I’m not funny enough

I had a dream of becoming a professional comedian. It was the combination of making an audience react so favourably to my genius juxtaposition of ideas and that I could earn a living with no gimmicks other than a spare t-shirt. Over many years that dream was crushed. Until I realised that I’m not funny enough.

I love comedy. Particularly the dry, dark and surreal kinds. With a dash of intelligent slapstick. Heroes include Emo Philips, Steven Wright, Andy Kaufman, Peter Cook, Monty Python, League of Gentlemen, Alan Partridge and Rowan Atkinson. I love the journey a skilful writer of comedy takes you on and the big surprise twist at the end. Good comedy for me isn’t predictable but in hindsight it is inevitable. Much like a good magic trick. I amassed a large library of comedy DVDs and read many books (theory and biographical). However, a passion for and knowledge of comedy is not enough.

Comedy requires an audience to find it funny. What I find funny doesn’t always reflect your tastes. You see there’s only going to be some overlap between our senses of humour. That immediately cuts down the laughs between us. (The successes of Michael McIntyre and Peter Kay partly lie in the shared everyday experiences.)

It gets worse. Just because I love a certain type of comedy doesn’t mean I’m any good at presenting it. My big problem is I can’t act. I can’t do characters. I can’t do accents.  My timing and delivery are generally poor. So much of the comedy I love watching is beyond my capabilities as a performer. It just falls flat with an audience. For so long I tried to be someone I wasn’t. The repeated failure can be soul destroying when it’s something you love and dream of doing.

There’s a lot to be said for the advice: just be yourself. The key for me in finding a way to make my audience laugh is to work in the overlap between:

  • What I find funny
  • What my audience finds funny
  • What I’m capable of performing


See this follow up post on 5 ways to be funny when you’re not.

Hexagonal – maths game

hex2I came across this simple maths game whilst looking at the kids pack they provide at Chiquitos restaurants. (They do a super breakfast including chilli black pudding. Yum!)

Two players take it in turns to colour in one of the dotted lines that links the corners of a hexagon. The loser is the player who creates a triangle in their colour. In the first picture you can see Blue goes first and loses by making a careless move.

There’s a blank game board at the bottom of the blog for you to download and print out. Although the board is easy to construct with pen and paper.

Further investigations and variations

  • Is it better to go first or second?
  • What is the maximum number of moves that a solo player can make before they lose?
  • Explore using different shapes to create new boards


Foreign lands

When I was a teenager my family went to Paris for the weekend. We were proper tourists doing all the usual sightseeing; a boat trip down the Seine, climbing the Eiffel Tower and marvelling at the dangerous driving around the Arc de Triomphe. My grasp of the French language is tres terrible and my knowledge of the culture & history is basic at best. I came away from the trip with some good memories of landmarks but no depth of understanding the city. The richness and subtleties eluded me.

Science for many people is a foreign land. To get the full picture you need to understand the thinking, history and language. And if a person is not mathematically fluent then the richness of the subject will be sadly missed and the opportunity to fully participate will be lacking. The beauty and the beast of science is that it’s based on maths.  Maths for so many is a memory of fear and failure. It can become an exclusive members club for those that can.

As a science communicator I want to open up new wonderful lands for my audiences to explore. So much of what ‘sci comm’currently offers can be seen as open top bus tour of the key landmarks presented with a barrage of facts and quirky trivia. With the audience hopping on and off at will because there’s no connection or destination to aim for. We see this with the “whizz bang” shows filled with explosions and other wow demos. At the end of an entertaining hour of flashes & bangs we’ve learnt nothing of note and have no desire or tools to explore further.

The challenge is to equip the audience with knowledge, skills and tools BUT most importantly a desire to become explorers.

I became a scientist when as a curious child I started to do mini experiments around the house and garden, not when I graduated from university.

Magnets are magical

[First draft – comments welcomed]

In one of my school shows I ask my audience to tell me their ideas for how my magic tricks are achieved. Invariably I’ll get the answer of “magnets”; regardless of how practical their use would be.  Primary school pupils have a fixation with them. Part of this is because of their limited knowledge of scientific principles and also that the magnet solution is more tangible than momentum, conservation of energy, buoyancy etc. However I think the main reason for this fixation is that magnets are magical.

Whilst I was still active in physics research I worked in two different fields. The first was in superconductivity. The Meissner effect that leads to magnetic levitation being one of strangest phenomena in physics.   During that time I had the privilege to spend two weeks running experiments at the European High Field Magnetic Laboratory in Grenoble. Working with a 30 Tesla monster magnet comes with a few dangers. Tools will literally be pulled out of your hands even from a couple of metres away and if you forget to remove your wallet before entering the lab (like me on the last day) you can have your credit cards wiped. There’s almost a supernatural quality to magnets; they’re a little scary and unworldly. You only have to be holding two strong magnets in your hands to feel the force between them. I find the repulsive force of two opposite magnetic poles to be weirder than the attractive force – like there’s an entity in the ether between them. And like my credit cards found out, a magnetic encounter can leave behind a nasty footprint.

