Last week celebrated 50 years since Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. No one can remember the name of the 3rd pilot who was too tired to get out of the spaceship after driving all that way, so they just call him Michael Collins. He probably wishes he just read the map now.
Personally, I don’t remember the first moon landing but I’ve heard there was a great “space race” at the time but the fact it took the United States 4 days to reach the moon makes me wonder just how rubbishly slow was the Russian rocket?
Just 4 months after the moon landing, the BBC aired a real-life fly-on-the-wall documentary series called The Clangers – a knitted version of Benefit Street where the impoverished family from the moon area of space lived exclusively on green soup, cheese from trees and blue string pudding.
Just 3 years later, after acknowledging that the humble Clanger family had not only visited the moon but colonised it, both America and Russia conceded defeat and decided to totally abandon their moon landing programmes. They haven’t returned to that place with no atmosphere since 1972 nor, for similar reasons, Dymchurch.
I’ve always been totally fascinated with space, particularly Star Trek and watch in awe as Captain Kirk searches galaxies for intelligent life forms and I often wonder what his findings would be for Wetherspoons?
I also wonder why, having seen one of his crew be killed within minutes of landing on a planet every week, he decides to stay anyway? I’m sure Buzz Aldrin would’ve been off the moon pretty sharpish if Neil Armstrong had ended up in Clanger soup.
Inspired by space travel, I remember once asking my dad if I could ever go to Mars?
He said: “I’m afraid it’s just you and me from now on. Your ma has decided to start a new life for herself with the Reverend Marcus Leek. She doesn’t want you around anymore.”
Yeah, I’ve always been a terribly misunderstood child.