I heard the news about the death of HM The Queen Mother early on Saturday evening, and two thoughts flashed through my mind in quick succession. The first was 'That's a pity.' The second, a moment later, was 'Oh no. I hope this doesn't mean a week of compulsory mourning.'

And of course, it didn't. It meant a longer period of compulsory mourning than that. With the funeral set for next Tuesday, the blanket news coverage will have stretched for a week and a half by the time we in Britain are finally allowed to move on. I've even heard it suggested today on BBC Radio 5 Live that next Tuesday should be a public holiday, so that we can all pay our respects to the royal deceased.

I'm generally all in favour of any excuse for a day off, but I suspect that this idea won't be taken up, as too many powerful shareholders would stand to lose too much money. And those shareholders could argue quite reasonably: why should the country come to a halt just because one very old lady has died?

In saying that, I don't wish to appear heartless. It's sad when any human being dies, and it's cruel luck on the Queen to lose a sister and a parent in such a short space of time. I am simply trying to retain some sense of perspective - something that the British nation as a whole rarely does when it comes to consider the Royal Family.

The death of the Queen Mother is a shame - and, of course, a source of great private grief for the Royal Family. But she died peacefully in her sleep after an extraordinarily long and privileged life.

We should all be so lucky. It's a pity that she's gone, but I just don't believe that her death is the end-of-an-era, world-changing event that is being depicted, at interminable length, in most British newspaper and news bulletins.

Her passing at the age of 101 seems to me to be far less tragic than that of the England cricketer Ben Hollioake, a great sporting talent cruelly snuffed out in a car crash. Ben was only 24. He should have enjoyed many more years of success, and cricket lovers around the world should have had the opportunity to enjoy watching him for years to come.

And in terms of implications for the rest of the world, the continuing carnage in the Middle East is far more significant than the death of any individual. The situation there seems to get worse every day. On one side, there are suicide bombers willing to destroy themselves and anyone unlucky enough to be near them when they carry out their mission. On the other, there's an Israeli Prime Minister who seems completely disinterested in the possibility of peace and in the horror that is felt around the world at his government's appalling actions. It's a conflict that could have huge implications for the rest of the world.

Yet when Parliament was recalled this week, two MPs who tried to raise the question of the Middle East were sternly told that they were only in the House to pay their respects to the Queen Mother. And in order to find anything out about the escalating Middle East violence on most British TV news bulletins, you first have to sit through endless tributes to that one old lady, news of the funeral arrangements, and coverage of a level of public grief that frankly seems symptomatic of a kind of collective madness.

If that last line sounds harsh and inappropriate, I'm sorry. But frankly, when you see people on television who've travelled long distances to mourn a stranger, and who will tell any passing interviewer that they feel as if they've lost a member of their own family, then 'madness' doesn't seem too strong a word to use. It suggests a rather dangerous kind of obsessive devotion - as does the level of coverage given in certain newspapers to an absurd row over the colour of the tie BBC newsreader Peter Sissons wore while announcing the Queen Mother's passing. The tie was burgundy, not black. To some strange people, this is apparently a matter of great importance.

Yet if this is all madness, then it is a undoubtedly a madness shared by many. I suppose, if I'm honest, that's what really troubles me most. Such is the volume of media coverage that I feel vaguely guilty for not really caring all that much, and for wanting to get on with life and look to the future. It's as if sorrow has been declared a civic duty.

The fact is that I was much more saddened by the deaths of George Harrison and Spike Milligan, two people who created work that moved me and influenced me. The rational part of my mind thinks that's perfectly reasonable. And yet, at the same time, I can't quite silence the nagging voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me that I must be somehow inadequate if I fail to see this gigantic loss to the British nation that everyone seems to be talking about. It is a genuinely alienating and disturbing feeling.

But then, I have never really understood the emotional relationship between my country's people and its Royal Family. It's a relationship that cannot be rationalised. For some, it seems, the Royal Family symbolise security and continuity in a way that bears little relation to what the Royals themselves actually do.

Personally, I simply can't relate to people who live such abnormal lives, as part of an institution that seems absurdly anachronistic to me. I'm frankly baffled and confused by the millions of Britons who seem to have such strong feelings of love for these remote, unelected authority figures. If you are one of those people, or an overseas Royalist, then I mean no offence. I just don't understand you, that's all.

I suppose there's really nothing for me to do except stop paying such close attention to the news until the middle of next week, and to be thankful for small mercies. At least Elton John didn't release a record this time.

At this time of year, I'm sure that many Researchers will have exams on the horizon. But I trust that h2g2 people will approach their tasks in a more honourable way that the group of students in Carleton University, Ottowa, who've just been caught copying material from the Internet.

31 Carleton students were caught out after a member of the university's staff compared their essays to essays on a similar subject that can readily be found on the Internet. In one instance, the cheating student had changed only four words from the 'Net document before submitting the essay.

Donald Russell, associate dean at the university, has said:
'Some of the offences involve the entire document submitted. They've taken parts of different websites, assembled them into an essay and submitted it as their own work.'

It's a very unfortunate business all round. But for poor Mr Russell, what makes it doubly embarrassing is the subject the students were studying.

As he put it:
'We're disappointed that this has happened in the course on ethics.'

Finally this week, news of a scientific breakthrough that might prove to be a great boon to myself and to many other h2g2 regulars.

American researchers have invented a smart drinking glass that can prevent you from ever having to go to the bar for a refill. The glass has an inbuilt alarm that tells bar staff when you need a refill.

The iGlassware system has been developed at Mitsubishi Electric in Massachusetts, who hope that restaurants and hotels will want a system to help them keep their customers satisfied and well-lubricated.

Each glass is coated with a clear conducting material, and contains a microchip linked to a thin radio-frequency coil in its base. When the liquid level falls, there's less of the surface in contact with the insulating material. This sets off a signal sent on a similar frequency to those used by mobile phones, which is then picked up by a receiver set into the table and alerts the bar staff. Someone should then be at your table to offer you a refill before you can say 'Shame again, pleashe.'

Unfortunately, the glasses cannot yet help you stand up after you've accepted ten refills, or guide you safely home. But I'm sure that Mitsubishi are working on it.

Somehow, I doubt that the smart glasses will have reached Lytham St Annes on the Lancashire coast just yet, but I'm sure I'll cope when I'm there next week. I'm going to get away from it all by going to the seaside to indulge my inner big kid, so this column will be taking a break next week. But if I survive all the white-knuckle rides on Blackpool Pleasure Beach, I'll see you in a fortnight.

Ormy's 'Notes' and Other Scribblings

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