I later switched from condensed matter to atomic physics research. My Ph.D at Durham University was on using pulsed magnetic fields to manipulate laser cooled atom clouds. I was effectively designing the magnetic equivalent of an optical lens. (If you want to join an exclusive club of readers, here’s a link to my thesis LINK.) Even though I worked with the mathematical equations that describe both the magnetic field and how matter interacts with the field, there was a disconnect between the maths and the intuitive understanding of how magnets work. A common question from children is “how do magnets work?” and truthfully it’s one of the areas in science I struggle to explain even though I became a Dr from making and using them.

Gravity is a fairly easy concept to grasp: ‘things attract’. Simples. Initially it’s: ‘things fall down’ but as science schooling progresses the pupils will learn the bigger picture that all objects have a gravitational attraction (usually from studying the solar system). And when much later they start putting equations to the forces, the mathematics makes intuitive sense. Heavier objects have a larger pull. Closer objects have a larger pull. There’s not much more you need to know until you get to the extremes and have to start making corrections for General Relativity.

The classical equation for the force between two magnetic poles has essentially the same form as the gravitational (and electrostatic) equation. However, the understanding is far from straight forward. I think the main reason for this is the wide range of magnets, magnetic phenomena and that not all materials are affected. It’s not universal like gravity or based on a few simple rules like electrostatics. Furthermore, the strength of the magnetic force dominates most other forces. Magnets are both mysterious and complicated.  So when my audience are trying to form an understanding of a strange trick, I think magnets are a natural (or should I say supernatural) explanation.



One of my favourite stories from magic history is the time the magician Eugene Robert-Houdin was sent by the French government to help quash a revolt in Algeria. The local tribes were superstitious and he used magic tricks to convince the locals that French magic was stronger than their own witchcraft. The fearful Algerians soon quietened down in the face of French ‘superiority’. One of the tricks Robert-Houdin used was called The Light and Heavy Chest. He’d get a small child to lift a wooden box to prove how light it was. Then he’d summon the strongest man in the village. After the man had gone through a mock hypnosis he found he was unable to shift the box that minutes earlier a boy had moved. Unbeknownst to the strong man he was the victim of a metal plate in the bottom of the box and an electromagnet concealed in the floor. Magnets are magical.

Wow! How? Now…

We often use the phrase ‘awe and wonder’. For me awe is that initial overwhelming response to something new, big, beautiful or surprising. It can be uncomfortable. It also is something we experience from the outside as an observer rather than a participant. There is a distance. A disconnect. Whether that’s looking through a telescope or walking inside a cathedral.

I want to take the journey further; from awe to wonder. Wonder is engagement, participation, play. Wonder is like Dr Who’s TARDIS. You step inside and the space magically becomes so much bigger. The horizon has shifted and there’s new territory to explore. The observer becomes an explorer.

So how practically has this changed my approach working within schools? Two main things:

Firstly, I’m putting a stronger emphasis on demonstrating everyday items behaving in strange ways. I could visit a school with flashy expensive science kit, but that won’t be any use once I’ve left the premises. I want to equip my audiences to go home and explore themselves. My early memories of science weren’t in school, they were in my back garden with objects like batteries, matches, film pots & kitchen chemicals and a magnifying glass. (Admittedly they did have a slightly pyrotechnical bent but when your dad is Head of Gas Explosions for HSE it’s in the blood.)

Secondly, I’ve started using a catch phrase in my shows: “Wow! How? Now…?” For me these are the three steps of the circular scientific method: Observation, Theory, Prediction. However, these words aren’t that inspiring. So I now talk about:

“Wow! That’s amazing.” when we observe a new or surprising phenomena.

“How does it work?” for coming up with theories. I create a dialogue where I ask my audience to tell me their theories.

“Now I wonder what if…?” for making a prediction when we make a change to the workings or look for some extra evidence.

The Orange Cut

I first read about this way to sculpt an orange in The Art of Astonishment (vol 1) by the magician Paul Harris. However the diagrams in the book are wrong.

The cuts are much simpler than portrayed in the book. See the diagram for what you’re aiming to achieve with the cuts.orange

First draw an equator around the orange. I’ve found a biro works well. Then draw 8 equally spaced vertical lines alternating above and below the equator. See the second photo. The lines stop about 2cm from the poles.

Now make a cut through the peel on each of the vertical lines. Then make two parallel cuts (to the left and right) of those vertical lines. This creates two strips of peel that are about 0.5 cm thick. You’ve now made 24 cuts. 

This is the slightly tricky bit… from the top extend one of the righthand cuts in an arc to the lefthand cut of the next bank of 3 cuts in the same hemisphere. Now extend the central cut in an arc to the next central cut. You’ll create a loop 0.5 cm wide. Repeat this process 4 times on the top hemisphere and it will look like photo 3.

Now turn the orange upside down and repeat the cuts for the other hemisphere. Photo 4.

The final cuts are along the equator but these are deep so they divide the orange into 2 hemispheres. Don’t cut through the strips. Then gently pull the two halves apart. It helps to pull the cut loops away from the orange before separating. You’ll end up with something looking like first photo at the top of this post.