La chimie et l'hilarité - un mélange explosif

I went to a Chemistry conference in London on... well, ages ago now. November.

Thou shalt not judge.

It was honestly one of the most interesting series of talks I've listened to.

Let's start from the beginning. My journey: I got the tube with my brother (it so happened that his University is actually, literally around the corner from the Institute of Education, where I was heading). And you know what I realised? It is incredibly difficult not to eavesdrop on people's conversations in the tube. I mean, think about it - you're sitting there, sufficiently bored to nod off, with your brother next to you reading Musharraf's biography. Your mind can't help but wander to the next person's (relatively loud) conversation with their friend. After all, it needs some activity to remind itself that it's alive. Thankfully, the substance of the dialogue escapes me, so I won't be leaking any intercepted intelligence today.

I'm beginning to feel like Anne of Green Gables with all these italics. But they just work so well!

Anyway, I had reminded myself to tell you about a quaint little discussion I encountered (walked in on) in the Costa café inside WHSmith in Kingston. Three young adults, probably at university level, were just sitting there, as if time were no object, and discussing the philosophy of religion. <3

Hey - digression keeps it interesting, OK?

Well, I got there a couple of minutes late (despite having been yelled at by my brother for leaving so early because he'd forgotten some stuff at home in the rush), and was sneaked in through the back just as the forensics scientist was introducing her speech. I can't help but think that she was trying to dissuade us from forensics rather than anything else, judging from the comments about not getting paid enough, and that about 2% of her job was exciting, and the rest plain tedious. Oh! And the gory, bloody crime scenes. Euurrggghhh. But it was interesting all the same.

We were all pretty grateful to see the next guy making his subject sound at least stimulating enough to consider. I think he was talking about electronic gadgets. He explained how they work in so much detail - it's amazing how complex these chemicals are, are how they can be manipulated for so many different uses! No, really, it is!

Then there was the nanotechnology talk. This professor talked about how modern medicines weren't nano-scale robots, as depicted in the press (tabloid, I presume?), but in fact chemicals that are designed to fit exactly into the active sites of bacteria or viruses... Most of it was really very cool. Way over my head, though. *whoosh*

And then this inspirational man came along. He just spoke for the first... what, half hour of his talk? And he did it incredibly boistrously. I reckon he had a mission to deliver all of the 3000 words in his mind, while ten minutes short of the hour he'd planned for (and he was sure to remind us of the latter). But don't get me wrong - he didn't slur for pace. He must have Energizer batteries or something, because the exhertion was certainly not trivial. He just went on talking, or perhaps I should say enlightening, and I honestly don't recall a single pause, not even when he began to skip up and down the stage with test tubes in hand or when he emotively bounced on the balls of his feet as he diligently enunciated his words. I thought that his passion must have made his work really fascinating and fun.

You could tell it did. Not just for himself.

I couldn't help but make videos. Being the inexpert film-maker that I am, however, and only being armed with a like, 1.2 megapixel cameraphone at the time (that's not good quality), this was the best I could do. Oh - and the MPEG-4 format prevented me from being able to edit the movies with Windows Movie Maker.

But please, accept the shoddy work (in numerous pieces), because the substance is quite worth it.

I have saved the best for last... but for it to make sense I suggest you watch them all, in order. They're not that long.

(Watch out for the warning given to Ollie concerning exploding dustbins.)

(Oh and the brown things that the man and Ollie place on the floor in one video are violins. Yes. They played violins, and timed their music exactly with one of the experiments they had set up on the table - the colour change in the beakers would suddenly cloud up as they started the next part. HOW COOL ARE THEY?)

My Beautiful God

I heard a little Owlie talking about why she believed in God. I'd like to share my thoughts, if you don't mind. :)

I think logic reassures me, it comforts me. Everything in the Qur'an makes sense - it fits. Think about it - we were told the human body was made of water, the components of the earth (consider the minerals - they're there), and the embryo from a clot of blood and sperm hundreds of years before we discovered the scientific evidence of it.

But what profoundly touches me is the beauty of God's word; His promise; His creation, when fulfilling its potential for beauty. Beauty is what connects me with God. Whatever your situation, there always exists something beautiful, be it hopeful or grateful. I believe in Him because He's given me so many beautiful things to hold on to as a reminder of Him.

