As you know, I currently live on the third stone from the sun: in Star Trek terminology, Sol 3 or Terra. As telescopes and imaging systems improve in an analogy of Moore's Law, the number of exoplanets and other heavenly bodies discovered is increasing geometrically. Or at least impressively - well over 800 earth-like extra-solar planets so far. Currently, the astronomers credited with each new discovery get to name those distant pebbles by Greco-Roman mythology or simply by the numberplate system eg HD85512b. But at some point that will become dull and a pot of new names will be required. So some enterprising scientist has opened
UWINGU, where you can nominate a favoured name for a couple of quid, which goes towards research grants. So my name is now on that list, maybe in 100 years Planet Mungleton will be targeted for settlement. Much better than saying "Set course for
PSR 1257+12-c, Ensign, Warp 9". What if it's inhabited? Will they be Mungletonians? Are my fans Mungletonies?
This morning I did my usual trick of switching on the TV, settling back and staring at it with my mouth open. It is a constant source of amazement to me that my breakfast does not magically teleport into my mouth by ScottiBeam
™ technology, and equally surprising when Jof bans me from TV for the rest of the day. So in the afternoon I settled down for a snack and retrieved the remote from its hiding place and sat there again. I don't know how he knew I was banned, the "No TV" note may be a clue. What a bum deal on an afternoon off. When Jof found out I'd contravened StarFleet Regulations she banned me from TV for the rest of the week
and removed the £1* I'd earned for washing the car.
Later we did a trip into the increasingly empty loft (the vacuum of infinite space) and gathered a few last things and moved the larger items nearer to the exit for moving day. One day it'll make a great roomy home for a troll or a boggart or quantum furniture beetle or whatever it is that traditionally inhabits loft spaces.
* Cheap at half the price. I don't get pocket money either
This morning I did my usual trick of switching on the TV, settling back and staring at it with my mouth open. It is a constant source of amazement to me that my breakfast does not magically teleport into my mouth by ScottiBeam™ technology, and equally surprising when Jof bans me from TV for the rest of the day. So in the afternoon I settled down for a snack and retrieved the remote from its hiding place and sat there again. I don't know how he knew I was banned, the "No TV" note may be a clue. What a bum deal on an afternoon off. When Jof found out I'd contravened StarFleet Regulations she banned me from TV for the rest of the week and removed the £1* I'd earned for washing the car.
Only a quid? My mum said she would give me £2!
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