Whole Lot of Shakin' Goin' On

< Jeffrey Archer's polygraph results were off the scale

The nation awoke today to the news that the biggest earthquake in 25 years had just rocked our collective worlds; interestingly, I slept right through it, though it seems the Midlands had it bad - a grand total of 1 chimney fell over. It's not quite living on the San Andreas Faultline, is it? We're pretty lucky in this country in that even notable earthquakes barely shake the leaves off the trees - even our biggest rumble didn't amount to much:

The largest earthquake ever recorded in the UK happened in 1931, and measured 6.1 on the Richter Scale; the epicentre was near the Dogger Bank in the North Sea, 120km north-east of Norfolk.

Apparently it registered as far afield as Scandinavia; I wondered if it prompted the lame 'did the earth move for you?' double entendres splashed across all the papers today (you'll notice I've stretched for a different pun to title this entry, and have perhaps fallen short). Incidentally, the Dogger Bank is absolutely massive, and is the remains of the land that used to join Britain to mainland Europe. I'd imagine there are a few Mail readers who'd soil themselves just thinking about that. Dogger is also the second sandbank to feature in QFK, which slightly concerns me as I was hoping to focus on slightly funkier issues than expanses of empty, wet sand surrounded by sea. Still, there's always tomorrow...

Going Underground

< A North London ponce, yesterday

I searched high and low today, and in the end discovered, via Claire's work colleague, that:

One of the escalators at Angel tube station is the longest in Western Europe.

To be honest, I think this was nothing more than territorial braying from the north-of-the-river mob she works with. Haven't got Brixton Academy though, have ya? Ha! Although to their credit, they also don't have Brixton in general. Or the soul-sapping crawl down the digestive tract of the Northern Line on their way home.

I've always had a sad obsession with the Tube - the fancy coloured lines, the way the big escalators make your head go funny when you look behind you (though I've never travelled along the Angel one - it's 60 metres long apparently, and hopefully dubbed 'The Eliminator' at the station entrance). My Tube love stems from staying with my sister when I was little - I can still recall her weary mutterings as I demanded to go on the Tube for the fifth day in succession. "But where do you want to go?" "Don't care. Tube time!".

This childlike curiosity survived adult visits to London but has been truly crushed by commuting, although I have noticed that even it's bleary-eyed regulars still maintain an interest: the 'columnist' section of the free paper seems to feature little but people's observati0ns on various mundane aspects of the network. It seems odd to me that to take your mind off being stuck on the Tube, they choose to publish wild-eyed rantings about tourists standing on the left side of the escalators, or people taking more than half a second to go through the barriers when they get off. I thought the idea would be escapism; instead it seems that commuters follow that oddly British tradition of secretly revelling in their torment. Either that, or everyone is secretly thinking - as the train shudders to a halt in a pitch-black tunnel and the lights flicker out - "I'm on the Tube! Wow..."

P.S. I'm sure nobody's read down this far, but just so you know - the longest escalator in the world is at Park Pobedy station, which is not in a kids' TV programme, but is instead in Moscow. It's 126m long, twice the length of anything you'll find in that dump north of the river...

There Will Be Facts

< Insane with jealousy, Kemp set out to give Daniel Day-Lewis another double he won't forget

It was Oscar night last night, and while it has reminded us of a couple of undeniable truths, namely that (a) actors are a bunch of self-satisfied twats who use their 30 seconds to address the watching planet with a volley of drivel so smug it practically oozes out over the microphone. Tilda Swinton (whoever she may be) used her half-minute to tell us how her award statue had an arse like her agent. That's great, now sit the fuck down and pass the award, silently and solemnly, to someone more deserving, like the poor sod who had to clean up Elton and Prince's pre-awards house party. I was also reminded that (b) I don't watch many Oscar-winning films; I can add Juno, There Will Be Blood and No Country For Old Men to the list of statue-hogging epics that I've never sat through - this makes the grand total approximately 3,709. In fact, the only new piece of information that came to light was the following:

Daniel Day-Lewis is English.

Didn't know that, wasn't sure where he was from, and to be honest I never gave it much thought. It's sad to discover that England has in it's possession an actor as good as him, and the bug-eyed walking log that is Ross Kemp has managed to get work. Day-Lewis won his second best actor gong last night, joining the illustrious list of double winners (Marlon Brando, Jack Nicholson, and um... Fredric March). Interestingly, Peter O'Toole has been nominated eight times for best actor, and has never won. Now there's a man who knows how to pretend to look happy - much like Tilda Swinton's agent, who must as we speak be expressing strained joviality as the secret of his perfectly symmetrical, tiny golden posterior is unveiled to the entire world.

Pants on Fire

So there we have it - two weeks away from the computer, and I still managed a fact every day. By the way, if you want proof, I still have the scribblings on my notepad. OK, so technically that's not proof. Anyway, I've spent about three hours typing up my etchings and I'm dying for a Chinese takeaway, so here goes:

John Graham from Cumbria is the world's biggest liar.

