…something wicked this way comes.
Yesterday, in the corner shop (I was only buying a coke, and some fags, and some sweeties*) I espied the Daily Star. I have on occasion bought newspapers. That statement doesn’t require any qualification because The Star is only a newspaper in the sense that it can be used to set a fire in much the same way the Daily Mail can.
Anyway whilst the likes of the Times, Telegraph, Guardian and Indy were trudging through Sophocles for refs to “Greek Tragedies”. Superfluous I say. Dear gods upon Olympus! Four thousand years ago they were stealing fire from the heavens and now they are having to have their first born sons buggered by the IMF. How the mighty have fallen!. I’ve been to Greece and most glorious were the ruins. The birth place of western civilization but…
The Earth is the cradle of the mind, but we cannot live forever in a cradle.
- Konstantin Tsiolkovsky.
Along with Robert Goddard the father of modern rocketry. You know a day trip slightly more notable than Mr Thomas Cook chartering a horse-drawn charabanc for a temperance trip form Leicester to Loughborough. Tsiolkovsky had higher ideas. I’ve been through Loughbrough. There is the cubic root of fuck all there. The stars though? Well that’s just going home.
I’ve have seen Goddard’s rockets at the Smithsonian. (The entrance foyer of the Smithsonian NASM was probably the nearest I ever came to sensory overload). Oh that’s just the Apollo 11 capsule… And that’s “just” because that’s an SS-20 and that’s…) Even my wife (a bird) was impressed by the Enterprise on static display at the Steven F Udvar-Hazy Annex. She was like, “That’s a space ship!”. Yeah, I thought. I’d seen it years before in Florida. They had removed the bird’s nest from one of the thrusters between times. As ever it was the SR-71 that fried my root vegetables. My wife thought it looked “sinister”. I thought it looked like proof there was a Kelly Johnson. I hsve designed and built things but none of them did Mach 3.x. The “x” is classified but it is around 5. I paid my homage to my second Archangel. What a cold-forged titanium piece of work! They used to fly those things with total impunity over the Commosphere (4000+ SAMs and not a scratch).
Anyway! From the sublime (slipping those surly bonds and all) to the ridiculous and The Star. Apparently someone else has given birth to the spawn of Giggs. Oh to be a divorce lawyer! This is going to put some legal eagle’s great-grandchlidren through college. Anyway I was assaulted by some vision out of Spiritus Mundi. I saw a wasteland with cots as far as the eye can see with first one, then anyother chubby little arm raised, “I am Giggsy”. I don’t recall Sir Alex voicing an opinion but I can almost imagine what it is. Anyway, if there is one bright spark to this whole farrago which shows the law is an ass (super-injunctions and all) and Ryan Giggs is an even bigger one the Enland team might have a left-footed mid-fielder by 2030.
*A Stepney Breakfast. A proper Stepney breakfast would include a Whispa Gold but who’s counting?