I say farewell to my hopes and dreams

I cried today. I never thought I’d see this; a turning away from our outward urge. From Apollo 8 to this final flight of the Endeavour, I have followed our space exploration for years. In real terms Endeavour has not been the end. The end probably happened years ago when we decided that space exploration should give way to delivery runs to our global communications system. And exploration into space may well continue; reaching out to the future will pass to the developing world, to China and India. It has probably been a mistake to identify our access to space with NASA and the American push.

I sort of assumed I would spend my twenties and thirties in Luna City, moving out to the asteroid belt as my children, Jack and Selene, became independent and moved towards their own entrance into space. Seconds would have become true metric units as I thought in kiloseconds, megaseconds, gigaseconds, divorced from the constraints of planetary life.

Sigh.

When did my dream disappear? Did Star Wars do it?  Maybe. We seemed to become so embedded in our make believe that the reality of the careful, hugely expensive, preparations for each tiny step seemed silly and petty. In my mind’s eye I have journeyed out, swung around the astonishing rings of Saturn, plunged into the cold depths of interstellar space, walked on strange new worlds, gloried in communication with mysterious and beautiful aliens. Except we didn’t and haven’t and now we’re not even moving towards that vision. Why plod through the endless expensive tedium when cgi lets us believe we are the gods themselves?

Perhaps it’s for the best. Potentially we could squander all the wealth of our beautiful world on finally getting out to a cold and sterile place where we lament our loss; a world destroyed by our efforts to escape from it, a paradise where, if we had stayed, we might have flourished in serene joy. What we seem to have achieved is both less and more tragic than that. We have neither seeded the planets and stars nor relaxed into an eco-paradise. We’ve wasted our opportunities and our wealth on producing vast quantities of ugly trash in which we are slowly sinking. Damn! We are a pedestrian race who neither reach for the stars nor build something fine here on Earth. No wonder I weep.

Thursday at the Fringe

We missed a day on Wednesday. Because it wasn't Fringy I didn't write it down and now I have no idea what we did, other than eat. Lunch at Equi's Restaurant & Ice Cream Parlour. I had real food but Ian and Julian both had enormous ice cream sundaes. If you are ever in Hamilton you really ought to make the pilgrimage to this wonderful place. The ice cream at Nonna's in Sheffield is excellent but Equi's make Dime Bar Crunch, and apple pie ice cream and lemon curd ice cream and the sublime cranachan ice cream. I had a tiny cone of dime bar crunch, just so I wasn't resentful of the boys. Dinner was at Pintxo in Glasgow which has been refurbished to fit more tables in but was as wonderful as always. I love tapas (and meze and thali and etc) and Pintxo does the best tapas I've tasted in the UK. Julian ate until he could hardly move. We didn't have pudding. Then I, cautiously, drove home. Hardly driving these days results in a certain amount of nervousness but Ian was starting to complain about never being able to drink at restaurants.


Thursday we had a late start and a very gentle evening. First, however, we took Julian to see the Pineapple. Here's the Pineapple in all it glory:


Full details of this remarkable, beautiful and rather silly building can be read online here. Ian never buys me a present like this. I am faintly resentful, although what I'd do with this delightful place without the associated fortune and a four wheel drive car I don't quite know. It's a long commute to Sheffield.

Here's a picture of Juilan's face when he saw the fabulous structure:

From this revelation we made our way through South Queensferry into Edinburgh where Julian and I did a quick raid on Transreal. The rather reserved guy who runs the shop looked quite pleased to see Julian but was probably desperately disappointed when Julian restrained himself from his usual spending spree. Travel by train means restricted luggage. I only bought four books myself, three planned and a Diana Wynne Jones novella which was rather sweet. 


We rendezvoused at Under the Stairs for a cocktail and to make a table booking for later then dashed off to meet Lilian at the Stand to see Andy Zaltzman. This was a tremendous show. Andy is one of our favourites. I was originally introduced to him the year he was jilted by John Oliver who heartlessly abandoned him for Jon Stewart. He was good then if a little lost. Since then we have seen him each year and got a regular fix from the Bugle podcast. What can I say? His description of his delivery of his son was magnificent. He surely isn't as incompetent and unsupportive as he suggests or there probably wouldn't be two children in the family. He would have been jilted again, long since. The rest was, as always, both funny and thought provoking.


What did I eat Under the Stairs? Pitta and dips, because I always do, and cauliflower cheese. Both yummy. I shared a bottle of Viognier with Lilian and then we up and dashed back to the Pleasance to see Emo Phillips. He is a very odd comedian but well worth seeing again. His delivery is slow and idiosyncratic but worth concentrating on. Sadly I didn't take a notebook and it's been almost a week, so if you want some examples have a look at the vids on his website.


Now I'm going to bed because I've got a ridiculously early start tomorrow and I've got to edit the presentation into shape on the train, so I'd best be awake enough to do it.