Broadening the Scope of Pope Benedict XVI: By Hamza Yusuf

The admirable response by Sheikh Hamza Yusuf to the recent controversial remarks by Pope Benedict XVI's Regensburg address. He's showing us how to defend with our intellects - rhetoric gets us nowhere. This is the way to promote understanding. MashaAllah.

Remembrance Day

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/6136520.stm

Pain and disbelief in Gaza

By Matthew Price
BBC News, Jerusalem

Earlier this week, tens of thousands of people mourned the 18 Palestinians killed by Israeli tank fire in the Gaza town of Beit Hanoun. Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert has expressed regret and some Israelis are now beginning to re-assess the ongoing conflict.

When I got back home I went straight to the balcony.

I turned on the hose, took off my boots and washed them down. Made sure I got the blood off them. They are out there now, drying.

Then I went to shower, washed my hair, brushed my teeth. Beit Hanoun was dirty. I wanted to feel clean again. The streets were soiled. The tanks had left their track marks by the shops.

The wall outside the secondary school had been knocked down. Railings to stop children running into the street were bent over.

On one pavement I saw a trickle of dried blood, where a woman had fallen, shot in the head. And on a quiet residential street, the faces told me everything I needed to know.

The sides of the road were lined with people. Some stood, others sat. They stared into space, at one another, at the ground. Some put an arm around a neighbour. One man grieved alone, tears on his face. All had the same look in their eyes.

I noticed it because it was not the look you see so often, one of hatred, of revenge. This was a look of sheer disbelief. I noticed someone I had met before. A taxi driver who once picked me up at the Erez crossing into Gaza. Raed had the same look. Not quite crying. But you knew something was deeply, deeply wrong.

How many of your family have you lost, I asked? "All of them. They all had the same grandfather."
"I feel hate," he added. He did not spit it out like people so often do. He just said it. "I hate George W Bush. I hate Israel of course. I hate the Arab world. I hate Europe." His eyes, though, did not say hate. They said pain.

Incomprehension

Later, when I got home, I spoke to an Israeli friend. She sounded broken. She is a true left-winger, always has been.

They are rare here now. She described how another Israeli had called her earlier, saying she felt so ashamed that she dare not call her friends abroad.

I told my friend it is not her fault. I know, she said. You meet very few Israelis who express such feelings.

Most, of course, express regret, especially at the death of children. But many of them find it impossible to properly understand Palestinians. It is often easier to blame. And it works both ways.
Earlier this week I met a Palestinian man who told me most of his neighbours think that all Israelis are soldiers.

"They only ever see soldiers," he pointed out.

"I try to tell them they are mothers and fathers like us," he added.

And this is the tragedy here. Neither side comprehends the other.

Hardliners prevail

The gulf between the two is so great that perhaps neither side wants to anymore.

The other day at an event marking the assassination of the Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin, one of Israel's most acclaimed left wing authors delivered the keynote speech.

David Grossman pulled few punches. He talked of an Israel in crisis, and of the failure of the peace process.

"The Palestinians are also to blame for the impasse," he said.

"But take a look at them from a different perspective, not only at the radicals in their midst.

"Take a look at the overwhelming majority of this miserable people, whose fate is entangled with our own, whether we like it or not."

The sad fact is most Israelis do not take a look at the Palestinians.

More and more it seems to me, it is the hardliners on both sides whose voices are being heard the loudest.

A day after the killings in Beit Hanoun, the Israeli newspapers were full of comment.

Some - predictably - said the deaths were preventable. If only the Palestinians would stop firing rockets at Israeli towns, Israel would not have to shell Gaza.

But there were others from a different perspective.

One commentator wrote: "For us, [these deaths] pass as if [they] were nothing.

"We have to ask ourselves. Does this really serve our national interest?"

Haunting memories

When I left Beit Hanoun, I went to the BBC bureau in Jerusalem to edit a television piece.
We have both Israelis and Palestinians working there.

I took a break to make a coffee and walked out into the newsroom to find a young girl, four or five years old, her hair in pigtails, standing with her father.

He is a producer in the office.

An Israeli, and it threw me.

She looked exactly like some of the girls I had seen in Gaza that day.

Back from the dead, standing there in front of me.

We closed the edit suite door so she would not see the pictures.

Outside on the balcony, my boots are now dry. It will be harder to wash away the memories of what happened at Beit Hanoun.

Where are we?

