THE RACE FOR SPACE

                                                            

                                                            THE RACE FOR SPACE!

On the twentieth day of July 1969 three Americans chaps became heroes during their excellent adventure when they nipped off to the moon.  The world apparently marvelled at the feat.   I remember thinking that in just over three weeks time it would be the first anniversary of the elimination of steam hauled trains on our railways.  This latter date (11/8/68) having much greater significance and bearing on everyday life than an awful lot of money being spent so that  'spacemen' could gallivant for eight days basically 'playing amongst the stars' - though not yet Jupiter or Mars!

Thinking about it, though not for longer than necessary, the most iconic 'leftover' were their footprints which I believe are still extant.  I knew they left an American flag, but then they would do, they are Americans!  What is telling is that whilst scientific equipment remained to continue its work, they left behind tools and bagged rubbish.  Today we witness a solar system awash with debris and not just American debris.  Every nation involved in heavenly flights has sadly left its mark.

Years on, various successes and failures later and here we are once again, this time The Red Planet, Mars! Perhaps it was the colour pics, perhaps it was due to the subject being on Breakfast TV, or perhaps it was seeing Perseverance land slowly and clearly that caught my attention, who knows...

The crispness of the visual recordings were frankly stunning, much better defined than anything I'd imagine being possible.  It was then that the seeds of doubt were sown.  I recalled the theories, continuing to this day, that in fact no-one arrived on the moon in 1969 and that it was all filmed in a studio.  Talk of shadows not being where they should be, a lack of stars in the background and the flag seemingly waving in an airless environment have all contributed to the idea that it was all shot in Area 51 in Nevada.  To be fair,  my money goes on the whole episode being true.   I just can't see the Russians not making capital of the situation years ago.  Mind you, wouldn't it have been satisfying to have learned that it was in fact a hoax, committed in partnership with the British and filmed at either Shepperton Studios or a temporarily revived Ealing.  I'm now flying high in my world of fancy.  Imagine,  cost-conscious Yanks agreeing to and using  British actors for the parts in order to save on travel costs!  I can see Neil Armstrong being played by Arthur Lowe, Buzz Aldrin by Patrick Macnee and Michael Collins by Leslie Phillips, they just need to dub the accents - or retain them on the grounds of class!

Meanwhile, back in the world of startling reality, the 'Red Planet' did match its description.  I was captivated by the NASA website and spent more time than the dog was comfortable with (it was walkies time!).  As I scoured the landscape I stopped at one picture that had been mystifying staff back at the US Ground Control.  What appeared to be a slip of oblong-shaped paper was declared to be a sliver-thin slice of rock.  Oh wouldn't it have been fun if it had turned out to be  part of a 1932 Morris or a label from an 18th century apothecary's jar, or better still, a receipt for a Mars Bar?  What I was surprised to find, and pleasantly so, was the complete lack of reference on any of the planet's surface to 'Black Lives Mattering' or a banner planted on behalf of the LGBT etc brigade.  Mind you, it will probably be mandatory on the first manned flight, hopefully I'll be long gone by then... They do have steam trains in heaven, don't they?

THE REVEREND JAREL ROBINSON AND HIS ANGER ISSUES...

               

              THE REVEREND JAREL ROBINSON-BROWN AND HIS ANGER ISSUES...

It was not without a little disquiet that my attention was drawn to an article concerning the reaction to Captain Tom Moore's passing and the subsequent clapping of hands.  This gesture was to provide the public with an opportunity to share not only the family's grief but to acknowledge his achievements and celebrate a life unknown to the public at large for ninety-nine years and then known world-wide for his last few months.

The option was afforded to all, to clap or not to clap.  What was totally unnecessary was the response on social media by a black homosexual vicar deriding the gesture.  Now, on the basis that freedom of speech is fundamental in a democracy it is difficult to argue against someone posting their views, feelings and observations via Fastbuck, Twatter or any other platform shared by millions.  That said, feathers were ruffled across the white majority of this country - and it is still a majority despite the BBC indicating otherwise.

Whilst the angry young - well, 29year-old man - may not wish to join in  a public mark of respect for Captain Moore, his comment that the clapping was a 'Cult of white British nationalism' smacked of all things tribal and sadly becomes all to easy to mock.  The very fact that this black homosexual wishes to spend his time sniping at his fellow indigenous white neighbours whilst taking employment from a religious cult is fairly ironic in itself! Just how 'christian' is the man? 

You can garner a taste of his bile when he describes Boris Johnson and Priti Patel as 'Oppressors'.  He goes on to argue that the British honours system is 'Deeply married to white supremacy' before labelling those involved 'Ignorant white christian men'.  The poor boy does seem troubled...

