I tried hitchhiking once. I stood in a lay-by near Bristol with a sign saying ‘London’ for an hour – and then gave up and took the bus, thus exhausting my paltry fee for the gig the night before. I am rich enough now to take the train.
Having failed that hitchhiking test to get across the M4, I think it highly unlikely that I would manage to travel across M106, otherwise known as Messier 106, a spiral galaxy in the constellation of Canes Venatici.
My first knowledge of the notion of hitchhiking came, as so many things did, from science fiction. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is undoubtedly one of the most influential books in my life, a natural progress from the joy of Doctor Who. The author, and I know I don’t need to write this but I will, Douglas Adams, was also script editor for Doctor Who. Hitchhiker’s was my bridge between The Goodies and The Young Ones comedically, and between Arthur C Clarke’s Mysterious World and Carl Sagan’s Cosmos scientifically.
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Though I was no great shakes at science in secondary school, the intrigue of the universe and the fascination with the strangeness of it all was embedded deeply enough for cosmology to become a great deal of my working life via the work I have done with professor Brian Cox. I am the silly man with jokes to ease the pain of contemplating infinity.
When I first read of Arthur Dent, Ford Prefect and Zaphod Beeblebrox – let us take a moment to enjoy each one of those wonderful character names – I presumed many of the ideas of physics mentioned were just the madness of a febrile comedy mind. It was only later that I discovered many of these fanciful concepts about probability and the end of the universe grew from genuine scientific contemplations.
Elon Musk believes that Douglas Adams was a great philosopher, which makes me wonder if Hitchhiker’s has now reached that dangerous point where the adoration for it allows people to interpret it the way they wish, just like Orwell, Nietzsche and The Bible.