‘And Another Thing...’ It’s Quite A Trek To The Stars, Apparently byVince Nolan Before we start, I need to say that sci-fi and space travel are not my things. I know from talking to friends who are experts and devotees that I may be missing out. But alas, they are not for me. However, there have been some decent related stories in the news which caught my eye. I read about plans for a commercial scale alcohol-to-jet fuel facility coming to Port Talbot which would supply around 1 per cent of the UK’s jet fuel needs. The facility will convert alcohol into sustainable aviation fuel which can reduce the climate impact of flying by more than 70 per cent. Sacrilege if you ask me. It is silent on how it could reduce the climate impact of drinking. It then occurred to me that we call strong drink Rocket Fuel so maybe there’s a link. I also wondered why NASA’s rockets weren’t named with letters rather than numbers. I have since been told that this is because if Apollo F had an accident, they would have to make an Apollo G.
Staying with interplanetary matters, I also read about Elon Musk’s rocket “Starship” which crashed spectacularly (again) in Texas, a few weeks ago. Apart from the cost, I could not fail (although it did) to be impressed by his PR Department spokesperson: “The Starship experienced a rapid unscheduled disassembly.” 10 CARDIFF TIMES
How quaint. However, this story was featured next to one about a bull running amok in a Cambridgeshire village causing the police to shoot it. Presumably it suffered a rapid and unscheduled disassembly before becoming burgered. Did you know they made a perfume that smells like rocket fuel. They called it Elon Musk. Back down to earth but staying with Cambridge, The Current Mrs Nolan, The Sainted Mother-in-Law and I recently journeyed to Cambridge for a family funeral. I have often heard alleged tales of inter-breeding in more isolated and rural locations around the UK but have never listened to such tales at first hand. It seems that many of the people we encountered had half-brothers and halfsisters in the adjoining villages. Older brothers turned out to be their fathers and similarly older sisters were their mothers. It occurred to us that familial DNA would not work over in the flatlands as everybody would either be a potential suspect or a potential victim. Conversely, my ancestors are so hard to find, they must have all been in a witness protection programme. And what about the foster kid who became a genetic engineer specialising in hybrid beans? He’s still looking for his biological fava.