Apparently Mr. J R-B was recently appointed to a pointless posting at a presbyterian church  by the equally pointless Bishop of London, a gal who goes by the name of Sarah Mulally.  At least the cult's hierarchy deemed their great black hope's views with concern describing them as 'unacceptable, insensitive and ill-judged'.  There is also a review to be launched by the Highly Pointless Archdeacon of London.  Talk about jobs for the unemployable.  Still, it keeps them off the streets and cocooned in their  little world of historic abuse and denouncement of sin perpetrated by those outside their church! (Wry smile time)

Hard on the heals of his social postings, as opposed to an overseas posting, which is what I'd give him, he has been subjected to 'Racist abuse'. Surprise, surprise!  The man clearly hates our native population and our country. He should do the honourable thing and leave our shores,  never to return, Go! Bugger off, your'e clearly not happy here... But then, people like him never are.   He would rather remain and whinge from within, possessing as he does a lifelong shoulder chip of black origin. 

During one of his social media rants on Twatter he opined that the 'UK government do not want those experiencing poverty or homelessness to survive this pandemic'.  He clearly has a problem with authority and his role in society.  True to form, and close to his ethnic heart he commented, somewhat predictably on the Home Office's decision to deport 50 blacks back to Jamaica.  He said 'The Home Office can go to hell. 50 Black Brits are to be deported tomorrow. Utter injustice and wickedness'.  These 50 undesirables are all criminals.  Why should British taxpayers continue to support them in this country, we have enough undesirables of our own to contend with let alone those who arrived from foreign climes - either recently, or those who are the offspring of immigrants arriving several generations ago.  To me they are merely passport holders and will never be British, certainly never English!

Last November he commented that 'Jamaicans should build a device to direct all the flood water to Britain because those landslides and severe flooding are a legacy of colonisation and poor infrastructure'.  As I said, the poor deluded sap has problems.  He is to publish a book this coming July entitled 'Black, Gay, British, Christian, Queer'.   Well, you can't say he isn't hanging all his hangups on a single mast. Hmmmmm...Just thinking, perhaps I should take inspiration from his title and call my next book 'White, Straight, English, Atheist, Normal'.  Can't see me getting much publicity on the BBC though... 

NOW THAT REMINDS ME...

                                                     

                                                         NOW THAT REMINDS ME...

I received a phone call early last week from my local health centre informing me that I was being offered the chance to be vaccinated against this 'ere Covid virus.  My appointment was for Sunday the 31st January, five days after the call.  I was impressed and thanked the lady for her courtesy.  I noted the time in my virtually unsullied diary - 6.50pm - and wrote alongside 'Lakeside Club'.  Now, the Lakeside Club, or 'Potters' is where Darts competitions take or took place.  Not being a fan of the 'hobby' or 'leisure interest' - you can hardly call it a sport - I recalled the times that a small group of us in the 70's and 80's would make the ten minute journey to Frimley Green and partake in a 'Chicken in the Basket' meal whilst awaiting the entertainment that took to the stage some time later.  There was, I suspect some form of entertainment leading up to the very reason you were there in the beginning, but it certainly wasn't memorable.  I remember seeing Les Dawson there once. He took to the floor, picked up the mic and wiped his hand across his face. He said absolutely nothing, but it was his timing.  The hall erupted in laughter. he told jokes, he told stories, he played the piano - badly and well.  I cannot remember how long his act was, but I do remember hoping he would finish as my sides were aching to the point of discomfort.  Yes, he was that good.

At 6.15pm last Sunday evening I set sail... well I turned the ignition on in the Kia and sallied forth to my northerly destination.  I was met in the rain by a very pleasant lady who directed me to a parking spot before pointing the way to the main entrance.  Cheerful lady after cheerful lady took my temperature,  confirmed my address, another checked my appointment time before a finger pointed to a free chair tucked around the corner.  There seemed to be about ten doctors and paramedics all seated at socially distanced stations with willing participants called forward by yet another smiley person.

I was called forward and after a few further checks and advice on 'Do's and Don'ts' post-injection it was a case of 'Left shoulder Forward'.  Not even an 'Ouch', didn't feel a thing. Bidding the lady with the power of life over possible death 'Goodbye' I made my way to the stage area where everyone takes fifteen minutes out in order to check that they are not suffering from a reaction to the injection.  Incidentally the lady with the syringe mentioned that I was being  given the English Oxford variety.  Possibly slightly presumptuous, but I'd assumed that it would naturally be provided to all Surrey residents.  After all, when God created Earth he used Surrey as his starting point, it was all downhill from there on - Joke!! (NOT about G starting in Surrey but the very idea that there is a God!!)

It never occurred to me that I might be feeling any after-effects until I followed the 'Way Out' signs and found myself opening a cupboard door and mingling with a gaggle of mops and their appropriate buckets. Apparently it was the NEXT door on the right!

I drove home thinking of the wonderfully efficient service everyone had  provided with grace, manners and not a little humour.  There was even a lady sat on the stage overseeing the volunteers charged with wiping down the seats we had sat on for that fifteen minute 'Recovery Period'.

It's so refreshing to be proud of one's country for once.  So pleasing to see that when the chips are down and it's a case of 'All hands to the deck' we can actually pull it off...  even more satisfying of course when you read of Europe's little distribution problem.  I shall sit quite smugly as the autocrats in Brussels point fingers, play the 'Blame Game' and ponder as to who follows the UK out of the EU!