What are we doing?

I'm putting this on my blog patiently, I am not overflowing with rhetoric, and nor am I anti-semitic. Let's get that out in the open before I'm accused of spreading propaganda.

This is real footage, of a real incident, with no commentary. See for yourself, and think about what your heart feels. Consider the meaning of your feelings. Think.

Does it not offend your sense of humanity?

Tsahal tire sur une manifestation de Palestiniennes
LEMONDE.FR 03.11.06

©

Eid Mubarak!

I hope you all had a wonderful Ramadaan, and I pray that you are blessed on this happy occasion for all the good deeds that you have earned during this holy month.

Alhamdulillah for the mercy He has shown us... let us pray that each of us lives to make the most of every Ramadaan, and every day of our lives.

Aameen.

Eid Mubarak!

Eid in the Square

Eid in the Square

Date: 28th
Time: 1pm-5pm
Location: Trafalgar Square
Summary: Eid in the Square is a unique cultural event celebrating Eid ul-Fitr, the Islamic holiday marking the end of Ramadan, the month of fasting. The event will include live entertainment from the mainstage and visitors can explore the delights of a street bazaar and learn more about Islam by browsing the various exhibitions and displays on the day. Artists include hip-hop act Mecca2Medina, Shaam, Nazeel Azami, Shahid Falahi, Message Cultural Group and a special preview video of international nasheed artist Sami Yusuf.

Courtesy of the Mayor of London and Islamic Relief.

Do attend! It doesn't matter who you are, or of which religion; it sounds like a good family day out. I understand there will also be speakers there, and it is a great gesture from the Mayor.

Repentance

Glad tidings for he who finds numerous supplication of forgiveness in his book of deeds.

:: as-Sunan al-Kubra ::

All the children of Adam are wrongdoers, but the best wrongdoers are those that repent.

:: at-Timidhi ::

O people turn to Allah and repent. Indeed I turn to him a hundred times a day in repentance.

:: Muslim ::

www.fisabilillah.org

Beautiful Words

Taken from Rubaiyaat by Zeba Khan:

If ever you should find me
In prayer, in tears, at night
Don't ask me what's wrong
For once, things might be right.

Everyday Considerations

Every good deed is charity.

:: al-Bukhari ::

Fasting is a shield.

:: Muslim ::

Remember the good qualities of your dead, and refrain from mentioning their failings.

:: Sahih ibn Hibban ::

www.fisabilillah.org

How about these?

Faithfulness enriches and treachery impoverishes.

:: al-Fidaws ::

Remorse is repentance.

:: Sahih Ibn Hibban ::

A promise is a debt.

:: al-Mu`jam al-`Awsat of at-Tabarani ::

www.fisabilillah.org

Ponder these...

One who breaks ties of kinship will not enter paradise.

:: al-Bukhari ::

Love for humanity what you love for yourself.

:: Musnad of Imam Ahmad ibn Hambal ::

The majority of man's sins originate from his tongue.

:: Mu`jam al-Kabir of at-Tabarani ::

Courtesy of www.fisabilillah.org

Ramadaan Mubarak

May Allah grant you all a blessed and happy Ramadaan.

Ramadaan Mubarak!

Response to Kate and Alex

Well, this started off as another comment, but my inability to stay concise forced me to make a post of it.

Sorry for the late response.

Kate,

Thank you very much. It means a lot to me when people acknowledge my views as at least rational thoughts. You have a very good point, and thanks for asking my opinion. The name "burqa" may mean "barrier", but this is only to the extent that the woman's physical features below it cannot be perceived. It is actually unislamic to be socially inactive - our beloved Prophet (p.b.u.h.) looked after his neighbours, even if they were not Muslim, in their times of need. Every Muslim should emulate the Prophet (p.b.u.h.) to the best of his/her ability. Not too long ago, I heard of a sister who wore the like of a burqa (niqab included - i.e. only her eyes were uncovered) and taught at a mainstream school - it didn't prevent her from taking part in society. And it shouldn't.

