Atheism and the En Dash

There was an odd article in the Guardian today which argued that "there are no atheist babies". Specifically, the author took issue with a Richard Dawkins quote: "When you say X is the fastest growing religion, all you mean is that X people have babies at the fastest rate. But babies have no religion."

'Atheism' can mean either a rejection of the existence of deities (explicit atheism) or, more inclusively, an absence of belief in the existence of deities (implicit atheism). The article is odd because it argues that babies are not explicitly atheist, while Dawkins was only saying that babies are implicitly atheist.

But my main quibble with the article is the paragraph below:

Not one but two consecutive lines begin with an en dash. I really think that a self-respecting newspaper should precede a parenthetical en dash with a non-breaking space so that a line can end – but never begin – with an en dash. In HTML, it is coded as  – followed by an ordinary space.

In some of my old posts you might come across a spaced en dash not preceded by a non-breaking space, but there is an explanation for that. Anyway, I must not get complacent; I learn new things all the time. In a recent post I wanted to use double quotes followed by a left parenthesis, and I realised that some browsers might insert a soft return between the two punctuation marks. In case the information is of use to anyone, I got around it by coding the text thus: <nobr>"(S)he</nobr> did it!"

---

Edit: I have just learnt from Tommy that <nobr> has been deemed a non-standard element, but the same effect can be achieved with CSS:
<span style="white-space:nowrap;">"(S)he</span> did it!"
Like I said, I learn new things all the time.

Bellingham, 12:53 pm

On the drive down from Mount Baker, I saw a good example of a 22º halo, an optical phenomenon caused by the refraction of sunlight by hexagonal ice crystals in a layer of cirrostratus nebulosus cloud. The inner edge of the halo is red and the outer edge bluish, though this could be seen more clearly with the naked eye than in the photo.

The 22º halo is actually a fairly common phenomenon, occurring up to 100 days a year in temperate latitudes. If you haven't seen it, it's probably because you are wise enough not to stare at the sun.

My Hobby - 11

Seasons 1: Parade Gardens, Bath

Move your cursor over the image below, and it should change to another image of the same scene in a different season. (If it doesn't work, check that your browser has JavaScript enabled.)

Base photo:	20 January 2013
Mouseover photo:	26 May 2014
Approx. coordinates:	51.382°N, 2.357°W

I am hoping to make Seasons an occasional series, so keep a weather eye on this blog.

Six Days in Kyoto

A friend of mine who was travelling to continental Europe for the first time recently asked me for advice on how to plan her trip, specifically, whether to cover lots of cities, or visit fewer cities but spend more time in each. As someone who likes to travel but is perenially constrained by holiday and budget limitations, this is a problem to which I have devoted much thought. And my musings have led me to come up with the Urban Travel Enjoyment Curve (UTEC).

The exact shape of the curve depends on a number of factors including personal preferences, the city in question, and the expense of travelling to and living in the city, but the form of the curve (for me, and – I believe – for most people) is something like this:

If, for instance, I misguidedly planned a trip to Paris where I would only get to spend 30 minutes in the city, my enjoyment would actually be negative. The time, money and effort expended in travelling to Paris and back would outweigh any enjoyment I might derive from my 30-minute visit. So for small values of t, UTEC lies below the t axis, i.e. enjoyment is negative.

At a slightly higher value of t, perhaps around 30 hours, UTEC intersects the t axis. This is the point where I would be indifferent between going and not going for the trip.

Initially, each unit of time spent in the city produces increased enjoyment, and the rate of increase is positive (i.e. UTEC is convex downward). Then it reaches an inflection point, after which enjoyment still increases but the rate of increase is negative (i.e. UTEC is concave downward). Finally, after I have had my fill of the city, my enjoyment peaks and then goes downhill because of mounting hotel costs, foregone opportunities to visit other places, and so on.

If only we had a formula for each city's UTEC, trip-planning would be reduced to a simple optimisation problem. Since we don't, we have to rely on guesswork, which means UTEC – like most things on this blog – is mildly interesting but ultimately useless.

One trip where I got my planning absolutely spot-on was in the summer of 2011, when I was living and working in Tokyo.

For the six-day Golden Week holiday, I toyed with the idea of visiting several cities, but eventually I decided to spend all six days in Kyoto. Kyoto has dozens of wonderful things to see and neighbourhoods to explore. Besides, it would be ironic to do a whirlwind tour of, of all things, Zen temples and rock gardens built for contemplation.

With the luxury of six full days at my disposal, I took in the sights at a leisurely pace, spoke to many people I met, and slept in parks when I tired of walking. Some of my nicest memories are of places I would probably have left out of a tighter itinerary. Here are three such stories.

A Chance Encounter

For reasons not entirely clear to me, Japanese visitors to Kyoto sometimes like to dress up as geishas and stroll around Minami Higashiyama.

Many photos of "geishas" taken by foreign tourists are in fact of tourists in costume; real geisha are elusive and few.

