Inherently Dangerous?
Entry posted by caldrail
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Every so often we museum folk like to do something different. Some people might argue that museums are inherently dangerous with hazards that include customers, tyrannosaurus rex skeletons, or egyptian pharoahs with chips on their shoulders and enough bandages to cope. I would have to admit our little museum is a little less well stocked with such horrors.
Today we had Robot Day. Over the years there have been all manner of commercial robots available to the public. Some are clothed in false fur and look like cartoon birds. Others look like angular dogs, baby sauropods, or science fiction warriors. What could we possibly do with such robots?
Firstly we managed to make a recording of the largest collection of furry bird-like robots ever gathered in captivity. The cacophony of these artifically communal bird-droids had to be heard to be believed. We risked our hearing, never mind our sanity, to make that recording. These are the services to Mankind that our museum provides.
Of course we had to stage a three way fight to the finish between three robot dogs. Wow. Watch those dogs bump each other. No quarter asked for, none given. (No actual dogs, customers, or museum staff were harmed in the making of this entertainment).
But, when it's all said and done, Evil Robot stole the show. He has a charisma all of his own, plus a neat soundtrack when he does his automated dance routine, and plenty of one liners that make it obvious this was a robot that could destroy civilisation as we know it. Two of our younger visitors were immediately pounced upon. Try as hard as they might, they could not switch Evil Robot off. So they asked us if we could help.
Eventually we had to drag Evil Robot away and make him stand in the corner. The remote control was placed well out reach on the desk. Nevertheless, Evil Robot is not completely obedient. His warped programming still allows him to act if he manages to overcome his restraining bolt. So, at the moment he gained self-volition, we were all startled by a loud electronic groan. As we watched, Evil Robot stretched his arms out, and fell forward on his face. He is such a show off.
Easy Does It... Woah!
Barely has Top Gear talked about Rowan Atkinson's high mileage McLaren F1 than he goes and crashes it. If nothing else it demonstrates the demands these cars place on their drivers, although in fairness I don't know what caused the accident, and let's be honest, he's an experienced capable driver who's very familiar with his favourite toy.
There are people who believe such cars are inherently dangerous. I'm not one of them, though I do recognise that additional training would be advisable before purchase. Sadly not everyone is a Stig, or even a lowly Formula One Driver, and it ought to be realised that faster reactions are needed for faster cars even when you don't drive at faster speeds. Remember - it's the sports car that always gets the blame, something Ive been aware of since I started enjoying the more modest performance cars that I could afford.
There was once an occaision when I had to drive to work after a snowfall, a distance of nine miles between Swindon and Cricklade. Those of you who are living in regions accustomed to slippery conditions might not understand, but we brits do not have any ability to deal with winter at all. We just don't understand the concept of snow and ice on our roads.
For me it was a daunting prospect. Nine miles on untreated roads early in the morning, handling at least one very steep hill, and some country lanes known for poor drainage. That in a mildly warm Toyota MR2 with rear wheel drive. This could be fun, or this could be expensive. Come on Caldrail, where's your Battle of Britain spirit? Right. Let's go.
I crossed Swindon without problem. Driving gently solves most problems in such cars. Then I reached Blunsdon Hill. I could of taken the back road and risked worse conditions, but I took the dual carriageway, and that led to Blunsdon Hill, which in slippery conditions resembles an olympic ski-jump. Only when the road began to gracefully droop ahead of me was my peril obvious.
That was the most hair raising drive of my life. In low gear, foot off the throttle, foot off the brake, the road markings buried under fresh snow, and some guy in a Ford Sierra determined to save fuel economy by following on close behind on the theory that if I could make it, so could he.
Needless to say I made it to Cricklade minus a few years of my life. I drove up the carriageway exit and came to a roundabout, a particularly british winter challenge that required a sharp turn. I let the car coast forward. Gradually the snow dragged on the wheels and I knew sooner or later I was going to have to add a touch of power to progress up the very shallow slope leading into Cricklade.
Too early. Just a mere smidgeon of throttle, barely a shetland pony-power, and round I went, a graceful slide that followed the curve of the junction so well I ought to have told everyone I meant to do that. Naturally the Ford Sierra driver, who worked at the same place as me, glanced over his shoulder to make sure I wasn't trapped in a mangled burning wreck, then he carried merrily on his way.
The funny thing is that a higher power sports car would have trundled round that bend without needing throttle, thus proceeding in a safe and composed manner rather than my embarrasing gyrations. But wait a moment - despite losing control on a slipery bend, something I only did the once - I didn't damage the car, the local area, or anyones reputation. When I spoke to the Ford Sierra driver and whinged about my near-accident, he looked astonished.
"I thought you meant to do that" He said. Praise indeed. But I'll bet Mr Atkinson had no intention of crashing his McLaren either.
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