Numbers

My mother’s favourite number was 17 but she detested 21, maintaining that it was dark and ugly. My father, who revered mathematics, would shake his head wearily as if to indulge her delusion. It wasn’t until years later, when one of my sons declared that each number had its own unique and consistent colour, that I encountered the relatively widespread phenomenon of synaesthesia, which was the obvious explanation for my mother’s remarks. The concept would not have been accepted by my parents, who took the view that all psychology was quackery. In their eyes, it belonged in the basement of the science pyramid at the top of which stood mathematics.

From the age of 8 to 11, I caught the number 75 bus to the only school I attended with pleasant memories, despite once being caned by the headmaster for a minor misdemeanour which tells you all you need to know about the others. During that time, the bus fare jumped from 11/2d to 2d, a scandalous 33% hike, the farthing being so little used by then that a more modest increase would have been impractical.

Mathematics was a subject in which I never flourished. My father’s insistence that I nevertheless took A-level, in the implacable conviction that it was essential for prospering in any scientific discipline, was a mistake. The alternative, biology, would have been a better alternative and opened the path to a more appropriate university course choice.

Another family obsession was prime numbers. Reaching a birthday whose number was prime was considered to have extra significance. When I attained 51, it was several months before I realised that it was not prime but the product of 3 and 17.

Thirteen has long been held to be unlucky, with most American buildings omitting the number from rooms and floors. I discovered a more substantial omission in the Millennium Hotel in New York. One bank of elevators runs from the ground floor to level 25 while a second bank serves levels 30 to 42. As I proved by walking the single flight of stairs between levels 25 and 30, the missing floors do not exist! In a city defined by height, the quirky numbering is simply designed to enable the hotel to seem taller than it is.