Pic: an artist’s impression of the exoplanet Proxima Centauri b – attribution here The existence of a planet the size of Earth around the closest…
Martyn Winters: Author, Composer, Musician
Pic: an artist’s impression of the exoplanet Proxima Centauri b – attribution here The existence of a planet the size of Earth around the closest…
I’ve just published a new SciFi short on New SciFi UK, called “The Science of Seconds”. I think you will like it. http://www.newscifi.uk/the-science-of-seconds/110/2020/
I’m quite curious about Prime Numbers. Probably, most people reading this will know what Prime Numbers are. For those that don’t here’s a definition: Prime…
When is a test not a test? Apparently it’s always a test now. If you’re sitting at home minding your own business and they post you a test kit – you’ve been tested. The government has changed the definition of a test from – a test carried out, analysed and results posted – to just the first and last words “test” and “posted”.
As the lock-down continues and normally passive individuals start to become brittle and argumentative, a new phenomenon has emerged. It goes something like this: Person…
During the lockdown, I ordered some groceries online and had a pickup slot at the local supermarket a couple of days later between eight and…
A new word for me. I saw it for the first time today in the sentence, “They’ve been spruiking that theory from day one”, in…
Before I get stuck into my thoughts on my ten a day tomato habit, I’d just like to pause for a reflective moment. I’ve just closed Twitter and Facebook. Just the pages, not the accounts. The Coronavirus news is filling me with too many morbid thoughts. So I thought I’d take a break for an hour, just to ease the pain.
On the day that the USA passes twenty-six thousand dead and the UK homes in on thirteen thousand, I find a dental nurse from Sketty – just down the road from me – has fallen victim to the disease. I looked at her photograph and imagined her previous life and premature end. It’s not a face I know, but one you see on passers-by without thought of what their life is about. Now I’m imagining what life must be for her husband, son, sister and parents, all of whom are now suffering unimaginable grief. Rest in peace, Linette, my thoughts are with you.
When I was young, I had a Ford Fiesta Supersport as my first car. It had all the bits: flared wheel arches, a tailgate spoiler,…
Crossing the threshold between the street and a coffee shop should be a magical experience. It used to be. As little as ten years ago, even Starbucks and Costa had that home from home feel. In one step you would move from honking cars, the dull thrum of the street beat and the thick, oily smell of petroleum fumes into a cave of mystery, with low lights, big potted plants, dark leather chairs that “whoomph” when you sit in them, oh-my-God-coffee scents, and there was always good music; often so good, I would have to ask. That’s how I discovered “The Weeks”, now a firm favourite on my playlist.