Of course she can accept the culture, because it stands for many morally just principles, e.g. brotherhood, but it mustn't be forced upon her in forms she cannot relate to, or views to be morally wrong. Here in Britain, we are proud to have our own multicultural society, to which each can add (curry is now considered a thoroughly British dish), but we retain the traditionally British values of modesty and politeness because they are what make us proud to be part of such an inclusive society. However, beer-sodden football chanting can not be considered an "initiation" into British culture. I mean, not exactly all Britons do it anyway. I'm not so sure that North America is quite the same... I don't know. Would you tell me your views? It seems to me that there is much more nationalism in the U.S. than in Britain (until the World Cup comes around, that is), and this discourages people from adding to its culture, because they feel that if they don't conform, they don't fit in.

Also, regarding wearing a headscarf and modest clothing, well that's just fine. This is all Allah asks of us in the Qur'an. No specification of shape or colour is given - only that clothes must not be tight or transparent. People choose to wear burqas, or abayas, mink coats, or whatever. If you ask me, I don't really mind what material they use, or how they sew it. Does it really bother people that much? I realise people have some kind of burqa-phobia, but seriously... it's not that hard to get over. Actually talking to a person wearing it would show you that there are real people under there... their outfits aren't that different to hoody-wearers anyway.

Don't get us wrong, though. We choose to cover up, but I am one of the only ones in my school, let alone my group of friends, who wears a headscarf. I don't impose anything on them. As the Qur'an says, "There is no compulsion in religion". Forcing one to adopt your values is futile - it leads to resentment. Neither do I look down on them. It's not down to me to think better of myself than I do of them - they're good people, and that's why I value them as friends. They've done a lot for me, and the fact that they choose to wear things that I wouldn't cannot be something I discriminate by. My only job with regard to them is to convey how very unoppressed and content I am as a person.

I just don't get Jacques Chirac, though. France is built on Fraternity, Liberty, and Equality, yet liberty is denied to schoolchildren who have the human right to practice their religious beliefs. This in turn destroys any chance of equality in schools, as some can wear what they want, and others must not go any further than a bandana. And surely this defeats fraternity, separating the religious from the others, as the former feel victimised and distanced from society. I mean, sure, be secular, it's your country - but don't impose atheism on your people.

Alex,

Thanks. However, I have to disagree. I very much enjoy the opportunity to put my own point across - even if prompted by disagreeable arguments. If there wasn't discussion, there would be largely ignorance.

And don't pretend that that's not dangerous. No matter how unworthy you may consider them to be of your enlightenment, you and they both deserve to put your opinions across... or neither will ever learn. But I do draw the line at obscenities.

"After all, how is it any less oppressive or authoritarian to force a women to remove her headscarf than it is to foce her to wear it?" Exactly. Ditto. Totally what I think.

Now that I'm done laughing... have a look at this:

Below are two comments on a post from Ann Althouse's blog.

Sloanasaurus said...

I don't have a problem with the religious garb either - as long as they do it in their own country. However, if you are a muslim woman and you live in the United States, you need to get rid of the Halloween costume. I saw a woman in a burka the other day in Minneapolis - how absurd and ridiculous. She should be arrested at a mximum and ridiculed at a minimum. The whole thing is distracting, and in this country it is viewed as oppression and not as religious. If you want to move and live in the United States, then you need to assimilate.

Sorry, am I reading this right? Is Sloanasaurus really suggesting that Muslim women (who, by the way, are clearly under no obligation by the government or society to wear the burka in Minneapolis, and so are most probably doing so by their own choice) should be arrested on sight just because she chooses to don an extra length of fabric?

Careful, there, Sloanasaurus, you're getting dangerously close to the oppression that people claim that Muslim women are put through in Muslim countries... only, over there, they're not arrested for being seen in public.

Here is the eloquent response that I found quite amusing:

Simon said...

Yes. She should know better; this is America. As we all know, the sine qua non of America is that people should be ridiculed and even arrested for the free exercise of their religious views and sartorial
proclivities.

It really is quite good once you understand it.

The following is an extract from an article I found, written by a woman whose sister converted to Islam (obviously to the former's displeasure).

Muslim women claim to wear the headscarf, or other more voluminous covering, out of modesty. I suspect that, in fact, the veil is attractive to women because it subtly appeals to their vanity. Islam tells women that, no matter how plain, old or ill-favoured she is, the sight of her uncovered hair will be so stimulating, that any man who sees it will lose control of his passions. Thus, beneath her modest covering, a Muslim woman can imagine herself the most desirable creature possible. Women who operate freely in society, conversing with men on a daily basis, are, in the end, forced to form a just assessment of their desirability. Unless she is particularly young and pretty, a woman will be made well aware of most men's indifference to her charms. She will find, in the long run, that likeable men will like her as much for her character, skills and wit, as for her beauty. It is when woman's sexuality is not shrouded that it ceases to be an object of mystery and passion to men, and women have the greatest chance of being treated as more than sexual objects.

