Conversations on Science, Culture and Time
The Snowflake Mystery
We’ve all heard it a million times: “No two snowflakes are alike.” It’s the kind of claim we accept without question - like goldfish forgetting things in three seconds or fortune cookies offering life advice. But in The Snowflake Mystery, Veritasium (my favourite science YouTube channel, btw) dares to prod this frosty axiom with a scientific stick. The results? A lot more nuanced than your average holiday greeting card would have you believe.
A Brief Respite (An Ambrose Short)
[…]Ambrose stood behind his old wooden counter, a ledger open before him. He wasn’t writing much, merely tapping his quill and eyeing the empty lines. […] A subdued jingle from the bell announced Father Quinn’s arrival. Tall and composed under his worn cloak, he shut the door gently, shaking off a few stray droplets from the persistent drizzle outside. Ambrose glanced over, one eyebrow arching in mild curiosity.
“Well, if it isn’t the town’s moral compass,” Ambrose said, tapping his quill against the ledger. “You’re either here to exorcise me or to poke through my inventory, Father Quinn. Which is it today?”
The Lost Slopes of Super St. Bernard
There’s something hauntingly beautiful about abandoned places. The way nature reclaims them, how silence settles into their empty halls, the stories they leave behind.
One such place is Super St. Bernard, a ghostly ski resort straddling the Swiss-Italian border. Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, it wasn’t just a winter getaway—it was a hub of smuggling and adventure. Cigarettes, chocolate, coffee—all the forbidden luxuries of the time found their way through these snow-covered peaks, ferried by those willing to take the risk.
But beyond the contraband, St. Bernard held another secret: it was a freerider’s paradise. Long before the sport gained mainstream recognition, local youth carved their way down untouched slopes, chasing the thrill of the descent. No lifts, no crowds, just pure, unfiltered skiing.
The Enigmatic Inspirations Behind Ambrose and His Universe
[…] Athanasius Kircher was, to put it bluntly, a man who never met a subject he didn’t want to master. Born in 1602, at a time when science and mysticism still held hands in polite society, he became one of the most prolific, eccentric, and insatiably curious scholars of his era. He wasn’t just dabbling in a field or two—he was attempting to connect all human knowledge into a single, coherent system. The sheer audacity of it is almost endearing.
The book written by John Glassie dives deep into Kircher’s astonishingly broad range of studies. He was a… […]
Strategic Beer Endurance Plan
Beer enthusiasts, casual drinkers, and those who simply appreciate a well-executed pint—welcome. It’s Friday, and that means one thing: the delicate art of strategic beer endurance. This isn’t about mindless excess (we’ve all learned that lesson the hard way). This is about enjoying the ride—one hoppy, citrusy masterpiece at a time—without completely obliterating your weekend.
So, before you embark on tonight’s hazy adventure, let’s lay out a plan. A well-structured, tactically sound, and absolutely necessary plan.
Please Enjoy Each Episode Equally
I’m a bit late to the party, almost two weeks, but anyway… I’m happy that Severance is finally back for its second season, after what feels like an eternity in the innies’ break room! Two episodes in, it’s safe to say: the weirdness has returned in full swing. The same unsettling blend of corporate dystopia (perhaps even amped up!), eerie humour, and slow-burning mystery is as sharp as ever. And the cinematography really shines.
A Curious Trade: Epilogue
Long after the swirling snow had settled into a gentle hush outside, Ambrose found himself alone at the counter, poring over a large, leather-bound ledger. The lantern light flickered against the old pages, revealing names, dates, and cryptic notations scribbled in Ambrose’s spidery handwriting. Each line represented a deal—some trifling, some monumental—sealed within the walls of his shop.
He ran a fingertip down one column, skimming the entries of the day:
Irrational Public-Speaking Anxiety – Traded for a pocket watch.
Temptation to Erase Guilt – Declined; no sale.
Persistent Self-Doubt in a ‘Chosen One’ – Claimed as partial payment for… well, let’s call it “services rendered.”
A Curious Trade
Winter had laid its icy grip upon the town, painting the cobblestones with frost and casting halos of pale light around the few lanterns still burning. The air was crisp and sharp, the kind that bit at your nose and turned each breath into a fleeting cloud. The town itself, nestled against the bend of a slow-moving river, seemed to have been frozen in time as much as by the season. Crooked buildings leaned toward each other like old conspirators sharing secrets, their roofs bowed with the weight of centuries.
It was a quiet morning, the kind where sound seemed to carry farther, where the crunch of boots on snow echoed in the stillness. The river ran sluggishly under a crust of thin ice, its surface rippling faintly in the weak morning light, like an elderly man grumbling his way through another cold day.
The Threads We Leave Behind
The Watchman tossed and turned in his narrow bed, the chill of the morning doing little to quiet his restless mind. The child’s question echoed in the corners of his thoughts, gnawing at him with an insistence that no amount of pulling the blanket over his head could muffle. "What if the memories weren’t mine to forget?" The words struck like a splinter he couldn’t pry loose, sharp and nagging.
At his feet, Moss, his ever-faithful border collie, let out a low, impatient whine. The dog had been watching him with an intensity that suggested he shared the Watchman’s unease. Finally, Moss stood, padded over to the bedside, and pawed at his master’s arm. The Watchman groaned, sitting up and rubbing his face. "All right, Moss. I’ll bite. You win. No one gets any rest, apparently."
