One Man & His Telescope

Hazard Perception (a must read for all ISS drivers)

So it’s been a bit quiet on the whole telescope thing. Night after night of unadulterated cloud cover, punctuated by two of the darkest clearest nights I have ever witnessed from the Midlands. If only I had completed my MkII Teleportation device I would have beamed myself to the top of the highest hill, in the darkest county, but even from our position in the centre of the country, where normally the doctors carry out complicated surgery just using light pollution, we could clearly discern the Milky way, and a hundred other stars usually invisible.

(Please do not ask about the MKI Teleporter. Although initially encouraging results were obtained, the accident involving the old lady and her pussycat, when they got accidentally merged (she thought she was entering a phone box) still hasn’t been forgotten round here. After all, six-legged furry geriatrics with pointy ears prowling the streets are still a rarity. I still think that if we could have found a large enough litter box then we could have let her live in the neighbourhood, but you KNOW what councils are like, SO MUCH red tape……ah well, you live and learn eh?)

Anyroad, it has been so quiet I have decided to learn to drive a lorry. It has been over 20 years since I first passed my driving test, and I have found the whole HGV experience a little bit like going back to school, (only without the spankings over Matron’s knee, which is a pity).  Part of the newer type of test now include a module called “Hazard Perception”, which entails watching clips of driving, filmed from a driver’s point of view, and clicking your mouse when you see a potential hazard. So if you see a child on a bike starting to veer into the road, you click, if you see a car reversing into the flow of traffic, you click. Basically, anything you consider to be dangerous, when you see it coming, you click.

I have since found out that clicking just because you see a female driver in an oncoming car doesn’t gain you any points. I can’t think why.

At any rate, all this hazard perceiving has made all of us more aware of our surroundings, even No.1 Wife. (I should point out that No.1 Wife does not posses a driving licence, in fact the only thing she has ever driven, is me, mad.)  So there we were, relaxing at the end of a hard day shopping, bubbling away in the hot-tub, when we suddenly started to observe loads and loads of satellites, whizzing around the edge of space at thousands of miles an hour. Some were flashing, some were blinking, some just shining, others flaring, loads and loads of them. And finally, the Grand-Daddy of all of them, the International Space Station.  Shining at Magnitude -2.6, it makes an awesome sight, seventeen thousand miles an hour. You see it for a couple of minutes and then it is gone.

Now, I am no Einstein. I dont even have a German sounding name, and I certainly don’t have wild sticking up hair. Or indeed, ANY hair. But even so, I like to think that what little knowledge I do manage to retain despite the ravages of old age and red wine, I am able to pass on to the benefit of others and the future generations. For instance, several times as a family and with guests we have watched that “We Are Very Small” clip on youtube, which graphically illustrates the scale and size of objects in our Universe. I have taken the time to describe the photographs I have taken, especially how long the light from the distant stars and galaxies has taken to reach us here on earth. I pride myself that my five year old can pick out two constellations by name, and that my ten year old can pinpoint galaxies and nebulae. I also took pleasure from the fact that No.1 Wife, who in reality is only interested in two things, Dirty Dancing and handbags.  (When I say Dirty Dancing, I mean that crap film from the eighties about an aged holiday resort worker on the minimum wage trying to get his leg-over with a gormless teenage guest.  I found out that All Female Bikini Mud-Wrestling competitions DO NOT count as “Dirty Dancing”, no matter what music is being played….Even when I offered to join in to play the Patrick Swayze part, all I got was a slap and two weeks sleeping in the spare bed.)

But you get the picture, to finally bring some level of understanding and comprehension of the impossible vastness of space to the Mrs. was, I felt, quite an acheivement. You would be proud, right?

So there we were, watching the myriads of satellites, all exquisitely timed and placed to avoid each other’s paths. Interspersed with the satellites were several meteors, no doubt early splatterings from the Perseid meteor shower due to hit us next week. (Expect heavy cloud all week). In passing, I mentioned that it was lucky that the International Space Station wasn’t hit too often by space dust from meteors and the like.

