The horse has deeper issues at hand than it leads the viewer to believe, and this can be seen very clearly in this particular moment of the video.

Whereas, if, springing ashore at Cyprus, she had tumbled, as the no less exquisite Sophia was to tumble, and revealed the inadequacies of sixteenth-century underclothing, the play would no longer be the Othello we know.

It’s the marvelous story of three ambitious witches living in a small New England town in the late 1960s, who find themselves quite under the spell of the new man in town, Darryl Van Horne, whose hot tub is the scene of some rather bewitching delights.

Here were boys and girls my age twisting, spinning and jumping at each other and they all seemed to know what they were doing.

The major conflict is that of the Quaid character, who has missed much of his son’s upbringing owing to his penchant for jumping crevasses on remote ice shelves.

Polly was a 1960s hipster who found herself mixed up in some unfortunate business when her boss developed a malevolent artificial intelligence.

A device too small and weak to satisfy the above definition does not count as a paperclip and so a given mass cannot be subdivided into infinitely many paperclips.

The relationship has not since thawed. On page 222 of the 2001 autobiography, Philosopher: A Kind of Life, Honderich has a discussion of the department and refers to McGinn. He writes: “The envy of my small colleague, Colin McGinn, also vegetarian, extended to even wanting to be Martin Amis.” What was that about? Well, McGinn is not just a philosopher but a published, if rather unsuccessful, novelist; what’s more, Honderich is 6ft 4in of gangly Canadian socialist philosopher, so most people must seem small. Honderich thinks this explains McGinn’s hostile review.

The theory baffled most of the 11 philosophers.

Unity of science is thus achieved by our not having the foggiest idea about anything in it — with the rapturously Hegelian consequence that our knowledge is proportional to our ignorance.