The Lost Dynamics Of Portal Courtesy

So, what is the Portal Courtesy Constant? the magic number; being the range of, or the absolute maximum distance that another individual trailing behind you as you pass through the portal of a doorway must be, beyond which you are not obligated to hold the door open for them?

Is it an absolute distance like 20 feet - which actually feels about right to me - or do you take account of other factors like velocity of the incoming person, your own need to get where you're going quickly, the attractiveness of the individual, the social status of the individual (e.g. an offensive looking nineteen year old can ably deal with re-opening the f**king door himself, thanks very much, but a pregnant woman or a mother with kids clearly deserve a helping hand).

The sad truth is that this kind of information is just not written down anywhere - anymore - but I'm sure that a hundred years ago it would have had a whole chapter dedicated to it in books with titles like "Chivalry And The Impeccable Manners Of The Modern Gentleman" by Ernest P. Fauntleroy O.B.E.

This kind of thing is exactly the same tragic carelessness that forever lost us other valuable knowledge like the bloody plans for building the Pyramids and so on. And it's got to stop.

Kommuter Karma II

On my so-called chilled out journey home this evening, I was overtaken by a party of four motorcyclists. About a mile later I approached a bend and spotted the rear end of one of the trailing party of bikes poking out of a hedge in a ditch off the verge, rider still attached.

One of those moments.

I pulled over and approached the stricken rider - his three mates unaware of his predicament had carried on ahead of him - and he appeared motionless, I feared the worst. "Are you OK, mate?" I uttered, shitting myself in case the answer was negative or, worse still, in case there was no answer.

"I was virtually stopped by the time I came off" came from inside the hedge. Relief.

The rider reversed himself slowly off the bike - which looked pretty smashed up at the front - and sat back removing his gloves and loosening his helmet. He was a big bloke, late forties and obviously out for a ride in the country in glorious summer sunshine with his biker friends. He looked a bit shaken up and probably hurting somewhere but actually seemed OK in the circumstances. I detected more evidence of pissed-off-ness with himself than anything requiring of a 'blue light'.

I asked if he was hurt of in need medical help, he said no. I asked if there was anything I could do to help him get the bike out of the hedge or get help. He asked me to head down the road to track down his three other biker mates and to alert them to his predicament.

Once I'd made sure he was OK - as much as a software guy can.. where is Tom Reynolds when you need him? - I jumped back into the car and spirited off down the road hunting for his compadres.

Now, when the four of them overtook me prior to the accident, they weren't exactly hanging about in the speed department, and so it took me about four miles to spot them, sitting by the side of the road and waiting for their fallen party to show up. I stopped and gave them the details and description of where I'd left him - the forty-second hedge on the right next to a left hand bend - and duly alarmed, they jumped into action and headed off back down the road to sort him out.

I might go my back to my normal commuter route tomorrow.

Trendy Terrorism

I seem to have an unhealthy amount of cynicism curdling my grey matter in relation to Thursday's bombings and I've already trashed a couple of posts that I felt were too close to the bone or offensive. Hence the lack of verbiage over the last few days. I don't know why.

Perhaps it's a mild form of proxy post-traumatic stress disorder. I was due to travel into London (and use the Tube line affected) on Thursday morning but changed my plans in the days leading up. And I did catch myself imagining me in a parallel universe somewhere, not having a good day.

I've also been travelling to Northern Ireland on business for over ten years and had the opportunity to witness, first hand, the social effects of omnipresent terrorism. The small things; like why you were advised not to run in the street in Belfast even if you are going to miss your train or bus - and particularly if an armoured personnel carrier was trundling down the street towards you, complete with an armed and jumpy 18 year old sticking out the top.

Or when you were in a public meeting place or hall and the hall announcer came over the tannoy, you became aware of the need to listen quite intently. Particularly if a bomb had gone off nearby earlier in the week. Or being teased with local Celtic gallows humour about staying in the "most bombed hotel in Europe". The once ever freshly rebuilt Europa Hotel on Great Victoria Street in case you're wondering.

I suppose I'm confused and annoyed by Thursday and by terrorism in general. What little I can bring myself to release for public consumption - for me, most of the mainstream media coverage since Thursday creates an atmosphere where it's as if terrorism didn't exist before 9/11, and we Brits finally lost our collective mad-bomber virginity on Thursday. I can even picture Blair getting a patronising pat on the back from Bush, welcoming him to the club.

Whether exaggerated or subverted by the overblown nature of most 24hr news reporting or not, the general public reaction feels over-baked too. Including, I should say, my own Churchill quotation post on Thursday night.

Even apparently insignificant acts like the renaming of the Flickr group pool from "London Bombings" to "7/7" suggest a general 'getting with the programme', back of hand pressed against forehead, self-help group-think. Our 9/11, apparently.

It is truly heart breaking that 50 people lost their lives on Thursday and awful that many more will carry with them physical and psychological scars for the remainder of their lives.

But twenty-eight people (including children) were killed by an act of terrorism in Omagh in 1998. This was the worst of many atrocities that blighted the Irish problem for thirty years. But since they occurred before the age of camera phones, 24 hour news and, alas, 9/11, they all don't seem to count today. Not I should stress, that anyone is keeping score.

Actually upon reflection, I think the problem here really is the elephant choking volume and breadth and depth of media coverage that's available in 2005. From "Breaking News" graphic overload replete with appropriate whooshing sounds, to the multiple news channels all vying for the best coverage, insight and punditry to the camera phones and Flickr groups. Welcome to the new history.

As for the perpetrators; I don't have the words.

* If this offended you (either materially or in a literary sense because it made no bloody sense), please accept my sincere apologies.