(The highlighting is mine)

• I am not so shallow as to have to pretend to be a supermodel underneath my headscarf. Neither are other Muslim women. Unless you imagine that our intellects/levels of sophistication are so underdeveloped that we haven't the capability of accepting who we are and have to "make believe" by throwing on a cloth to hide our true selves.
• Islam disciplines a person in order to eradicate vanity. We consider all beauty a gift from God, and so nothing that we should pride ourselves on. I'm sure all of us didn't create ourselves, so why praise ourselves for our looks?
• "Islam tells women that, no matter how plain, old or ill-favoured she is, the sight of her uncovered hair will be so stimulating, that any man who sees it will lose control of his passions." Quasi-pornographic billboards and magazines actually make it happen, and degrade women in doing so. I feel sad that women treat themselves as circus attractions. Islam does not tell women anything of the sort. It merely protects their dignity.
• Dignity, integrity, and modesty are dear to any practising Muslim woman. The form in which she expresses it is the hijab.
• I don't consider any woman "undesirable" because of her looks. Islam teaches people to marry first and foremost for piety, and then consider other assets. It teaches that however pretty/handsome, a woman/man without a good character will not be as good a spouse.
• "She will find, in the long run, that likeable men will like her as much for her character, skills and wit, as for her beauty." Well, yeah. The hijab means to let the woman's character shine through. The thing is, you get people not taking those who aren't so attractive seriously, or holding them in such high esteem. The hijab is a preventative measure. I dare anyone to take a survey and prove to me that the hijab was less effective in achieving the above than no hijab.
• So she's trying to say that... when it's not covered... it has the least effect on the beholder. Does this explain the significant problem of anorexia that we face today?

Another very, very important point. People actually insist that we're oppressed. No matter what women say...http://althouse.blogspot.com/2006/06/survey-of-muslim-women.html It seems laughable, doesn't it? But it happens. And to top it, the actual women who they suppose are oppressed are abused because of what they wear. I don't see how this works.

The moral of this post:

“I know that ridicule may be a shield, but it is not a weapon” (Dorothy Parker)

The Story of Gul Badshah

A while ago, my mother recorded a program on TV, which showed Urdu poets reciting their poetry. One woman, Zehra Nigah, recited the most profound poem that I have come across for a long time.

It was such a touching poem that I decided to tell the world about it! The following is a transcript and attempted translation by me. The translation may not be exact, but it's difficult to get it just right... I've tried to match it with the theme and context of the poem.

I was going to start talking about it, but I think this is a poem that you have to discover yourself to feel its honesty.

Those of you who have done an English GCSE, and doubted that there would come a day when the "Poems from Other Cultures" Paper would ever come of any use... flex your interpretation muscles with this...

Qissa Gul Badshah Ka
The Story of Gul Badshah [Flower King - a grand Pashtun name]

Naam meira hai Gul Badshah,
My name is Gul Badshah,
Umr meiri hai teira baras,
My age is thirteen years,
Aur kahaani meiri umr ki tarha sai,
And my story, like my age, is
Muntashir, muntashir,
Broken, fragmented,
Mukhtasar, mukhtasar.
Brief, short.

Meiri bei-naam, bei-chehra maan,
My nameless, faceless mother,
Bei-dawa mar gayi,
Died cure-less,
Baap nai us ko burqai mein dafna diya;
My father buried her in her burqa;
Us ko darr tha kai Munkar Nakeer us ka chehra na daikhain.
He feared that the angels of death may see her face.
Vaisai zinda thi
Even when she was alive,
Jab bhi wo madfoon thi.
Then too was she buried.

Baap ka naam Zartaaj Gul,
My father's name was Zartaaj Gul [Gold-Crown Flower - "Zar-" can also mean extravagently expensive],
Umr battees baras.
His age 32 years.
Woh mujaahid, shahaadat ka taalib,
He, a soldier, a seeker of martyrdom,
Raah-e-haq ka musaafir hua,
Became a traveller on the path of justice,
Aur jaam-e-shahaadat bhi us nai
And from the cup of martyrdom he also drank,
Meirai chaacha kai haaton piya,
At the hands of my uncle,
Jo shumaali mujaahid tha,
Who was a northern soldier,
Aur panj-waqta namaazi bhi tha.
And was a prayerful man.

