Are you interested in ooter space? I know I am – from time to time. How can we not be? It’s above our heids, all dark and mysterious.
I witter in the wake of receiving by email, this morning as I write, a newsletter from Nasa about its explorations on yonder Mars. Imagine that – me getting an email from Nasa!
It started on Lewis
It’s just a computer-generated missive obviously, but I remember Nasa coming up when I was on a reporting assignment on the island of Lewis in the early days of new technology.
We were at the Callanish Stones waiting for a full Moon to rise (not the reason we were on Lewis but we thought we’d check it out).
And “my” photographer, who always had all the latest hi-tech gubbins, said swankily: “I’ll just get on to Nasa and see what the latest lunar movements are.”
I was right impressed, never thinking that a couple of decades hence I’d be getting emails from Nasa myself. The power of the internet!
The thing is, I must have signed up for that Nasa email during a period when I was taking a strong interest in Mars and ooter space generally.
Why Mars? I mean really
It was around the time that civilians were volunteering to go and set up new colonies on the Red Planet.
I was fascinated by that choice, and really admired several of these individuals. Why? Because Mars is rubbish that’s why. It’s just a drab old dustbowl full of stupid rocks.
Periodically, stories pop up in the popular prints about “alien life” possibly being found there. But it’s always just rotten old microbes. Who cares about them?
I wanted something with tentacles that could speak English reasonably well.
That’s why I said I get interested in space “from time to time”. Periodically, I become fascinated, but the fad soon fades. Oh, I love to look up at the stars on a rare clear night.
Only two star patterns I know
But I’ve never been really clear myself what I’m looking at. Nor can I memorise any star patterns beyond the Plough and Orion’s Belt, the only two I’ve known for years (Orion’s B more recently than the P).
What’s it supposed to mean anyway? Who’s Orion? Plough? It looks more like a shopping trolley.
And that’s before we get to Ursa Minor (Little Bear), Canis Major (Big Dog) and Cassiopeia (the Queen of Ethiopia). I ask you!
Another cause of disillusionment is the number of times we’re telt to look out for a spectacular meteor shower or eclipse or the Northern Lights.
And when do we see them, readers? Correct: never ever. Not in cloudy Scotland.
Like Close Encounters
That said, I have fond memories of being sent to the tip of Cornwall to report on a solar eclipse.
It was like something out of Close Encounters: standing on a hill with a disparate group of decent ratepayers, weirdie cults and individual eccentrics.
Suddenly, but briefly, the sunlight was snuffed out and everything went dark around us. Ooh, I had a wee shiver!
That was interesting. Maybe 2023 will see something significant happen in ooter space: chap with tentacles popping up from behind a rock on Mars and saying, “How do you do? I’m Reginald.”
One thing’s for sure: you can’t ignore space for long.