But late one evening in Gion, returning to my hostel after dinner, I unexpectedly saw a real geisha. We crossed each other in a narrow alley; I hadn't noticed her until she was five feet away. It seemed disrespectful to take a photo, and in any case, I was too awestruck to do anything.

Friends have asked me how I knew she was a real geisha. There was something about her walk, her poise and the way she wore her clothes; I saw her and Knew.

Philosophy and Tortoises

My favourite walk in Kyoto is Tetsugaku no Michi (Philosopher's Path), a pedestrian path along a cherry-tree-lined canal. The path goes past temples, shrines and back-gardens, and is named after a Zen philosopher who used it for daily meditation.

It was a pleasant walk, but more than that, it was fun because I found myself ascribing philosophical implications to the most mundane things I saw or heard: the overheard conversations of other walkers, a spider ensnaring a butterfly, a swimming tortoise.

Actually I might have missed the tortoise, if not for the two Japanese guys who were observing it with interest.

The tortoise was trying to swim across the canal but the current impeded it, and though it had nearly made it to the other bank, the little guy was evidently at the end of its strength. One time it clamped its jaws onto a reed, but the reed broke off and was swept away with the current. Finally, after a supreme effort, the tortoise safely reached the bank. The Japanese guys looked at me delightedly and said, "Yokatta!" Which means something like "(S)he did it!"

The Cutest Thing I Ever Saw

Shimogamo Jinja is not as spectacular or historically significant as some other shrines in Kyoto, but I wanted to visit it because behind the shrine lies a sacred grove known as Tadasu no Mori (the Forest Where Lies Cannot Be Concealed). Not surprisingly, it is a popular spot for settling disputes and for first dates.

But I had an unexpected treat in store. There was some kind of competition going on, and the courtyard in front of the shrine was filled with young kendo trainees.

Scores of toddlers wearing balloons on their helmets and bashing each other over the head with sticks – if there is a cuter sight than that, I am yet to see it.

Legal Jargon

The Gherkin in London was recently put into receivership, and predictably, newspapers had a field day with headline puns (financial pickle, salad days over, etc.)

Last week the High Court delivered a judgment on the interpretation of the loan facility agreement used to finance the purchase of the Gherkin. Justice Flaux mercifully steered clear of gherkin puns, but slipped in a sentence which brings some hope to me and others in my line of work who have, late at night, sweated over a seemingly incomprehensible clause in a facility agreement:

In lengthy commercial contracts of this kind there will often be words or phrases which are surplusage or which have no obvious meaning. [emphasis supplied]

To give credit where it's due, the law firm where I work discourages the use of jargon in drafting. When I was a trainee, we were told, "The only excuse for using Latin in a memo to a client is if your client is an ancient Roman."

Ryanair Humour

Nearly everyone hates Ryanair.

I have flown with them several times, and if you think that means I am an exception, you couldn't be more wrong: it means I dislike them even more – not just because of all the times I have been subjected to their frustrating booking process and annoying recorded in-flight promos, but because choosing Ryanair is a peculiar form of self-abasement – a reminder that purely because of their low prices, I sometimes fly with an unpleasant company which is synonymous with obsessive cost-cutting, hidden charges, appalling customer service and an obnoxious CEO.

Ryanair are completely unabashed about their business model and public image, and in a perverse way, I can't help appreciate how they sometimes poke fun at themselves. On a Ryanair flight I took this month, the in-flight menu advertised, among other things:

•	"Free printed receipt with every purchase!"
•	"Sweet snacks (great for sharingscoffing if you've been separated from your friend!)" (a reference to their no-allocated-seating policy)
•	"Soft drinks & juices (because the toilets are still free!)" (a reference to the proposed pay-per-pee fee)

In 2012, flying back to London with Ryanair, I fell asleep when the landing cards were being handed out. When I woke up, I asked a flight attendant if I could have a landing card. "That will be one pound," she said.

It is a mark of Ryanair's reputation (and her perfect poker face) that before I caught on to the joke, I actually believed her for a second.

Oslo, 5:38 am

Norway is a great place for camping, not just because of all the hiking trails and dramatic scenery, but because of allemansretten (literally, every man's right) – the legal right to roam on foot or skis anywhere in open country, to swim or row in rivers, to sleep in a tent or under the stars, and to pick berries, mushrooms or flowers.

On our second day of camping, we pitched our tent on the shores of Sognsvann, a lake in the Nordmarka (north forest). Sognsvann is easily reachable from Oslo, so in the daytime it attracts joggers and picnickers. But after sunset, we had the lake all to ourselves.

It was a cold, clear night. When I awoke, hoarfrost covered our tent and the grass around it, and as I stood shivering in my boots and wishing I had remained cocooned in my sleeping-bag, I was reminded why wild camping is special to me: the stillness, the frisson of adventure, the vastness of the sky, and the waning gibbous moon setting over the spruce trees.