That's right, Graham, a 69-year-old imaginatively nicknamed 'Johnny Liar' (a bit like calling David Beckham 'Dave Football') has won the coveted title six times in all, and reclaimed his crown last year with a tall tale about U-boats invading Britain (nice to see he's keeping up with the times). The event takes place at the Santon Bridge Inn in Cumbria, and apparently involves competitors trying to tell the fattest lie they can muster within a five minute time frame.

Sue Perkins, of Light Lunch semi-fame, won the contest in 2006, having turned up to make a documentary about it. Sadly, the tournament has been marred by jingoism in the past, with a South African champion being derided for not being local. It seems they can't quite grasp that being a liar is not actually something to be proud of. If they're looking for homegrown talent, I can think of the ideal contestant, and his specialist subject.

My Holiday, by Niall (aged 24 and a half) - Part Two

Saturday 16th February:
Literally walked up a mountain today - we did get overtaken by pensioners, but I'm still proud. For this week's learning I turned to the nifty 'things we learned this week' feature on Ceefax (ok, BBCi, whatever), which informed me of the following: The UK spends more on cosmetic surgery than France, Germany and Italy put together. The bill runs to £500 million in all, still a long way behind America, who've spent £5.7bn on messing up their faces. All in all, it's a pretty depressing statistic.

Sunday 17th February:
Went on a boat trip across Loch Katrine today; the loch provides all of Glasgow's drinking water, so the boats use biodiesel to keep the boat clean, although I was disappointed to hear our tour guide describe this ethical, eco-friendly compromise as being 'not allowed to use proper fuel'. Anyway, I had an inkling that the lochs supplied drinking water, so I can't really use this. Luckily the crossword book came up trumps again: the word taboo comes from the Polynesian 'tapu' or 'tabu', a word that can mean either sacred or forbidden. It allegedly arrived in the English language thanks to Captain Cook, who sailed to Tonga and offered the natives all manner of food items, only to be repeatedly informed that they were 'tapu', which Cook took to mean culturally forbidden, when it probably just meant bland. Cook then tried to engage the locals in a word play-based board game that he'd brought along, but they weren't having that either.

Monday 18th February:
I learnt today that in the popular song 'you take the high road', the 'low road' actually refers to an imagined road for the dead to return to their place of birth. It was apparently coined during the rebellion of 1745, when one of Bonnie Prince Charlie's soldiers, doomed to execution, is said to have sung it to another. The 'high road' incidentally, is an actual road, so named because there are no low roads anywhere in Scotland - fact.

Tuesday 19th February:
There's a thick fog around the cabin tonight, which got me thinking: what's the difference between mist and fog? I always thought that mist was water vapour and fog was low cloud. I am in fact, both wrong and right - both these beliefs are correct, though I was missing the small yet crucial detail that a cloud is made of water vapour. In fact, the only difference between mist and fog is density. When mist becomes so thick that visibility is less than 1km, it becomes fog. Both are caused by water vapour condensing close to the ground, generally caused by the cooling of the ground beneath it... OK, I can't get my head round that. Let's just say... it's magic.

Wednesday 20th February:
I learnt early this morning (via the gift of WAP) that the expression 'spinning a yarn' comes from naval voyages where sailors would make spun yarn for rope, whilst telling tales to each other. The article I got this from also saw fit to explain the meaning of 'putting the cart before the horse' and 'throwing a spanner in the works', although both phrases seem pretty much self-explanatory. I also learnt today that I have adjusted to the speed of London life: initially, I felt like a lost bumpkin caught in a maelstrom - after experiencing the pedestrian pace of checkout queues in rural Scotland, I actually miss being snippily rushed through my shopping experience.

Thursday 21st February:
The phrase 'the law is an ass' comes from Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. I didn't know that because I've never read it. I've brought about eight books with me on this holiday and have thus far managed to read three pages of Catch 22. Who needs books when you've got a Wii? We've had it six days and already the long, action-packed days are turning into feral night-long stints of imaginary tennis in the cabin. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Friday 22nd February:
I initially wanted to write about something called Language Processing Disorder, which appears to have something to do with your ability to understand information and instructions. However, after finding that any information about it was entombed in £20 books by dodgy psychologists, I've figured out that it's quite possibly just another thing to make parents feel better about having stupid kids. Instead, I have learnt the following: in Britain, jurors don't have to return to court to witness the sentencing of an individual that they have helped to convict, but can if they so wish. Going home tomorrow. Boo!

