Chapter 21: CELIA'S SHRINEI'm glad you like the bungalow. I would like it to go to a happy young couple like you. We were always very happy here. Well, as happy as anybody ever is... you know what I mean. Why don't you sit down and I'll make the two of you a cup of tea?This was out in the country when we first moved here you know. Fields and sheep and cows. You couldn't call it the country now, could you? Times change. The city grows. We still have the field at the back, of course. Well, we always called it a field. Just a bit of rough meadow, really. We never did very much with it. The idea was that we would have a pony when our boy got a bit bigger. We would build a stable at one end. We never did, of course.No, it wasn't that. More that... our boy never did get big.I don't mind talking about it. It's a very long time ago now. Emily and I married quite late in life. When Emily had Charlie she was forty-one years old. We were one of the unlucky ones. The one in twelve. Charlie wa

Chapter 23: THE BATTLEFIELD PHILOSOPHERIt wouldn't be entirely true to say that I had arrived at this airport by chance. There were many routes that I could have chosen to get home to London from the Far East, stop-overs at Bucharest or Abbu Dhabi, Vienna or Cairo, but I had chosen this obscure little Central European capital because as soon as I had seen its name I had remembered my old friend of University days, Oliver McClure. Oliver had been my favourite teacher, a charming and eccentric Irish ex-priest, not a great deal older than his students, who lectured to the trainee teachers on the esoteric subject of "Philosophy of Education". I had never forgotten his answer to a young girl's question in the very first lecture that he had given to my group: it was an answer that had seized my attention and led me into an obsession with philosophy which came to rule my life. "Will studying philosophy make it any easier for us in the classroom?" she had asked. "Only if I fail," Oliver had

Chapter 25: FULL-FIGURED WOMAN, 29Dear full-figured woman, 29I too like sports. I used to play in the Sunday League, and was a keen member of the Neasden Swimming Club, but these days I have to make do with a weekly visit to the gym. Like you I enjoy foreign travel.I work for Southern Roll which is a firm of merchant bankers (that is not rhyming slang). I'm one of the IT support team. That means I try to fix any problems that come up with the computers and and get the system working again. As you can imagine, I'm a very busy man.I'm surprised you don't use the Internet to meet people. I use it a lot. Although maybe it's not a great place to find a deep meaningful relationship, but there are DMR websites. You can put up a photograph, which always grabs people's attention. You should put a picture in your Metro advert.I'm a slim 39-year-old, 5 foot 11 inches, slightly receding hair, great teeth. I dress smart casual and I drive a BMW Z4 SE. You're probably wondering why a young spo

Chapter 27: THE MIND'SThis is a bit of philosophizing of the kind that an academic philosopher might do in the pub after the seminar. Philosophizing with a claw hammer, so to speak. Ever since seeing "2001: A Space Odyssey" in the late 1960s I have been fascinated by the idea of artificial intelligence (or "machine intelligence" or "electronic intelligence" or "machine consciousness" or any of the other names by which it goes). I wrote a number of short stories about it, eventually a novel called "SIRAT", and more recently was invited to deliver a lecture on it (a very basic introduction to the subject) at an American university. I can't claim to be a genuine worker in the field but I am a very enthusiastic amateur.The notion of creating some kind of a machine that can think, a conscious computer presumably, collides head on with a genuine and deep philosophical problem. The oldest one in Western philosophy, perhaps. The relationship between the inner world of the mind in which we a

Chapter 29: SWIMMING AT ROGIEIt’s good of you to ask, but I’m perfectly all right. I’m just sitting here looking at the sea. I’m not planning to top myself or anything like that.Yes, I took them off because I was thinking about having a wee swim in Rogie. Just thinking about it. It would be a daft thing to do, really. I haven’t got swimming trunks or a towel or anything, and the sun’s low in the sky. I’d have to go back to Molly’s house in wet underpants. I’d probably catch my death of cold.Yes, I did mean Molly Regan. You know her, do you?Your aunt? Surely you’re not Bilshie Travers’ son? … Oh, his grandson. And so Molly would be your great aunt. God, is it really as long ago as that? Yes, I suppose it is. When I was your age I thought time went on forever; that I could be or do anything I wanted. And then suddenly there was no time left and I hadn’t done any of it. Sorry, I’m talking like an old fart now. Pay me no heed.Yes, of course I knew Bilshie. I was brought up in Bundora