. I think as first notes go it was faultless. I had nothing against the first note. It was the second note and the vast majority of all the notes that followed that seemed to cause the problem. (As Eric Morecambe once noted: "...I was playing all the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order!"). Once I'd missed the timing on the second note it went from bad to worse. I might have hit the occasional note after that but probably more by fluke than by design. It was indeed a guitar fiasco.

As the backing track came to an end, the very sympathetic audience gave a cheer and a round of applause. They were probably just pleased it was all over. Either that or they were being sarcastic. I went back to sit next to Rachel in the audience who, along with my mum and dad who had come along to give support, said she was very proud of me. She was probably just pleased it was all over. Either that or she was being sarcastic.

The rest of the concert I could actually enjoy now that my bit was out of the way. The guy on after me, Daryl, was perhaps even more nervous than me. But then he was even older than me. Which goes to show that it's adulthood that seems to bring out the performance anxiety in us. Still, Daryl held it together better than I did. His "Theme for Young Lovers", though a little nervey, was very good. The highlights of the concert were Charlie Powell, with is own composition (a Jean-Michel Jarre type keyboard fest) and Andrew Wignall, with a superb rendition of "Le Onde" on the piano. Both aged 16 or so, they were as confident as anything, and I mention their full names here so that when they become famous you can say you heard it here first.

All in all, a good concert apart from the contribution from the guy with the green face who liked football but not maths. It was his first concert, but I think it will also be his last.

Mud, Glorious Mud

The British summer just might save us from the Ugg. I'm not talking about the warm weather actually putting girls off wearing the fur-lined boots. No, I don't think that's possible. I'm talking about the mud. Hopefully by the end of the summer, all Ugg boots in existence will be forever ruined by the muddiness of the summer festivals. We can but hope.

Very Special K

Krishnamurti

The Last Lecture

I think my dad might be psychic. A couple of days ago he was asking me about the guy who did the book The Last Lecture. "The one you blogged about..." he said. "Er, I haven't written a blog about him... yet. I was thinking of writing a blog about him" I replied. In fact, I had been watching Randy Pausch's "The Last Lecture" on YouTube that same day, and here I am writing a blog about him. So, my only conclusion is that my dad must be psychic.*

I had come across the book The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch and Jeff Zaslow in a book shop a couple of days before. I hadn't bought the book, nor had I even considered stealing it, but I did scan the inside front cover. It was inspired by an actual lecture given by Pausch at Carnegie Mellon University in September 2007 which was part of a lecture series in which University professors are invited to give a lecture as though it was the last lecture they were to give. What would they say to their students in their last ever lecture? For Pausch this was more than a conceptual exercise. He had been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer and was told by doctors he had months to live. As far as he was concerned this really could be his last lecture.

My friend Simon at work the next day alerted me to the fact that the lecture was available on YouTube having heard an item about it on the radio that morning. So, having now watched the lecture, I thought I'd embed it here for you guys (note: it's about 76 minutes long... short excerpts are also available on YouTube). It's called "Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams":



Having been given only a few months to live, Randy Pausch is still with us. His website is here, where there is also a link to updates regarding his progress.

*It turns out my dad had confused Prof Randy Pausch with Prof Robert Solomon about whom I have blogged. I still think he might be psychic.

Oops I did it again!

Oh dear. I've done it again... I seem to have gone and registered to take part in this year's Great Manchester 10K Run. You would have thought I might have learned my lesson from last year, but apparently not. That's me in the picture trying to look all smug after dragging myself around 10 km of Manchester's City Centre last year. Forced smile, you say?

It is, of course, all in a good cause. As with last year, the charity I am running for is BLISS, the premature baby charity. Since last year's run, I became a father again to a cutesy little girl, Freya, who was 5 weeks' premature. Fortunately, Freya did not need to go into the special care baby unit, but many premature babies do need such care. For example, my son Ross was born 11 weeks' premature and needed to be in hospital for the first 5 months of his life. BLISS campaigns for improvements in neonatal care and supports parents.

If you would like to donate a quid or two (and I'd be eternally grateful if you did), please click on the 'Donate' button on the image to the right of this page (I believe it's called a 'widget') to go to my justgiving fundraising page!

Just last month he wrote a piece for The Guardian newspaper. The full article can be read here.

It's Just a Ride

The world is like a ride at an amusement park.
And when you choose to go on it, you think that
it's real because that's how powerful our minds are.
And the ride goes up and down and round and round.
It has thrills and chills, and it's very brightly coloured,
and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while.
Some people have been on the ride for a long time,
and they begin to question - is this real, or is this just a ride?

Bill Hicks 1961-1994

A Metaphor for Life?

Over the past couple of weeks I have given three talks on the subject of luck and destiny. Actually, I gave much the same talk three times to different audiences under a slightly different title each time. The only person to sit through all three talks was Rachel (sorry Rach!). To be fair, I did make some changes each time, adding bits and dropping other bits as appropriate, so I think even Rachel would agree that the third talk was probably the best of the three.

Anyway, the first and the third talks I had known about for some time. The first was a talk as part of the Invited Speaker Series at the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit (APRU) at Goldsmiths College, University of London. I had been invited to give a talk by Professor Chris French, head of the APRU, who I have known for around 15 years (!) and with whom I came close to studying for a PhD before starting my PhD on the psychology of luck at the University Hertfordshire. The third talk was at Liverpool Hope University, where I have worked for the past eight years or so, and was part of the University's Foundation Hour programme. Foundation Hour is held 1-2pm each Wednesday and is an opportunity for the University's staff and students to come together and listen to an inspiring and uplifting talk (!).

The second talk of the three, however, was a last-minute arrangement. It was for a group called 'Skeptics in the Pub', which meet each month in London in (no surprises here...) a pub. I was asked to stand in for a speaker who was unable to make it, and so I agreed. For some reason, I was really nervous before giving this talk. And I mean really nervous. As it turned out, it seemed to go fine. However, the reason I mention it here is because of an email I received a day or so after the talk from someone who had been there, and who had subsequently taken a look at this blog. He, like me, had only recently started to learn to play the guitar, although he's now been learning for about 4 years. In his words (and I'm hoping he won't mind me including them here):

Congrats on the guitar lessons. I'm 33 and started guitar when I was almost 29. Stick with it - it gets better after a year or so. Eventually there's a shift when you stop feeling like you're playing catch-up to the demands of the tune, and instead suddenly you really feel like you're driving each note. It's the coolest thing.

Not only did these words reassure me that learning the guitar gets easier after a year or so (and I am finding this), but they also made me think of them as a possible metaphor for life... that is, there comes a time where you don't feel as though you're going through life trying to keep up with the pace being dictated to you by others ("playing catch-up to the demands of the tune"), but instead you start feeling as though you're in control of your life ("suddenly you really feel like you're driving each note"). And when that happens, like the man says, it's the coolest thing.