Six degrees of separation

They say that there are no more than six degrees of separation between any two people. The immediate question that begs to be asked, is just exactly who are ‘they?’ Is there a mysterious group of people somewhere who spends their time devising clever things to say and do? Could there be a think tank somewhere charged with anonymously doing these witty things? Or am I just weird for wondering this in the first place? Anyway, back to degrees of separation.

I always considered this six degrees of separation idea to be a load of twaddle, until I had reason to consider my relationship with a particular notable person. Consider the following…

My ‘other’ job used to be working in a government department where…I worked in a particular area with a Mr A…whose father, Mr A Snr, worked in advertising, including the successful 1972 Labour Party election campaign…and was preceded in that account by author Bryce Courtenay, before Courtenay left the advertising game.

Forget about six degrees of separation – there’s only four between Bruce Courtenay and myself. Damn me – we’re practically family!

Hey Bryce maaaate – can I borrow the car on the weekend to cart some stuff to the tip? And Mrs Rant could use a hand unclogging the septic tank if you have a few minutes spare. Thanks mate.

There are some obvious flaws with this six degrees of separation theory. For example, it is a little difficult to see how say an Arctic Eskimo could have only six degrees of separation from say a King’s Cross pole dancer. Nonetheless, it is possible to draw some rather startling associations by examining some historical facts. Take for example, the following…

King Phillip II of Spain sent a great Armada against England…consisting of a great fleet of sailing ships expected to give the Poms a hiding…and was lead by a reticent nobleman from a quiet part of Spain…that sounds a bit like a warmer version of Tasmania which…was the original home of Ricky Ponting, who lead a cricketing armada which also inexplicably failed to beat the Poms.

Hmmmm the mind boggles a little at the possibilities that this presents. I better be careful lest I start finding some unpleasant or startling revelations about myself.