It was my birthday yesterday. I turned 29 years old. In hexadecimal, at least. My birthday always seems to have a habit of occurring right in the middle of summer. I guess it's good in that it meant I never had to go to school on my birthday, but was probably bad for my mum who had to be in the late stages of pregnancy in the hottest days of the year. Mind you, in Glasgow, maybe it doesn't matter too much.
England regained the Ashes on my birthday, which was nice. The football season started, too. My team -- Ipswich -- managed to get to 90 minutes with a 2-0 lead then end up drawing 2-2. May as well get used to the way things will go for the next season, I guess. As I mentioned in my previous post, as I've grown up, I've been used to having the news talk about the anniversary of the dropping of the nuclear bombs in World War 2 bracketing my birthday. The second one took place today, on 9th Aug, in 1945. It's this arbitrary temporal coincidence which prompted an editor from The Conversation to ask me if I would write something about nuclear physics. It's here.
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