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Professor Richard Dawkins.

Hi! G-man here. Today, I am in the hallowed halls of Oxford University, pursuing my sympathetic inquest into the death of Evolution. What better place to get to the bottom of something than a seat of learning!

I've come to meet world-famous evolutionist Richard Dawkins, often known as "Darwin's dangerous disciple" -- and without doubt the world's leading proponent of Impossibility Thinking.

Inspired by the professor's pop-science masterpiece, "Climbing Mount Improbable", an erudite ode to the impossible achievements of evolution, I have psyched myself up to believe that the good doctor himself will be the very first person I bump into today, that he will be wearing a white suit with a red carnation, that he will be balancing a well thumbed copy of Darwin's great book on his head -- and, most importantly, that he will stand me a pint of John Smith's best down the street at the Old Pig and Whistle. I know this is pretty basic stuff and only mildly improbable by his standards but it is my first attempt at impossibility thinking -- and you have to walk before you can run, as my old mum used to say.

Ah, this looks promising -- a smart-looking bloke has just sauntered out of that ivy-covered college on the corner . . . and look, he's wearing a white suit with a red carnation and balancing a book beautifully on his head. It must be Dawkins! This impossibility stuff really does work! Here goes . . .

"Ah, Doctor Dawkins, I presume!"

"No mate, my name's Michael Cain -- but not a lot of people know that. Dawkins is that geezer over there, in the white suit, wiv a red carnation and book stuck on his noggins, the one who keeps on mumbling to hiself. Wot a nutta."

"Oh well, three out of four's not bad for a first attempt. At least I've found Dawkins -- but he seems to be getting quite agitated for some reason. I'll just sidle over and introduce myself . .

"DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! . . ."

"Excuse me, my name's G-man -- am I right in thinking you are Richard Dawkins?"

"Yes, you are, Mister G-man, but not a lot of people know that. Most of the superstitious cretins think I'm Michael Cain, and they're all WRONG, as usual! . . . but DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! . . . By the way, would you like a pint of John Smith's down at the Old Pig & Whistle?"

"Ah, so you really are Richard Dawkins, the world's leading practitioner of Impossibility Thinking?"

"Yes, I am, and I'm a professor, and I'm very very clever -- and don't you ever forget it, cocker."

"Tell me, Prof, why do you keep repeating that mantra?"

"Well, Darwin woz right, wasn't he? So don't you try to deny it! I don't. I never do. I never have, and I never will. Never, never, never, so there! . . . "

"Look, Prof, I'm a bit puzzled -- you've already produced a whole string of best-selling books, such "The Blind Watchmaker", "The Selfish Gene", "River out of Eden", "The Extended Phenotype", and so on, and I understand you have more in the pipe-line. Why do you keep churning out all this stuff?"

"Well, it's not easy being right all the time, G-man. Not only do I have to keep telling these dipsticks that I am not and never have been Michael Cain, I have to keep telling them that Charlie woz right . . . because he woz, he really really woz . . . So don't you ever try to deny it, or I'll spit! . . . DARWIN WOZ RIGHT!. . . DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! . . ."

"I hear you, Prof, now calm down!"

"Cretins like you, G-man, just don't realize how clever I really am -- but one of these days you'll be sorry, because you won't have old Tricky Dicky Dawkins to kick around any more . . . Pat and I, we have a little dawg . . . Oh dear, there I go again, wrong character . . . you know, I have such a vivid imagination, it's hard to keep it under control."

"Look, Prof, as part of my sympathetic inquest into the death of Evolution, I'd like to ask you a few questions. For a starter, what about the fossil record? It still doesn't seem to show the billions of imperfect, intermediate forms that Darwin said were absolutely essential for his theory to be correct . . ."

"For Pete's sake, G-man, don't start foaming at the mouth about fossils -- bits of old rock and pre-historic crud, that's all they are. Boring! Boring! Boring! . . . Look, I never talk about the fossil record, OK? It's too basic, too simple and unsophisticated -- all those sweaty geology wallahs, pratting around in the desert, banging their little tools on bits of rock, getting suntans, behaving like boy scouts. Then when they do find something, they say, "Oh dear, sorry Dick, we've found another perfectly formed specimen!" -- when what we need is missing links and intermediate forms. They make me sick.

