By: Blonde Two
Quantum weirdness is the lack of ability of very, very clever science-bods to understand the workings of the very, very small stuff that makes up our universe. It is a strange world of light flying through slits in ways that it shouldn’t, particles that spin in impossible patterns and stuff that changes if you so much as look at it.
I am not a scientist so it is easy for me to not understand things, it must be very frustrating if you are a clever bod and still can’t get to grips with it all. Or maybe, it is just exciting. Who really wants to live in a world where everything is completely explainable and understood? The Two Blondes couldn’t see the whole universe on our Thursday night Bimble despite there being a lot of it in the sky over Dartmoor. Even so, it looked pretty big and definitely not-explainable – there was even some Milky Way looking stuff.
We experienced a bit of weirdness of our own on that particular little Thursday Bimble. For example, the sunset decided to wait until we had settled down in our favourite granite seats and poured our cuppas to give us the best of its colourful display. Then there were the stars that weren’t there one minute and then almost suddenly enough to make us jump, all appeared at once (I think we really could see every single one of them). The moon too was behaving very oddly, it had decided that Thursday was the night that it would wear an inflatable orange jacket and hover around, half hiding behind clouds.
Once we had made it through this weird quantum universe safely back to the Blonde Mobile, there was yet another odd happening. We had unwittingly made a foxy friend. Blonde One tapped me on the shoulder as we were packing the rucksacks into the car and there behind us, only just behind us, was young fox. He seemed to think we belonged to him and was exhibiting all of the behaviour that suggested that he should join us at the pub. At one point, he even sat down about a Blonde metre away and started having a wash. It was most peculiar and I ended up trying (unsuccessfully) to chase him off so that he didn’t follow us onto the road.
I love the way that a Dartmoor walk almost always manages to throw something a bit unexpected at you. All part of the magic I think, and hardly a surprise when you think about all of the history its hills and combes have witnessed.