Where’ve you been? Holidays? Harrumph. You young whipper-snappers, why, you don’t know you’re born. In my day, we had to watch endless repeats of Monty Python and the Goodies and like it.<\/p>\n
\nAnyway.<\/p>\n
\nJust over a month ago I related a story about a demonstration of the thermite reaction<\/a>. You’ll remember, if you care to take your pencil out of your nose, Gee, and pay attention, that a cove by the name of Hogg assisted in this demonstration, very nearly burning down the chemistry lab in the process. Oh do put it away, Rohn. Unless you’ve brought enough for everyone? Didn’t think so.<\/p>\n \nSo, this Hogg character. Not exactly the brightest cookie in the toolshed, but keen. Very keen. Sort of chap who would do something stupidly brave and afterwards wonder what all the fuss was about and what all the ambulances were for. And one of the things about science is that actually, if you’ve got enthusiasm you don’t necessarily have to be all that bright, as long as your creative energies are suitably steered.<\/p>\n \nLeastways, that’s the charitable explanation for Hogg finding himself in possession of one of the very expensive glass syringes one day in the chemistry lesson, whereas those of us who were more or less guaranteed ‘A’s had to make do with the old, cheap and (critically) unbreakable<\/em> plastic ones.<\/p>\n \nThat fateful day, we were generating hydrogen by some method which probably involved acid; collecting the gas and measuring how much was produced. Thence\u2014knowing how much stuff we’d started with\u2014we were to quantify the reaction. Or something equally useful. It was another country, \nSo we all had reaction apparatus, a length of tubing, and a graduated syringe with which to collect and measure hydrogen gas. Some of us, as I say, had these plastic, crappy things and others, in what seemed to be gross unfairness, the expensive and accurate glass jobbies. After a certain amount of grumbling, we got down to business\u2014Hogg, naturally, happy as a pig in shit.<\/p>\n \nEvents proceeded according to the laws of nature: gas was produced, measured, and calculations begun.<\/p>\n \nWell, that’s what should have happened.<\/p>\n \nHydrogen gas indeed was produced, and as most of us were peering at the faded black lines on plastic syringes and trying to figure out exactly what ‘e.t2’ meant in cubic centimetres, there was an almighty BANG<\/strong> and a piece of glass went whizzing past my left ear. I turned on the spot, afraid that sudden movement might cause something to fall off. At the other end of the classroom, like a latter day Ozymandias, stood Spencer Hogg: hand outstretched, a smouldering splint in one hand and nothing but whispy smoke in the other.<\/p>\n \nThe boy, miraculously, appeared unharmed.<\/p>\n \nWhen we eventually managed to prise Mr Woods from his hiding place in the stock cupboard, we discovered what had happened.<\/p>\n \nHogg, all keenness and light, with glass syringe in hand (did I mention how expensive they were?), was desperate to repay the trust placed in him, and, in short, had tried to impress Mr Woods with his extensive knowledge of chemistry. After recording 7.3197 cm 3<\/sup> precisely<\/em> , he determined to prove that the gas evolved was indeed hydrogen. So he lit a bunsen, removed the plunger from the syringe, (mixy-mixy, little FAE<\/a>) and plunged a lit splint into the open end of the syringe barrel, no doubt expecting a genteel ‘pop’.<\/p>\n \nYou can’t blame a kid for trying, I guess.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Where’ve you been? Holidays? Harrumph. You young whipper-snappers, why, you don’t know you’re born. In my day, we had to watch endless repeats of Monty Python and the Goodies and like it. Anyway. Just over a month ago I related … Continue reading and besides, the wench is dead<\/del> and a long time ago.<\/p>\n