Take my advice, G-man, if you want to succeed in this evolution business, stick to the clever stuff -- DNA, RNA, amino acids, the human genome, the Central Dogma, the Watson-Crick model, just for starters. That's what turns me on. Blind 'em with science, I say. Confuse the bastards."

"That's great advice, Prof, and you certainly have confused a lot of people. But, tell me, how does one become an Exalted Master of Improbability, like you? Where does one begin?"

"Well, G-man, the way to start is by practising thinking about something that is fairly impossible, yet not totally impossible. OK? Hmmm, let's see . . . what about your common or garden polar bear, for example, a typical bit of bog-standard evolutionary handiwork. Not a lot of people know this, but a normal bear body has about 900 million million cells, and even though they are too small to see with the naked eye, if you were to line them up side by side, the array would reach to the moon and back . . . Mind you, I wouldn't like to try it -- because he probably couldn't bear it! Ha!

Get it, G-man? Couldn't bear it? Come on, son, sharpen up . . . Here, have another pint . . .

Anyway, each bear cell nucleus contains the full set of genes, the genetic blue-prints required to manufacture any of 200 different kinds of cell that make up a bear body, as and when they are needed to make ears, claws, stomachs, liver, brain, and all the other bits and pieces."

"Got it, Prof. Please go on."

"Well, G-man, you must understand that the genes are pure information, digital information carried as DNA. When the cells in an organism reproduce, that digital information is passed on to the new cells, and is copied with an accuracy that equals anything modern electronic engineers down at BT can manage with their microchips and computer programmes. That pure digital information, which tells cells how to self-replicate and make more cells, and so on, ad infinitum, is carried on from generation to generation, generation to generation. I like to think of it as a river of information, a river flowing out of Eden -- although there never was an Eden of course. I just call it that to wind these creation cretins up a bit."

"Never mind, Prof, that seems almost miraculous to me -- a river of digitized information!"

"Not at all, G-man, you're far too easily impressed. Anyway, that's just for starters -- Look, how do you think a growing bear embryo, starting from a single cell, knows how and when to start making different kinds of tissue, then start folding and bending and shaping itself into intestines and muscles and bones and eyes, and all the rest of it, a kind of virtuoso molecular origami performance -- so that, bingo, a few months later you've got a bear cub -- a process called gastrulation?"

"Prof, I don't know, I'm lost for words. Gastrulation appears to be horrendously complicated. How could it possibly have evolved and made itself by millions of random yet coordinated mutations? Surely it's impossible?"

"No, old son -- it only appears impossibe to the peasants. The secret is not to get bogged down in the details, or you'll get confused, like old Rev. Paley -- poor devil couldn't even believe that a simple mechanical watch could make itself. But of course it could -- given enough time! Get it? Given enough time! Ha!Ha!Ha!

Sorry, G-man. Anyway, here's how it work -- you chuck a bunch of molecules into the nearest pool of slime, stir it up with a few earthquakes, zap it with the odd flash of lightning, then sit back and let Natural Selection works its magic. Just wait 100 millions years, or so, and Bob's your uncle -- evolution moves relentlessly forward, and you get billions of cells gastrulating all over the place. See?"

"Sorry, Prof, I'm trying to believe, I really am, but I just can't do it . . . "

"OK, G-man, let;s take it one step at a time. Surely even you can believe in one little random re-arrangement of atoms -- am I right?"

"Right, Prof, I think even I can do that!"

"So, then you can believe in two random re-arrangements of atoms, right? And then three . . . and then a thousand . . . then a million, right? Then why not a billion, then a trillion, and so on? That's how it works. Now you try it."

"OK, Prof . . . I'm trying very hard to believe that that's how evolution made a bear, but . . . "

"No! No! Not a bear, G-man, not a complete bear. I said a small step forward. I'm just talking about evolving a teensie weensie bit of a bear, an ear or a claw, a nose, or something equally simple."

"All right, Prof, but how long would that take?"

"How does 20 million years grab you?"