To masla is shahaadat ka peicheeda hai...
So the issue of this martyrdom is complicated...
Is ko behtar yei hi hai, yahin chorr dein.
It is better for it to be left at that.

Ab baarhaal, baba to jannat mein hai,
Anyway, Father is now in heaven,
Us ki baahon mein hoor-o-qusour,
In his arms is a woman of paradise,
Us kai haaton mein jaam-e-tahoor,
In his hands a cup of pure heavenly wine.
Meiri taqdeer main bum, dhamaakai, dhuwwaan,
Meant for me are bombs, explosions, smoke,
Pigalti hui yei zameen,
This melting earth,
Bikharta hua aasmaan.
A shattering sky.
Ba'ad az mot, wo zinda hai.
After death, he is alive.
Aur zindagi muj sai sharminda hai.
And life is ashamed of me.

Kal, sar-e-shaam, dushman nai,
Yesterday, at the tip of dusk, the enemy,
Jaatai huai,
While passing,
Bum kai ham-rah barsaa diyai,
Along with bombs, dropped
Muj pai kuch zard thailai,
On me some yellow bags,
Jin sai muj ko milai:
From which I found:
Gol roti kai tukrrai
Round pieces of bread,
Aik makkhan ki tikkya,
A stick of butter,
Aik sharbat ki botal,
A bottle of juice,
Murabbai ka dibba.
A tub of jam.

Is kai badlai mein,
In return for this,
Woh lei gayai:
They took away:
Merai bhai ka dast-e-mushaqqat,
My brother's labouring hand,
Jis mein mannat ka dora bandha tha;
In which was tied a band to act as his ward;
Meiri choti behn ka woh paaun,
That foot of my sister's,
Jis sai rang-e-hinna phootta tha.
From which the colour of henna gushed forth.
Log kehtai hain, yeh amn ki jang hai,
People say that this is a war of peace,
Aur amn ki jang mein hamla-aawar
And in a war of peace, attackers
Sirf bacchon ko bei-dast-o-pah chorrtai hain,
Only leave children helpless [literally: "bei-dast-o-pah" means without hands and feet],
Un ko bhooka nahin chorrtai.
They do not leave them hungry.

Aakhir insaaniyat bhi koi cheez hai.
After all, there is such a thing as humanity.

Mein dehektai pahaarron mein tanha
I, alone in the fiery mountains,
Apnai tarkai ki bandook thaamai kharra hoon...
Stand holding the gun from my inheritance...
Tamaasha-e-ehlai karam daikhta tha,
I used to watch the antics of the people of kindness,
Tamaasha-e-ehlai karam daikhta hoon.
I still watch the antics of the people of kindness.

Naam meira hai Gul Badshah.
My name is Gul Badshah.
Umr meiri hai teira baras.
My age is thirteen years.

A Study of the Soul

The moment that marked not only the end of my physics exam (which literally began with laughter) but also the end of 2 months and 10 days of what I would like to call hardcore revision: piles of notes (colourful, attempting to make themselves seem less grim); muscle cramps (the proof); and the occasional escape to the table tennis table with ma chère Maman (this has been much kinder to me than my dad's brutal tennis forehands), came and went, and didn't even bother to declare its presence as I'd imagined it would.

But surely it must have meant something? Shouldn't I have spontaneously begun jumping up and down and giggling madly... or at the very least made some indication of the fact the tension that had been crawling over me for the past few months had conclusively flown off (to be replaced by a smaller, more discreet version in the form of anxiety over my results)?

Has drowning my mind in the tumultuous blast furnace of undiluted study finally killed (er, reduced) my soul, leaving me unable to taste of the joys of the long-awaited summer?

A slightly stronger tinge of melodrama would have you think so.

I took off my school jumper yesterday with a sense of triumph. Had my brother had his way, however, such a historic act would have been accompanied by a more ceremonious ritual - "You're taking your jumper off? But... it's the last time you're ever going to wear it!" I was hot, so, like, whatever. And anyway - it's not like I'm emotionally attached to the fish-decorated acrylic weave.