I could see that No.1 wife was deep in thought…… “Yes” she agreed, and then, from her new-found knowledge of all things astronomical, she offered the following gem;

“It’s a good job they don’t crash it into the stars………”

Somebody shoot me.

The stars light up the nights…

….but funny people light up the days. Somebody very funny is leaving for a new life in France/Canada/Australia/Morocco, and even though she promises herself “no more crazy tricks”, I hope the crazy tricks continue for many years yet!! Best wishes for your new life, wherever you end up!

…continued

…well where were we? Oh yes, “OK” magazine. Now that I have learnt a new relaxation technique I feel able to continue the sorry tale. When I say ‘new technique’, it’s only new to me, for the Idalagoo Indian tribe have been using the technique for thousands of years.

Basically you need to become one with nature, so that nature becomes one with you. In true Idalagoo style I fashioned a crude loin cloth from two shoelaces and a fig leaf, washed off all trace of after-shave, deodorant and hair-spray, and climbed the nearest tree. (For those of you curious about the hair-spray comment, please be assured that I do in fact possess a thick head of hair. I keep it in a drawer in the dressing table.)

Once ensconced in the tree, the idea is to breathe in time with the breeze, you slow your heart-beat till it runs to the gentle hum of the buzzing insects, but you stand or sit absolutely motionless in the tree. Eventually nature comes to accept your presence as an extension of the tree, and normally wary creatures eagerly gather round. The peace and mental tranquility that descends upon your mortal being at this stage is beyond description, it HAS to be experienced. As the meditative state deepens, eventually even the birds will accept you as part of nature. When the first bird decides to alight upon you, then you are ready to move onto stage two, the highest state of stress elimination possible.

Following the Idalagoo custom, as soon as the first bird lands on you, you leap from the tree with a blood-curdling scream, launching yourself at the nearest monkey or ape that happens to be passing. Once you have grappled the primate to the floor, you have to headbutt it repeatedly until it is unconscious, and then pluck two thirds of the hair from its head with your teeth.

Now I waited and waited and waited, the birds came and went, but I never caught sight of even a single monkey. (NB, I have since checked Wikipedia and it turns out monkeys are pretty rare in the midlands.) Not wanting to miss out on the benefits of the relaxation therapy, I decided to pounce upon the closest thing to a monkey that I could find. As luck would have it I had climbed a tree close to a pikey’s caravan site, and sure enough it wasn’t long before one of their young came ambling along, his arms full of bundles of copper wire from the telephone exchange and a couple of catalytic converters sawn off parked cars.

Seeing my chance, I took one deep breath, let out the deepest blood curdley scream I could. This scream was enhanced by the fact that the makeshift loin-cloth had gotten tangled around a branch, and the shoe-laces tightened terribly around the family jewels before they broke. Wrestling my intended victim to the round, it was at this point I realised that the enemy was in fact a rather attractive, raven-haired GIRL, with deep green Irish eyes. Exactly at this moment the local police farce arrived, and THAT your honour is how I came to be in that predicament. Surely you can see, I’M the victim here?

The case comes up next thursday. But back to the burning issue. OK magazine. OK! HAH! If ever there was a contradiction of reality, there it is. Somehow this magazine, which claims to give you all the news about the ‘stars’, in reality is so chock full of nonsense and drivel that reading it actually DECREASES your intelligence. It seems the rubbish they print goes into your brain’s receptors in such concentrated measures, that it actually clogs up your synapses and makes you thicker.

Here are some examples of the kind of literary manure you will find;

SHOCKER! Two people wear the same kind of dress!!

HORROR! Somebody has tan lines from wearing socks!!

DREADFUL! Person goes out without make-up!!

OH DEAR! Bluebell throws an almighty tantrum!!

I am not exactly sure how this has happened. In a society once proud of it’s record on women’s rights, we have allowed a magazine, aimed at the female market, to fill the feminine mind with such meaningless nonsense, that they are starting to actually turn into the very brainless trollops they are reading about.

