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It's Physical
by Tiffany H. White

February 1933: The Savoy Hotel, London, England. Renowned physicists Bohr, Curie,  Einstein, Goeppert,  Heisenberg, Plank &  Oppenheimer attend  a  clandestine  meeting of minds  at the urgent request of the Committee for Imperial Defence. No one knows why.



“You look radiant, Marie, positively glowing!”  Einstein lied as Curie  took her place.

“In a  relative way perhaps.” she sighed “Time takes its toll on us all mon cher.”

“As does gravity.” Plank agreed “Still, we can’t turn back the clock.”

“Hvorfor prÝver vi ikke?” suggested Bohr but no one  understood a single word and an uncomfortable silence fell.

Oppenheimer saved the day. “A  Manhattan, I think.  Anyone else care to join me?”  Einstein, Plank and Bohr said they would.

“Me too! Or three!” Goeppert giggled as she finally arrived with a heavy burden of bags from Harrods. Curie winced when Heisenberg ordered a bottle of  Chateau La Tour 1914 and ordered the ’18 for herself.. After the  Manhattans they all tried Depth Bombs but  the Whizz-Bangs  weren’t so good.

Goeppert was being rather immodest with  maraschino cherries:  Curie addressed the chit with  disdain “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“I’m Maria! And you’re Marie! I love your hat!”

“How noble.”  Curie dismissed her and  turned to Bohr. “And young Schrodinger? What of him?”

“Maybe late, maybe not. Dunno.”  Bohr didn’t care either way. “Mix mat. Max might. Hic.”



It was a splendid dinner, with post-prandial drinks and the illustrious group were on fire. They found the solution to all that was wrong with the world. Humanity saved by one simple equation carefully worked out  on multiple cocktail  napkins.  A new and better Eden awaits. “Celibate. Shampoo.” Heisenberg slurred;  the champagne was served  with a  silver platter bearing  a smug envelope containing an extortionate demand. Too many numbers; not enough space. Einstein went giddy and nearly passed out.

“Just split it between us, Al.”

“No way, JR. You had lobster so how it that fair?”

“Charge the whole lot to Erwin’s account. Hic.”

“But Schrodinger  isn’t here, mon cheer.”

“Isn’t he? How can we be sure? Hic.”

“I lost my cherry. Where’s it?”

“These  numbers don’t add up, Max.  Max? Max?”

“He’s out for the count, Neils.”

“Less have a go; soon work it out.”

“Pass this to Marie, Big W….. no, the other one.”

Merci, mon cher.”

“Is my cherry? Yay!”

“Ah! Salope stupide! Vin rouge partout!”

“Oh mercies! Let’s mop that up…”

“NOT THE NAPKINS!”  The cry was unanimous but too late: the new world order dissolved into soggy pulp with a little whine. It happens.

Churchill strolled up to the crestfallen group. “Close, but no cigar. You can leave the bill with me.” He left with a definite smirk.

Another prize idiot Schrodinger thought as he stole the leftover lobster for his cat.