things move around

Certain questions recur in the open-all-hours pub of unknowing, seemingly taking form from the wafted pipe-smoke, the muttering, the bellows, the phlegm and the yadda-yadda. Questions like:

Who are we? Why are we here? Is there a God or Gods? What about Ian Duncan-Smith? Does he exist? Where did we come from? Where are we going? Are our fates predestined? What exactly is Professor John Mackenzie a professor of? Sure as hell not economics…

…when through the saloon-doors barrels a tall but stooping figure; a great hush descends on the Babel and Dragon. All our questions are about to be answered. This man is of a race never before seen except in Myth. He pronounces without speaking, and his augury is infallible. He’s new in town, but recognised instantly by his snow-white attire and snow-white hair and beard as…

…a boffin.

He has discovered a formula for calculating how to grill the perfect beefburger. Our barbecues will be the envy of the world.

The Boffins. Just because they sound like a species of flightless bird, doesn’t mean they don’t know everything there is to know, and much more besides.