Men of the world, it is high time we acted. If this is allowed to continue, the female brain will eventually degenerate to the point that they are no longer able to fulfill their basic responsibilities, and let me assure you, no matter HOW MUCH you pay, you will NEVER be able to buy a coffee machine that makes it JUST the way you like it, never mind one that will wash the dishes afterwards!!

But seriously, ‘OK!’ magazine-Sheeesh! I have a real fear that if we ever do get visited by aliens from Mars, they will take one glance at humans, and leave the earth forever. In their record books, I can imagine the following entry;

July 10th; Visited the planet known as “Earth” today. The atmosphere was on the poisonous side, and the waters were also contaminated. Searched high and low but without result. VERDICT : NO SIGN OF INTELLIGENT LIFE.

OK? It’s anything but!

So it’s been a while……

The nights suitable for taking astro-photos have been so dreadfully infrequent, that a 3 toed sloth could count them on one hand/paw.

However in this time, during which the nights dont really get dark anyway, I have managed to take one photograph which received the ultimate acclaim. Namely, the wife saying “That’s not one of yours, is it?”

She still doesn’t believe me. Result!

But that’s not the reason I have called this meeting.

People of the world, it is time to take action!! I have recently become aware of EVIL propaganda, which is being spread like a malicious disease all over the place.

It was quite by accident that this insidious monster came to my attention. During these cloudy weeks, and having re-read all my back copies of “Electrical-Installation in Portable Chicken Feeders Weekly” I was searching for something else to feed my hungry brain with.

The wife came home with a glossy magazine that sounded REALLY exciting, promising pictures of the stars in all their glory, world exclusive stories, new interviews and more. I was almost drooling with excitement, expecting a banquet of fascinating information, a smorgasbord of astro-technology. Here I was sure was the latest facts and figures about things like the LHC. (Large Hadron Collider) See the CERN website. I dont know too much about him, but this Hadron must be quite a guy, judging by the wall he built across the English/Scottish border.

At any rate, there are those that that believe that when they turn on this machine, it will create a mini black hole that will suck the world as we know it into oblivion for eternity, leaving the only trace of humanity on Mars, in the form of a couple of robots with cameras, (loosely based on Japanese tourists I think).

Now THAT is the kind of thing we NEED to know. I mean, if the world is gonna end when some little european science geek plugs his machine into the mains, then we should be out there campaigning. Campaigning for higher limits on our credit cards, so that we can buy and use as much astro-kit as we possibly can before our number’s up. Hell, I’d even buy that pair of shoes the missus has always wanted. (She DOES look good barefoot though, which is why I keep her that way.)

On the other hand, if they keep pushing up the price of fuel, there’s gonna be no way they can afford to run the Large Hadron Collider, and it will become the world’s most expensive ornament.

Fuel! There’s another thing! I remember when you could go down the road and siphon off a gallon or two of petrol from parked cars, no trouble at all. Now there’s a queue wherever you go! Trying to save a few hundred pounds worth of fuel by letting the car coast down a hill, I came very close to a sticky end. I know NOW that turning off the ignition turns off the steering, the air con and the brakes. Apparently it also turns ON the steering lock and immobiliser. Hah! Some immobiliser, there I was, careering downhill at about one hundred miles an hour, I dont call THAT being immobilised. The car hurtled on and on, and was brought to an abrupt halt when it collided with a tanker carrying liquid toffee. A millions gallons of caramelly goo came gushing in my general direction, and I was only spared when a passing troupe of Weightwatchers on a day trip leapt from their coach and ploughed into the toffee, consuming the greater part before I was drowned by it. (Actually I should point out that there was a loss of life, a certain Ms Wigglebottom got into difficulty and drowned in the liquid sugar. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t got out 3 times to go to the toilet.)

