Profile for Snabblim Dropfritt:
I'm male, English, and at that awkward age between birth and death. Gainfully (hah!) employed by a well known University that isn't Cambridge
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I'm male, English, and at that awkward age between birth and death. Gainfully (hah!) employed by a well known University that isn't Cambridge
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» The most childish thing you've done as an adult
Easy as ABC
The other week I took my elderly mother to the garden centre, one of those upmarket ones with a (very good) restaurant and all sorts of non garden related products to buy.
My eye was caught by a shelf of individual letters, each about three inches high with little Winne-the-Pooh characters entwined round them. Just the thing to teach young Tarquin or Nigella how to spell their name. How cute- how twee- how easy to rearrange some of them in a line at the front of the shelf to read
SOAPY TITWANK
I am over fifty years old, on the outside at least!
(Mon 21st Sep 2009, 9:50, More)
Easy as ABC
The other week I took my elderly mother to the garden centre, one of those upmarket ones with a (very good) restaurant and all sorts of non garden related products to buy.
My eye was caught by a shelf of individual letters, each about three inches high with little Winne-the-Pooh characters entwined round them. Just the thing to teach young Tarquin or Nigella how to spell their name. How cute- how twee- how easy to rearrange some of them in a line at the front of the shelf to read
SOAPY TITWANK
I am over fifty years old, on the outside at least!
(Mon 21st Sep 2009, 9:50, More)
» School Days
Chemistry lesson
When I was but a young and impressionable Snabblim, our Chemistry teacher was a maniac Yorkshireman, who rejoiced in the moniker of Jack Tat.
On entering the lab one day, we saw a large sheet of perspex erected as a shield across the front of the teachers bench. Behind this was a bunsen burner tripod, and on this was a large tin can with a long piece of magnesium ribbon coming out of it. The whole was stood in a metal tray with about half an inch of sand in the bottom.
After the usual boring preamble, the class gathered that we were about to be shown a demonstration of the thermit reaction (google it for details). This was a VERY DANGEROUS procedure and under no circumstances should be attemped by other than skilled teachers etc etc.
A class of thirty or so boggle eyed 13 year olds watched as Jack applied a match to the magnesium ribbon to set the whole thing off. Except that it didn't. The magnesium wouldn't light. Jack scratched his head for a moment, then lighting a bunsen burner, he used it to heat the ribbon. Success!! It flared with a brilliant white flame and Jack put the bunsen burner down then came round to the 'safe' side of the screen,flipped down his own safety visor and told us to watch. The magnesium ribbon burned down into the tin and then-it spluttered-and went out.
Jack had put some time and effort into setting up his demonstration, and wasn't going to see it wasted. Very gingerly, he re-lit the bunsen burner, and crouching in front of the screen, held the burner round the side of it and directly heated the reaction mixture in the tin. After a few more minutes still nothing had happened. Muttering under his breath he put the bunsen down again. Inspiration struck. He fetched a second bunsen from out of the cupboard. Lighting this one as well, he attempted to reach round each side of the safety screen with them, but not having the armspan of a gibbon,he couldn't. Discarding his safety visor, he leaned over the TOP of the safety screen whilst heating the reaction mixture with the two bunsens.
Fucking Hell!!!! With a blinding flash of light the whole thing erupted in a cloud of smoke and flame. Right into Jacks' face. 'Arrgh my eyes' he yelled, or words to that effect,and stumbled backwards, dropping the bunsen burners in the process. Within a second or two there appeared be some sort of small thermonuclear reaction going on in the classroom (no fume cupboards in those days boys and girls) as the smoke, flame, and sparks increased in intensity. We were all transfixed. Chemistry was FUN!. The volcanic reaction reached a crescendo. Molten iron started to run out of the bottom of the tin can, through which it had melted its way-at some 2500 degrees centigrade. Sadly the sand tray was also totally inadequate to entirely contain the molten metal which, like the fabled China Syndrome, continued to sear its way into the thick wooden top of the bench. After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, the reaction exhausted it's fury, leaving only clouds of smoke and glowing globules of iron, cooling from white through to red and then black.
I don't remember much more about the lesson to be honest, though amazingly apart from a light singeing Jack appeared to be unscathed. He did later admit to increasing the amounts of reagents to about three times that recommended to make sure he got a good display. I don't think this demonstration was ever -erm-demonstrated again. The black, scorched, craters on the bench were still there when I left in 1975, and are no doubt still there to this day.
(Tue 3rd Feb 2009, 9:37, More)
Chemistry lesson
When I was but a young and impressionable Snabblim, our Chemistry teacher was a maniac Yorkshireman, who rejoiced in the moniker of Jack Tat.
On entering the lab one day, we saw a large sheet of perspex erected as a shield across the front of the teachers bench. Behind this was a bunsen burner tripod, and on this was a large tin can with a long piece of magnesium ribbon coming out of it. The whole was stood in a metal tray with about half an inch of sand in the bottom.
