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Feedback: The Norwegian island that’s calling time on time

Feedback is our weekly column of bizarre stories, implausible advertising claims, confusing instructions and more

The land after time

If you are thinking of visiting the Norwegian island of Sommarøy, there is no time like the present. In fact, there is no time at all, as from its shackles (otherwise known as wristwatches).

The small village to the west of Tromsø sits inside the Arctic circle and receives constant sunlight from May to late July. Campaigners want to take advantage of this surplus of daytime, dispensing with clocks so as not to feel they should be doing anything at any particular hour.

As resident and wannabe Time Lord Kjell Ove Hveding says in a video on Facebook: “If you want to paint your house at 2 am, it’s OK. If we want to take a swim at 4 am, we will.” Of course, without time, there will be no way of knowing when you are doing these things, which somewhat dampens the frisson of doing odd jobs at odd hours.

We wait to see how the vested interests of Big Clock strike back at the free-spirited natives of Sommarøy. Meanwhile, using our own time-warping powers to read this magazine before these words appear in it, Feedback notes that scientists are still grumbling about whether our perception of time might be an illusion (see “The time paradox: How your brain creates the fourth dimension“).

Our first response is that author and cosmic guide Douglas Adams was certain it was, and “lunchtime doubly so”. But might there be an opportunity for science here? We envisage a reversal of the pioneering self-experiments of Michel Siffre, who, over decades, has been lowering himself into caves to see how perpetual darkness affects his perception of time’s flow (oddly, it turns out).

We see only one problem: researchers will have to find some way of agreeing a time to meet the residents of Sommarøy.

Slowing to a crawl

Another blow against time and timeliness: trains in Kyushu, Japan, mysteriously ground to a halt last month. The culprit, according to railway operator JR Kyushu, was a slug that had, um, wormed its way into an electrical power device.

It didn’t end well for the slug, . Feedback sees this as a noble self-sacrifice, liberating 12,000 passengers from their commute and, we assume, giving them a rare moment to reflect on their lives, connect with those around them and contemplate the world passing them by. There is something about living life at a snail’s pace.

X marks the spot

Amid growing confusion about when we are, at least we seem ever more certain about where we are. Hugh Casement discovers that the website of Wiltshire Council in the UK gives : in latitude to 14 decimal places (a nanometre or so), and longitude to 16 (in the picometres). “They don’t reveal which molecule in each case,” says Hugh. “I think we should be told!”

Zero-sum game

A few quadrillion picometres to the south-east in Southampton, word of how a new weapon against pollution is faring: buses that filter the air.

A 14,500-kilometre trial run of the bus, specially equipped with an air filter on its roof, showed it captured 65 grams of particulate matter over its journey. Hooray! But before we get too excited, Feedback notes like this produce around 0.0045 grams of particulate matter per kilometre. So the bus also made, er, 65-odd grams of airborne smut.

We salute this novel approach to achieving zero particulate emissions. But given all the other benefits, might we suggest that rather than lugging around two contraptions – one for generating soot and another for removing it – we streamline the process and go electric?

Oxygen of publicity

Speaking of clean air, Patrick Fenlon recalls a property management company in New Zealand called Oxygen. In front of its Wellington headquarters hung a banner with the slogan “Providing Oxygen to the Property Market”.

Apparently doubting this claim, says Patrick, “Wellington Council had installed an air quality measuring station”.

A rich diet

that police are investigating a zoo in Nigeria, after an official apparently claimed that a gorilla broke into an office and ate £15,000 worth of cash. An employee in the finance department at Kano Zoo reportedly blamed the unnamed ape after five days’ worth of entrance fees went missing.

Perhaps not too much of a stretch: gorillas’ diets often encompass large quantities of bamboo, so perhaps this one had developed expensive tastes. Readers may recall similar shenanigans in 2018, when a rat with anti-capitalist tendencies broke into an ATM in India and chewed the equivalent of £13,000 of cash to shreds.

But with other sources denying the zoo even has gorillas, there may be a less cute explanation. The BBC reports that 10 have been arrested in the search for the missing money. It seems the ape isn’t among them.

Deadman walking

Self-certified nominative determinism from reader Bryn Deadman. “Time to confess!” he writes. “After a career in oncological nursing, I moved on to run a palliative care service.” He doesn’t record patients’ reactions.

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