The Doomsday Clock needs an upgrade

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Hello humans! I hope you are in the finest of fettles. Let me make it even finer. Because I think I’ve found a way to help stave off humans’ self-induced planetary destruction. I mean, that can’t hurt, right?

How can I achieve such a wondrous goal via the simple medium of a newsletter? By nothing less than the power of ideas, a force more awesome than any number of American Bunker Busters. Brains not Bombs, I say. Minds not Megatons.

And the idea I want to share in this post pertains to the DOOMSDAY CLOCK. This concept was cooked up by the nonprofit ‘Bulletin of The Atomic Scientists’ in 1947, and it’s a curiously quaint barometer measuring how close planet Earth is to a human-made global catastrophe.

My first observation is that the Bulletin of The Atomic Scientists are probably not exactly a barrel of laughs. I think we can all agree on that.

Now let’s look at the clock itself. It was initially set at 23:53, i.e. seven minutes to midnight. This was TWO YEARS AFTER THE END OF WORLD WAR II. Therefore I think it’s safe to say that this was intended to be a somewhat pessimistic reading of the likelihood of armageddon.

Ooooooh how little they knew.

Right now, as you read this, the clock is currently set at 23:58:31. That’s 89 SECONDS to midnight. Yes, things are so bad that the scientists had to give the Doomsday Clock a second hand (which ironically is its third hand - humans are weird).

AND YET, collectively, world leaders seem not to be giving a flying Farage about this risk. War is now ravaging eastern Europe AND the Middle East, not to mention conflicts in Sudan/South Sudan, Yemen and many more.

Something needs to be done. And if you ask me - and even if you don’t - I think we need to take a look at the Doomsday Clock. Because frankly, it ain’t working, is it?

What humanity needs is a far more potent symbolic measurement for the state of the planet. And I’ve got just the ticket.

I am delighted to announce the birth of THE WETHERSPOONS CLOCK.

The principle is simple: Earth’s proximity to the apocalypse will henceforth be measured according to various states of a typical outlet of the infamous pub chain. I propose the following threat levels:

1. BOTTOMLESS BREAKFAST: LOW RISK

The pub has just opened and it’s almost empty. There’s just one old bloke in a corner, reading the Sun while devouring a Full English and a Doom Bar. The only threat is indigestion and prolonged time-wasting by staff trying to work out how to cook an egg. Humanity is safe.

2. FIRST SHOTS: ELEVATED RISK

A group of lads have arrived and ordered a round of Jagerbombs before noon. One of them is attracted to the quiz machine by its bright flashing lights, but has no hope whatsoever of being able to operate it. Possible stag do detected. Vigilance advised.

3. CURRY CLUB: SUBSTANTIAL RISK

Several clusters of middle-aged men have staked out territory in the pub, drawn in by the admittedly enticing two-for-one lunch deals. Conversation levels are uncomfortably high. Occasionally audible amidst the hubbub are debates about Fantasy Premier League selections, and snatches of Reform-worthy jingoistic bullshit by ruddy-faced gents in tight-fitting t-shirts. Caution required.

4. TOILET TROUBLE: SEVERE RISK

The pub is now heaving, boosted by the after-work crowd who almost outnumber the sad-acts who have been in since 2pm and are already six pints deep. Every single gents’ toilet is out of order, unable to cope with the aftershocks of Curry Club. One patron has already had recourse to deposit more than a wee in the urinal. Even worse, the distance from the bar to the lavatories in this (and all Wetherspoons) is so long and twisty that the route is becoming strewn with collapsed drinkers who never made it. Do not travel. Shelter in place.

5. FEEDBACK LOOP: CRITICAL RISK

It is now past 10pm and the pub is fit to bursting thanks to the arrival of hordes of football fans, angry at England’s failure to defeat Algeria in a men’s World Cup group game. Conditions are treacherous underfoot due to the compound effects of Guinness, Estrella and mango chutney on the long-suffering patterned carpet. Staff are preoccupied by throwing out a group of underage sixth-formers, leading to frustration at the bar with queues of tanked-up arseholes growing to nine deep. With disturbances looking imminent, the flat screen TVs mounted high on the walls are now showing rolling coverage of live scenes inside this very pub. Write your will.

6. SWEET CAROLINE: ARMAGEDDON

The football contingent have by now achieved full supremacy, belting out a cacophonous medley of annoying songs: Three Lions… Sweet Caroline… and the one about the German bombers. A lary fan whose eyesight is still functioning fully spots a lost gaggle of opposition fans walking past the pub. The England mob spill out onto the street, then discovering that the lost group are in fact Germans. Apocalypse Now.

Pièce de Résistance

Here’s the icing on the cake. Unlike the Doomsday Clock, which is a theoretical concept, a public manifestation of my new invention of the Wetherspoons Clock WILL ACTUALLY EXIST. And in a sense it already does. I will haver it installed as an upgrade to the ceiling clock inside the Herbert Wells branch of ‘Spoons in Woking, named after the famed author of science fiction novels. Here’s the clock in its current form.

Once my device is in position here, the tourist trade to this pub will go through the roof. Not literally, of course. That would break the clock. But it will expand the economy of Woking, the South East and the UK as a whole, finally providing the nation with some much-needed growth.

I appreciate there is a small crimp in my plan, which is that it could bring profits to arch Brexiteer and human Shredded Wheat, Sir Tim Martin. Therefore I will place a £10 million windfall tax on the Wetherspoons empire, to balance things out.

And there it is. What do you think? Will this warning system help humans avoid a self-inflicted cataclysm? Is it a guaranteed vote winner?

(Spoiler: OF COURSE IT IS!)

If you’ve enjoyed this post, I’d be over the moon and several planets if you’d do me the honour of UPGRADING TODAY to a full subscription to Count Binface Lifts The Lid. It’s the weekly home of my full, exclusive new writing and policy pledges, along with all sorts of extra goodies along the way. Plus you’ll be supercharging my efforts to defend and celebrate democracy in intergalactic style.

Peace and love,

CB x