After the usual boring preamble, the class gathered that we were about to be shown a demonstration of the thermit reaction (google it for details). This was a VERY DANGEROUS procedure and under no circumstances should be attemped by other than skilled teachers etc etc.
A class of thirty or so boggle eyed 13 year olds watched as Jack applied a match to the magnesium ribbon to set the whole thing off. Except that it didn't. The magnesium wouldn't light. Jack scratched his head for a moment, then lighting a bunsen burner, he used it to heat the ribbon. Success!! It flared with a brilliant white flame and Jack put the bunsen burner down then came round to the 'safe' side of the screen,flipped down his own safety visor and told us to watch. The magnesium ribbon burned down into the tin and then-it spluttered-and went out.
Jack had put some time and effort into setting up his demonstration, and wasn't going to see it wasted. Very gingerly, he re-lit the bunsen burner, and crouching in front of the screen, held the burner round the side of it and directly heated the reaction mixture in the tin. After a few more minutes still nothing had happened. Muttering under his breath he put the bunsen down again. Inspiration struck. He fetched a second bunsen from out of the cupboard. Lighting this one as well, he attempted to reach round each side of the safety screen with them, but not having the armspan of a gibbon,he couldn't. Discarding his safety visor, he leaned over the TOP of the safety screen whilst heating the reaction mixture with the two bunsens.
Fucking Hell!!!! With a blinding flash of light the whole thing erupted in a cloud of smoke and flame. Right into Jacks' face. 'Arrgh my eyes' he yelled, or words to that effect,and stumbled backwards, dropping the bunsen burners in the process. Within a second or two there appeared be some sort of small thermonuclear reaction going on in the classroom (no fume cupboards in those days boys and girls) as the smoke, flame, and sparks increased in intensity. We were all transfixed. Chemistry was FUN!. The volcanic reaction reached a crescendo. Molten iron started to run out of the bottom of the tin can, through which it had melted its way-at some 2500 degrees centigrade. Sadly the sand tray was also totally inadequate to entirely contain the molten metal which, like the fabled China Syndrome, continued to sear its way into the thick wooden top of the bench. After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, the reaction exhausted it's fury, leaving only clouds of smoke and glowing globules of iron, cooling from white through to red and then black.
I don't remember much more about the lesson to be honest, though amazingly apart from a light singeing Jack appeared to be unscathed. He did later admit to increasing the amounts of reagents to about three times that recommended to make sure he got a good display. I don't think this demonstration was ever -erm-demonstrated again. The black, scorched, craters on the bench were still there when I left in 1975, and are no doubt still there to this day.
(Tue 3rd Feb 2009, 9:37, More)
» Celebrities part II
Three for the price of one
Many years ago before sloth and beer had taken their toll, I used to frequent a circuit training class. The trainer also had a lot of rich, personal clients apart from us sweaty plebian gym rats.
And so it came to pass, and I have no idea how, that at a social event/meal arranged by said trainer I found myself on a table along with Jools Holland, George Harrison, and a motor racing magnate who may have shared the same name as a recently divorced model, the one with the surgically enhanced top bollocks.
Mr Holland was much as you might imagine, a very pleasant chap, no side to him at all.
Mr Harrison also, except it was difficult to make small talk as I kept wanting to ask him "So, what was it like being a Beatle then?" Only iron self control prevented me from doing so.
The motor racing magnate was, sad to say, a boring opinionated twat who like the sound of his own voice. Which was strange as he comes across very differently when plonked in front of a TV camera or a microphone.
Still, an interesting evening, and the nearest I've been to any celebrities, unless you count me getting Johnny Morris' autograph when I was about nine years old.
(Thu 8th Oct 2009, 14:35, More)
Three for the price of one
Many years ago before sloth and beer had taken their toll, I used to frequent a circuit training class. The trainer also had a lot of rich, personal clients apart from us sweaty plebian gym rats.
And so it came to pass, and I have no idea how, that at a social event/meal arranged by said trainer I found myself on a table along with Jools Holland, George Harrison, and a motor racing magnate who may have shared the same name as a recently divorced model, the one with the surgically enhanced top bollocks.
Mr Holland was much as you might imagine, a very pleasant chap, no side to him at all.
Mr Harrison also, except it was difficult to make small talk as I kept wanting to ask him "So, what was it like being a Beatle then?" Only iron self control prevented me from doing so.
The motor racing magnate was, sad to say, a boring opinionated twat who like the sound of his own voice. Which was strange as he comes across very differently when plonked in front of a TV camera or a microphone.
Still, an interesting evening, and the nearest I've been to any celebrities, unless you count me getting Johnny Morris' autograph when I was about nine years old.