"Hmmm. I'd like to begin to try to start to commence to believe that, Prof, but even a bear's ear is pretty complicated, with all those little bones and nerve fibres running to brain, cartilage, then it has blood vessels and hair follicles, and its general acoustic morphology, the ability ot heal itself if cut, and so on. You really think 20 million years would suffice?"

"OK, OK, G-man. Look, normally, for a simple appendage, like an ear, a foot, a fin, something on that level, I would never allow my graduate students more than 20 million years -- but since you are just a beginner at Impossibility Thinking, I'm going to give it 40 million years. Happy now?"

"That's very generous of you, Prof, but . . ."

"But, but, but! There you go again. Look, G-man, I can see that you really do have a serious credibility crisis, and I really feel sorry for you. The problem is that your thinking is far too basic, dare I say, fundamental? So here's what we do -- I wouldn't normally have the time, but I accidentally got so many books written last week I'm ahead of schedule, so I'm going to take you for a gentle foray up Mount Improbable."

"What, little me climb the great Mount Improbable?"

"Well, not right to the top, G-man -- but with my help, I think you could tackle some of the more gentle slopes. Here we go . . .

. . . Keep in mind, G-man, that the higher you go on Mount Improbable, the further you get away from reality and so the easier it gets to think the unthinkable. As a result, you become more exhilarated with every step you take. Then, even at quite modest altitudes, the creative imagination take wings and before you know it you enter a state joyful delerium -- and soon the impossible seems possible, the incredible seems common place -- and one is no longer constrained by mundane details of practicality. Yes! . . . ALL THINGS BECOME POSSIBLE I TELL YOU!!! ABSOLUTE ASSURANCE OF EVOLUTION BECOMES MINE!!! MINE!!! ALL MINE!!!. . . Aaaggghhhh!!!

Prof! Prof! Come back, come back! . . . you've gone too high, too quickly . . . Prof, can you hear me? "

". . . Ere, my name's Michael Cain. Not a lot of people know that . . . I deny all knowledge of the Watergate break-in . . . Pat and I, we have a little dawg . . ."

"Oh, thank goodness, Prof, you're back to normal. I thought we'd lost you."

"No, no, I'm quite all right, G-man. Just a touch of the old John Smith’s you know. It tends to disturb the equilibrium when quaffed in copious quantities . . .

. . . ONE HUNDRED MILLION! TWO HUNDRED MILLION! MILLIONS OF MILLIONS! . . . TRILLIONS! MILLIONS OF TRILLIONS! WHEEEE!!! . . .

"Calm down, Prof, calm down! Now what are you doing?"

"I'm practising my big numbers, G-man. You see, as Charlie realized, even in the early days, evolution needs lots and lots of time, deep time -- millions of years, billions of years . . . MILLIONS OF BILLIONS OF YEARS!!! TRILLIONS, I TELL YOU!!!"

"Stop it, Prof! Stop it! We don't need billions of years. I'm not that good yet. I'm just a beginner."

"Oh, very well, G-man. Tell you what, why don't we try that little slope over there -- the one with orchids growing on it. It looks ideal for a beginner."

"Great idea, Prof. I think I read about those orchids in National Geographical magazine. Apparently they've learned to make amazing adaptations to their environment in order to reproduce more successfully. That's why all those wasps are buzzing around them."

"The very ones, G-man. However, I should point out that you're being a little careless with your language here -- the orchids haven't actually "learned" anything, the whole process is simply the result of the persistent and relentless pressure of mindless natural selection working on millions and millions of random mutations . . ."

"Over, hundreds of millions of years! Right, Prof?"

"Not far off, G-man, but that's good -- I think you're learning. Anyway, I am particularly intrigued by this particular orchid species because their reproductive strategy involves the cooperation of a male wasp. Ah, now you've got me doing it! . . . Of course they don't have a strategy -- It's just natural selection at work. Anyway, purely by accident, the shape and colour of the flower has come to resemble that of the female of this particular species of wasp.

As a result, the orchid even has an opening in the proper place that the male wasp can just reach when it mistakenly tries to copulate with the flower, thinking it is a female wasp. Then, having done what he came to do, the naughty wasp flies on to another attractive flower, little knowing that he has been tricked into carrying some of the first flower's pollen with it, so that the orchids can achieve their aim of cross-pollination. Of course the orchid doesn't actually have an aim -- it's just natural selection at work again.