But that’s another story. It’s funny but I can’t say the phrase “Large Hadron Collider” without thinking about the time my mother-in-law took a driving lesson. There was all that confusion with the shoe-horn, and the ensuing legal battles with the makers of the Mini, who insisted that if somebody can get INTO a car, then they should be able to get OUT of it too, regardless of how many packs of sausage rolls they ate during the journey. The instructor didn’t help, he should NEVER have tried to give a lesson while sitting on the roof, no matter how short of room the car was on the inside.

Actually, I am pleased to report that I get on a lot better with the mother-in-law these days, ever since she got a new job with the UN. Apparently they take her to developing countries and lay her across a valley, where she acts as a temporary dam. It was all going quite well until a short sighted farmer tried to drive a herd of cattle over her. The poor things were so traumatised that half of them jumped into the water, and the rest stopped producing milk and took to hanging around on street corners. The farmer on the other hand seemed to fall instantly in love (I did say he was short-sighted), and I think she may have accepted his proposal if he’d have offered just one more camel.

But back to the issue at hand. The “Star” magazine. You know, when I last checked, a ‘Star’ was an exploding giant ball of hydrogen fuelled nuclear power, millions of kilometers in diameter, with a lifespan of billions of years.

No, it’s no good, I’m gonna have to come back to this…. I’m still seeing red. I’m typing so hard the springs under the keys keep breaking….I’ll take a relaxation break…. and then come right back…… but be warned, it’s not a pretty story…!

To be continued……

Do You Feel Lucky?

Well, do ya?

Now, let’s be perfectly clear. I don’t believe in fate, I don’t believe in luck, predestination or karma, and I snort contemptuously down my nose at those pathetically ignorant trailers (*) who smile sweetly and explain “Well you see, all Scorpio’s are the same.”

[Please excuse me for five minutes whilst I fantasize about gathering all the astrologers in a room, then using a 4 inch core drill to remove their soggy excuse for a brain, and replace it with rice pudding, blu-tac, or a heady mix of carbon, sulphur, and potassium nitrate. There…that’s better.]

Notwithstanding the aforementioned disclaimers, I’m sure you, dear reader, (“reader”, > which I am sure applies only to my parole officer and mother in law. (These are not the same person! Geez, imagine that!!)  The former reads this blog in a desperate attempt to get me re-admitted, and the latter scours each episode for circumstantial evidence that will help to get her aquitted on the grounds of diminished responsibility, or extreme provocation, when she finally suceeds in doing me in. Jabba the Hutt, as she is affectionately known (the affection is for the name, not the in-law), has been trying to get shot of me for years now. Heaven knows why. My only crime was to fall in love with her beautiful daughter, and two or three of her beautiful daughters’ friends….   Anyway Jabba, just stick a toothbrush in your ear, shove porridge up your nose, and carry round a one-armed doll that you insist on calling “My baby, MY BAAAAABY!”. Everything else about you already looks the part, it shouldn’t take much more to convince the authorities that you are barking mad, hell, I’d swear to it in court.  Oh and by the way, thanks for the sandwiches, I fed them to next doors cat. It’s a shame, they are really gonna miss him….)

Blimey, where were we? Oh yeah, notwithstanding etc etc blah blah, do you ever get one of them days? You know, one of them days when everything goes smoother than smooth?

You must get them, every now and again. The sun shining through the window tells you it’s gonna be a glorious day….you get up and find you slept on the dry side ALL night, for once your mouth doesn’t taste like you have been chewing on decaying hamster garnished with horse manure, and when you look in the mirror there’s a glint in the eye and a flash in the smile of the guy who is staring back. Oh yes, it’s gonna be a GOOD day!!

You set off for work, first kissing the other half goodbye, passionately, on the doorstep. The liitle old dear who lives over the way and who singlehandedly performs the neighbourhood watch for your street twitches behind her curtains and has to sit down with palpitations, and your sexy little wife bends one leg at the knee and curls her toes, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl. (If anybody finds that sentence offensive, then I am sorry. Sorry that you are a small minded turnip brain. Please join the cue where you hear the sound of the core drill.)