The Watchman
The town lay quiet beneath a velvet blanket of winter, its snow-covered rooftops glistening under the pale light of a crescent moon. The hour was late, and though a few sounds of merriment escaped from the alehouse near the square—a clatter of mugs, a burst of laughter—even these seemed to be softening, like the sleepy yips of puppies settling down for the night. The cobbled streets wound through the town like frozen veins, silent and unbroken save for the occasional echo of footsteps. Night was creeping in, the kind of deep, impenetrable night that left no room for the lingering warmth of day. The cold had long since bullied the townsfolk into their homes, and chimneys puffed small clouds into the brittle air. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed, its notes carried on the icy wind.
A Winter Tale
The snowstorm roared like a wild beast, lashing at the young traveller with icy fangs. Athanasius, bundled in a cloak that did little to shield him, hunched over the neck of his weary horse. The beast snorted, steam rising from its nostrils as it plodded forward, each step a laborious battle against the snowdrifts.
"Easy there, old friend," Athanasius muttered, his voice nearly lost to the howling wind. His fingers, numbed despite his gloves, clutched the reins as he squinted into the white chaos. The road—if it could still be called that—had long disappeared beneath a thick blanket of snow, leaving him to trust in the horse’s instincts more than his own sense of direction.
Windswept Reflections: The Edge of the World
[…] Books I couldn’t fit into my luggage sit patiently in the shelves of my mental library, their beautifully designed covers captured in quick photos, their intriguing titles jotted in the margins of my travel notes. […] Among these is Michael Pye’s The Edge of the World, a book I first spotted in Edinburgh but only recently revisited while scrolling through my photo archives. Now holding it in my hands, I see how perfectly it aligns with what that journey left me with: a fascination with the unlikely connections, invisible influences, and untamed forces that have shaped British history (and far beyond).
The Lone Swordsman Goes Ambitious
…or delusional. It’s all a matter of perception.
Anyway, how did it all start? Well, by yours truly collecting watches. Why watches? Because in a world of planned obsolescence, they remind us that some things are still made to last. There’s a beauty in their craftsmanship, in the way they defy time even as they measure it.
And how did I come up with the idea for a book? (Wham! Wait, what?!?)
More than Silence: My Meandering on the Isle of Man
It took a bit longer than planned to sit down and continue this tale, partly because life had a way of throwing a few distractions my way since I returned. Actually even before my holiday, I managed to do what most people would think impossible – I "injured myself walking." Yes, you read that right. No daring escapades, no heroic sports feats, just an ill-timed, awkwardly angled step and bam! Torn adductor muscle. My friends were graciously baffled by how one manages such a feat without, say, catapulting oneself off a bike into the nearest tree (given my love for cycling), or at least attempting some ill-advised breakdancing in a crowded pub.
The reason I bring this up is that throughout the holiday, my injuries kept me from doing what I love most - nature photography. It was quite a bummer, to be honest. I half-expected it, even toyed with canceling the whole trip after the doctor’s grim face delivered the news about the recovery period. But I’m stubborn, so I went anyway.
Cookies
This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person is me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I'd gotten the time of the train wrong.
I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.
I want you to picture the scene.
Infinite Cosmos
A recent release from National Geographic is Infinite Cosmos, a gorgeous-looking book by Ethan Siegel (with intro by Brian Greene). It’s about the history of the JWST, humanity’s biggest ever space telescope, a machine that allows us to peer deeper & clearer into the universe than ever before, and some of the amazing results obtained through its use.
A short essay on FROM
There are certain TV shows that exist not to provide answers, but to push us into the murky depths of mystery, leaving us to wonder why we even embarked on the journey in the first place. FROM, a modern horror-mystery series, does precisely that; it keeps you suspended between dread and fascination, much like a holiday brochure for a destination you’d absolutely never want to visit but can’t stop reading about. If that sounds familiar, it’s because this sensation mirrors the experience I had reading Cloven Country by Jeremy Harte, a book I stumbled upon during my visit to Scotland last year. It delves into the folklore of rural England, where the devil himself is said to have roamed. Much like the eerie town in FROM, Harte’s landscape is full of picturesque locations that mask deep, ancient horrors.
Outer Range: Another Prime Example of Prime Time Cancellation
With the way shows are being canceled these days, it's like trying to hold onto a slippery fish in a sink. You think you've got a firm grip, but swoosh! they're gone. So, it's no surprise that a cerebral neo-Western like Outer Range got the axe from Amazon after its (stellar) second season. But that doesn't make it any less painful.
Three's a Crowd: Isle of Man, Liverpool, and Manchester
I began my preparations for this trip with the usual meticulousness of a man who doesn't know what he's doing. I made lists, checked weather forecasts, and even consulted a psychic for advice on which souvenirs to bring back. It was a whirlwind of activity, much like a squirrel trying to gather nuts before winter, except without the cute factor. Lots of things to to, lots of choices to be made. The choice of luggage was a particularly vexing one. I considered the pros and cons of hardshell versus soft-shell for hours, weighing the durability of the former against the flexibility of the latter.
In the end, I decided to err on the side of caution and opt for a suitcase that was so heavy, I could probably use it as a doorstop.
A Tale of Two Bears and a Trail of Laughter
So, my parents recently had a 'close encounter of the bear kind' while hiking in a seemingly tourist-friendly area. Can you imagine the scene? Two somewhat seasoned hikers, blissfully strolling along, suddenly finding themselves face-to-face with a mama bear and her two adorable cubs. Cue the panic, the heart-pounding, and perhaps a little bit of 'Oh, crap!'