Anyway, G-man, now I want you to imagine all the millions and millions of generations of orchid that had to exist before it got all the multiple random mutations to come together in just the right way to make it all happen."

"OK, I'm trying, Prof . . . I'm trying really, really hard . . . but it's no good, it still seems impossible . . . I keep slipping back down. "

"No, G-man, it only seems impossible . . . Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention that the wasp is attracted towards the orchid in the first place because it emits a sexual odour, a pheremone, that is identical to that produced by a female wasp. Now I know this is astonishing, mind blowing, incredible, and all those other imprecise unscientific words you creationist cretins like to throw about, but it happened -- so, ipso facto, evolution really does work. It's fact of life. So come on, have another try."

"Sorry, Prof, I just can't do it. Can we try an easier slope? I think this one's a bit too steep for me."

"Rubbish, G-man. I picked this beginners' slope on purpose because there actually is an easily believable explanation for this particular phenomenon. You see, wasps are actually very stupid little creatures, not very intelligent -- so they're easily fooled, even by a dumb orchid! That's the key to it. And they have bad eyesight as well . . . So once again, the impossible becomes possible, if only you believe hard enough! Now, come on, get a grip and let's move up to a higher intellectual elevation. Remember, the beautiful thing is that it actually gets easier, the higher you go."

"Prof, before we move any higher, can I ask you a basic question? Look, all this impossibility stuff that you're famous for -- I know this is stupid, but would it be possible, for example, that the next time I walk down the street to our local chippie, I will meet a hundred national lottery winners, each one looking for a deserving chap to give a million quid to? What do you think? Isn't that totally impossible?"

"Not at all, G-man -- but you might have to walk down the street a billion times before you get the full hundred million pounds. Chances are you would only get a few thousand smackers the first time you tried. You see, old chap, it takes time -- and time is of the essence, remember. However, I should point out that the scenario you have described is far too basic for evolutionary purposes, too trivial -- far too probable."

"Tell you what, then, Prof -- what if the first lottery winner offered me one thousand pounds, the second two thousand, the third three thousand, and so on, then there would start to be a pattern, like in the genes . . . and what if I accidentally met them in alphabetical order of their names . . . and what if they each guessed my telephone and credit card numbers and then shuffled a pack of cards so that it came out in numerical order, ace to king, and by suit, hearts, diamonds spades then clubs?"

"That's better, G-man, much better, but I should point out that the evolution of even the simplest organism in nature, even an amoeba, would be infinitely more unlikely than that. No, you really must learn to think much, much bigger, or I'm just not interested."

"Sorry, Prof, but I'm just no good at this impossibility stuff. Unlike me, you seem to be impelled by a deep, inner conviction to the point that even without evidence you find evolution totally compelling and convincing? Am I right?"

"Oh, come off it, G-man, I know your shabby little game -- trying to trap me in the eloquence of my own effusions. What you have just quoted is my very own definition of "faith", mere faith -- when what I possess is nothing less than the Absolute Assurance of Evolution! Can you comprehend that? ABSOLUTE ASSURANCE I TELL YOU!!!"

"Calm down, Prof. Look, I am very impressed by your belief, I really am -- but can Absolute Assurance ever be imparted to a mere mortal like me?"

"No, G-man, not to you. At first, I thought there was hope, but no, I'm afraid that it’s completely out of the question, especially since you don't even have a doctorate in microbiology or paleontology. You really are beyond help, a hopeless case. It really is quite impossible. "

"Oh, Eureka! Eureka! At last, I've finally found something that really is impossible, Prof! . . . So you'll do it then? You'll do it?"

"Oh, very well, G-person, but only because I am a professor and I am very very clever, and don't you ever forget that . . . Hold on a minute, I already said that, didn't I? . . . Never mind, here's what you do to get started -- find yourself a good positive affirmation and psyche yourself up by repeating it a million times before breakfast, ten million times before lunch and one hundred million times before dinner. That should do the trick."

"Right on, Prof! But what kind of positive affirmation should I use?"

"Try this one . . . DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! DARWIN WOZ RIGHT! . . ."