(Thu 8th Oct 2009, 14:35, More)
» School Days
Acid Isonitrile
Having survived the Great Thermit Demonstration I developed an interest in Chemistry-or should I say in things that went bang, produced horrible smells, or preferably both.
Much to my amazement I passed my O level, and in a fit of misplaced enthusiasm decided to make it one of my A level subjects.
Not such a good idea, far too many complex theoretical equations, not enough explosions. Organic chemistry was particularly tedious.The delights of synthesizing various white powders that could neither be smoked, snorted, or ignited soon began to pall. Until one fateful day when we were introduced to the delights of Isonitriles. Apparently their vile smell was legendary, and we were going to be allowed to make some!!!!!
Alas, with only one drop of each of the required reagents allowed the pungent smell was only transitory, and after sniffing-then retching-we had to add a drop of caustic soda to stop the reaction.
The following weeks class involved the synthesis of yet another boring substance, but some of us realised that we could subvert the apparatus and reagents and have a proper go at bulk production of this isonitrile stuff. All went to plan, the most difficult part being to keep the teacher from enquiring too closely what exactly was going on in a quiet and somewhat odiferous corner of the lab.
Success-by the end of the double lesson we had a tightly stoppered bottle containg about 150ml of the vile liquid. The smell actually defies description. Initially it's not too bad but it sort of builds up and gets worse and worse with layer upon layer of depth and pungency. Absolutely overpoweringly gut wrenchingly awful. The big question now was what should we do with the fruits of our misplaced labours?
We used to have school on Saturday mornings, and the organic chem. lesson was the last one, after which we could go home. There is a saying that the devil finds work for idle hands. Somehow a couple of us found ourselves whizzing along to the nearest large town on my ancient BSA motor cycle.
Somehow we found ourselves browsing the racks of LP's in the quite spacious branch of W.H.Smiths
Most unfortunately one of us had said bottle of isonitrile in his pocket and proceeded to empty it down the back of the record racks in the shop-which gave us about five minutes to get out before the smell started to permeate the premises.
Coming back down the street about half an hour later,we were confronted by an empty shop, as the staff and customers had all been evacuated. A couple of fire engines were parked outside, and apparently, fireman wearing breathing apparatus were inside the shop trying to locate the source of the smell.
Fortunately it never made the local paper, and in those days CCTV had yet to be invented. Even so, we didn't go anywhere near the place again for some considerable time....
(Tue 3rd Feb 2009, 13:57, More)
Acid Isonitrile
Having survived the Great Thermit Demonstration I developed an interest in Chemistry-or should I say in things that went bang, produced horrible smells, or preferably both.
Much to my amazement I passed my O level, and in a fit of misplaced enthusiasm decided to make it one of my A level subjects.
Not such a good idea, far too many complex theoretical equations, not enough explosions. Organic chemistry was particularly tedious.The delights of synthesizing various white powders that could neither be smoked, snorted, or ignited soon began to pall. Until one fateful day when we were introduced to the delights of Isonitriles. Apparently their vile smell was legendary, and we were going to be allowed to make some!!!!!
Alas, with only one drop of each of the required reagents allowed the pungent smell was only transitory, and after sniffing-then retching-we had to add a drop of caustic soda to stop the reaction.
The following weeks class involved the synthesis of yet another boring substance, but some of us realised that we could subvert the apparatus and reagents and have a proper go at bulk production of this isonitrile stuff. All went to plan, the most difficult part being to keep the teacher from enquiring too closely what exactly was going on in a quiet and somewhat odiferous corner of the lab.
Success-by the end of the double lesson we had a tightly stoppered bottle containg about 150ml of the vile liquid. The smell actually defies description. Initially it's not too bad but it sort of builds up and gets worse and worse with layer upon layer of depth and pungency. Absolutely overpoweringly gut wrenchingly awful. The big question now was what should we do with the fruits of our misplaced labours?
We used to have school on Saturday mornings, and the organic chem. lesson was the last one, after which we could go home. There is a saying that the devil finds work for idle hands. Somehow a couple of us found ourselves whizzing along to the nearest large town on my ancient BSA motor cycle.
Somehow we found ourselves browsing the racks of LP's in the quite spacious branch of W.H.Smiths
Most unfortunately one of us had said bottle of isonitrile in his pocket and proceeded to empty it down the back of the record racks in the shop-which gave us about five minutes to get out before the smell started to permeate the premises.
Coming back down the street about half an hour later,we were confronted by an empty shop, as the staff and customers had all been evacuated. A couple of fire engines were parked outside, and apparently, fireman wearing breathing apparatus were inside the shop trying to locate the source of the smell.
Fortunately it never made the local paper, and in those days CCTV had yet to be invented. Even so, we didn't go anywhere near the place again for some considerable time....
(Tue 3rd Feb 2009, 13:57, More)