Planet Utopia
Meanwhile back on planet Utopia…
Utopia is a wonderful place. Everyone’s happy. Not smug. Just happy. And healthy. They never fight. They’ve never known anyone who ever fought. In fact the concept of actually fighting does no exist in the minds of any of its inhabitants. Just like we can’t get our heads round the concept of a five-dimensional chihuahua, they have no grasp of the notion that anybody could hurt anybody else. They all give love without any thought whatsoever. There are actually no good people there – but that is only because there are no bad people. Because all people are good on Utopia, the concept of good has no meaning. They just are. And they’re happy. Technologically they are massively advanced – they don’t need to waste any time and resources on fighting, so all their efforts are simply and efficiently focused on taking their civilisation forward, instead of constantly taking two steps back. Like we do.
Nice idea.
And then one day a small insignificant Utopian, Havanka, pops along to his local patent office. (Actually, they don’t have a Patent Office as such – nobody wants to claim the rights to any new invention, people who think things up just offer stuff to the common good of everybody. Everybody reaps the benefit of everybody else’s ideas. They share stuff.)
Havanka takes in his new invention. He waits patiently in the short queue of Utopians all trying their hardest to give something to their world. Then he’s next to be called in. And then he’s in.
“Ah, hello Mr..urr…Havanka (?), what have you brought for us to look at?”
Havanka pulls out of his pocket a piece of metal, about the size of a book. Lumpy, with a rather attractive piece of polished walnut attached to one end. The Patent Inspector (who loves his job) picks up the item, and is a little surprised at its weight. He peers into one end. Havanka starts to explain what it is, but the inspector gestures for him to wait, in order to relish the excitement of figuring out what the mystery object is for. He takes his time. Fiddles with the levers. Spins bits. Can’t get any music out of it, doesn’t smell good, not a particularly beautiful item. Eventually the inspector admits defeat.
“Ok, Mr…err…Havanka (?), I give in! Tell me what it is!” and he smiles a kindly smile.
Havanka is by now terribly excited. Grinning. He calls the inspector outside to demonstrate. The inspector gladly follows Havanka out into the street, in intrigued bemusement.
“Look! Watch this!” exclaims Havanka.