Saturday 23rd February:
Back in the big smoke tonight; the fact I learned today actually comes from personal experience, rather than either a pamphlet or Wikipedia, just for a change. Today I learnt that banks are prepared to reimburse you for money that is stolen from your account, and yes, I learnt it the hard way, after finding that £500 has jetted out of our joint account and reappeared at a tropical cashpoint in Casablanca. It happened because someone cloned my card, which I thought only happened in Ocean's Eleven. I'm mainly disappointed because I thought my trick where I put my Oyster card in front of my hand at the cashpoint was watertight. I'm quite impressed that they're prepared to give this money back - I thought that given the choice between them paying or us paying, they'd have gone for the former. Anyway, a magic end to the holiday. Sorry there's no souvenir - I ate it.

My Holiday, by Niall (aged 24 and a half) - Part One

Saturday 9th Feb:
The thing I learned today is that the former Soviet republic of Georgia uses a completely different alphabet to other ex-Soviet states, such as Russia, Ukraine and Kazakhstan, who all use the Cyrillic alphabet. I discovered this from reading the back of a packet of toothpaste, in the toilet of a Travelodge near Wigan at 2.30am. It may be a long two weeks. Have now arrived in Scotland, haven't learnt much else so far; it's prettier and friendlier than England, but then I knew that already.

Sunday 10th Feb:
Claire informed me over breakfast that the tannin in tea inhibits any iron that you take in from food. Also, drinks with high Vitamin C content, such as orange juice, increase the effectiveness of any ingested iron. The effect of IRN-BRU on iron absorption has yet to be investigated.

Monday 11th Feb:
We accidentally found a place called Doune Castle today, whilst trying to find a town with decent shops. We looked it up on our phones like the city idiots we are, only to discover that it features prominently in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The French guard "farts in your general direction" from atop it, and it is used for virtually every exterior castle shot in the film. It's become a tourist attraction for Python fans; the gift shop even has Monty Python books and memorabilia (nice touch) and a replica Holy Grail (too far).

Tuesday 12th Feb:
Today walked up some hills and looked down from the top at Loch Venachar, surrounded by misty, far-off mountains. It was almost pretty enough to make me weep like a baby, but didn't offer up any useless information - perhaps they should introduce a Trivia Trail leading up to the vista. In the end, I turned to a Puzzler book we had in the lodge, which quite pointlessly informed me that the word 'blunder' comes from the Old Norse 'blundra', which means to shut your eyes.

Wednesday 13th Feb:
Whilst watching the sun set over the lake tonight (sorry, trying not to be smug) we wondered what made the sunset all pink and purple. I was amazed to discover that sunsets produce vivid colours because the sunlight reflects off dust and other airborne particles. This doesn't happen during the day because the sun isn't low enough in the sky, and also because dust rises from near the ground to higher in the atmosphere when the sun goes down. Or something. This effect is known as Mie Scattering, and has been demonstrated by increasingly colourful sunsets, although this argument loses credibility by mentioning Krakatoa. How would they know? Did someone find a diary featuring the words: "Family dead. Village destroyed. All is lost. P.S. Sunset a delight"? It seems unlikely.

Thursday 14th Feb:
We've been on the trail of waterfalls so far on our holiday, but were wondering where the biggest ones could be found. Turns out that the biggest waterfall in the UK is Eas a' Chial Aluinn, in the Scottish Highlands. There is some debate about this apparently, and this chart is taken by measuring the longest single waterfall, as opposed to a series of falls. The second and third highest are also in Scotland - Steall and the Falls of Glennoch respectively, though none of the top three are anyway near where we are. Anyway, I could go on but I'm trying to watch Ashes to Ashes.

Friday 15th Feb:
Claire's birthday today - we went to Glencoe and stopped at the worst Visitor Centre ever. If you ever want to know about how they built the Glencoe Visitor Centre, but require no information on Glencoe itself, I suggest you pay it a visit. Whilst taking pictures of the scenery, I got a picture of the sun, but with a black spot in the centre. I looked up why this was happening, and it appears that when you take a photo of the sun on a digital camera, a black spot can come out in the centre of the sun, as the camera cannot process the image due to it's brightness. I thought I'd discovered the solid core of our sun - turns out the only thing I discovered is that my phone needs an upgrade.

So Long, Suckers

This is the end, my only friend, the end. That's right, no more quirky, pointless blogs about the minutae of life. The Quest has ceased to be. For two weeks.



Dry your eyes comrades, I'll be back on the 24th Feb, but tonight I am journeying to a land without internet access (I believe it's called Scotland) for a barely deserved holiday. I'll still be learning something new of course, and I shall report back on my findings when I arrive back in London town. Today has a whirlwind of packing, hoovering and fobbing projects off onto work colleagues, so I need a bread and butter fact i.e. simple to understand, easy to prove and preferably sport-based. Unsurprisingly, Sport magazine (the free paper, not the grotty red-top) informed me of the following:



The new Wembley stadium is the largest all-seater covered arena in the world.



A reminder of England's great achievements in building expensive follies then, before I head over the border. Incidentally, by covered, it means that every seat is sheltered from the elements whether the roof is on or not - although this poor sap may disagree.



See you on the 24th...