Good afternoon.
There is a temperature, known as Absolute Zero, at which particles stop moving. It is known to scientists as Zero Degrees Kelvin and was discovered by an Irish physicist.
In terms you will understand if, like me, you are not an Irish physicist, it is -273.15
°C. Pretty nippy.The average January temperature in Siberia is -20
°C but, at 30-40,000 feet, if gets a lot nippier, though still well short of Absolute Zero.However, given aviation fuel freezes at a temperature between -47
°C. to -40 °C, a BA Boeing 777 flying at 30-40,000 needs to be sure it's fuel system is nice and cosy and , if not toasty, certainly warmer than -40°C.In January this year on just such a plane returning from Beijing, it wasn't. That, according to the expert investigators, is why we witnessed a crash landing at Heathrow and one of the most spectacular bits of flying since the Wright Brothers did their thing or Guy Gibson and his gang did it large to the Rhur Valley Dams. Ben will explain all.
Boris and his boys propose to "do it large" to the millions who use London Transport, above and below this great city of ours. "Large" in the sense that inflation, officially measured, is running at around 4% but the City Hall Clippies are going for fare rises of well above that, averaging 6%. Harris cries "Ding ding" in protest and we ask Boris to explain. We already know he'll blame Ken (remember Ken? Long time Mayor... yes, thought you would) and that Ken will blame Boris. You can shift the occupants of the office around but they'll still scrap. We offer you a ringside seat.
Sir Ian Blair got all Mark Twain today when he borrowed the celebrated line used by the celebrated American author when his obituary wrongly appeared in the New York Journal.: "Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated". For Blair it was a reference to his professional life following a report in The Times saying it was over. Everyone and his body-guard are denying it so well worth a sniff around: Ronke puts her pomander aside and looks deep into the collective souls of London's law enforcement agencies and it's political classes. Not a pretty sight, I'm sure.
Nor is an army of drunken British youths, or drunken youths of any nationality, rampaging through a popular holiday resort. Crete is just such a thing (popular holiday resort, not drunken youth) and Lewis , never known to down anything stronger than a sensible measure of sanatogen, is on the case in part two of his powerful series from that Grecian idyll.
Finally, Kool and The Gang are in to celebrate their appearance at O2 tomorrow night. I can remember the song but not the line up, and "gang" is a little imprecise in terms of numbers. We only have two benches in the studio. They can accommodate three, average size bottoms. I do not know enough about Kool nor his followers to resolve this in my mind: join me to watch the solution and enjoy the music.
I suppose , like a choir, they could stand?
Katie and I will share the front-pages of London's papers with you, Chrissie will impart her forecast from the bench, unless Mr. K or a disciple has broken it by that stage; and then we will all go our merry ways... bar those who are traveling by Boeing 777 who may have cause to pause, whilst those using the bus or tube have but four months to celebrate what passes for fair fares.
Life is hard. Hope Kool does his stuff in a lasting way. I sure he will. Or is it a her? What a journey of discovery I am on tonight.
See you at 6
Alastair and Katie