Once in the car, you find that Wogan is playing your favourite song, he’s telling your favourite jokes, and he’s wearing your favourite toupé. All the traffic lights are on green, except one, and when you stop at the red, a sporty little number with its top down pulls up next to you, (steady on, I’m describing the car, not the girl!) Inside is a twenty-something angel, all blonde, eyes, and floatation accessories, and when you wind down your window, she catches your drool, sorry, catches your eye, smiles knowingly, and winks, before speeding off. Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a GOOD day!

Once at the office, your new found confidence from the hottie in the car starts to pay off. The foxy receptionist, known by all as the ice queen, visibly melts when you give her a grin, and as she sits there with her little finger in the corner of her mouth  (-Break for Cold Shower-) you get news from the MD.

“TJ” he says, “You will know that we have had to make some difficult choices, and in this world dominated by equality issues, and litigation, it is imperative that we pursue a course that will not leave us open to those prepared to sue other people for as much as breathing. Therefore, we are offering you the role of Chief President Managing Executive Director, and charging you with the responsibility of making all the female “managers” redundant. You are also authorised to re-employ three of them, in any role related to catering or cleaning. Please issue boxes of Kleenex to the females concerned, we don’t want the inevitable blarting to spoil the french polish on the desks now, do we. Oh, one more thing, speaking of “French-Polish”, I have a new secretary for you, that’s her over there in the mini-skirt, I hope you don’t mind, But I gave her permission to exercise in the office. Oh I say, she IS flexible!”

(We decided to call her “Squeezy”, it was the closest we could get to pronouncing her proper name with our tongues hanging out.)

Part way through this most excellent of days, and as you are idly designing “Wait Here For Core Drill” signs in MS Word, you start to muse about the evening ahead. Checking the weather forecast reveals high pressure, low humidity, gentle breezes, and excellent visibility.  Now, I dont know about you, but up until this point, I haven’t questioned the events of the day, just lapped them up. But now this forecast………….Surely the powers that be are simply teasing? 

So you get home, and you set up. The sky is ablaze with stars, but the moon is nowhere to be seen. You turn on your mount system, and find three perfect stars straight away. The GOTO is putting objects bang in the centre of the eyepiece, time after time. The camera achieves crystal sharp focus with the slightest twiddle, your auto-guiding setup finds a perfect star and tracks flawlessly, and the sky is full of fabulous DSO’s just a’waiting to be snapped up greedily by the camera.

Question. What usually happens at this point? Well, in no particular order, I have arranged a list of possible, usual, and frequent occurrencies.

1) You kick the tripod.

2) You kick the power lead out and lose your settings.

3) The clouds roll in.

4) The wife comes down to bring you a coffee, at the exact same moment that the girl next door, for the first time ever, gets changed with the curtains open. The wife assumes that your whole ‘hobby’ of astronomy has simply been a ruse, grabs a hammer and rearranges your telescope, then grabs your telescope and rearranges your teeth.

5) Your Parole officer calls and demands to know why you have been sending envelopes stuffed with pigs’ eyeballs to your mother-in-laws address.

Have you been there? I know you have. The odd thing is, nothing happened. I set my camera up, it took 10 x 300 second exposures, no trailing, no beeping from PHD as it lost its star, and no clouds. In disbelief I yanked R2D2 from his slumber and poked him towards the delights of the skies. The pictures I was taking were of Messier object No.57, otherwise called the “Ring Nebula”. On the pictures it shows itself as a rich red and cerulean, but I had no idea, whatsoever, what it looked like ‘in the flesh’ so to speak. But R2D2 picked it out effortlessly, and I must have sounded slightly more mad than normal as I exclaimed loudly at approx 03:00, ” OH WOW!! LOOK AT THAT!!”

I am convinced the neighbours think I have an invisible friend in the garden somewhere, as they hear me enthusing away to myself about the various object in the skies.

So what IS the catch? Perhaps it is this. I am sitting on the best data I have been able to collect so far. The longest exposures, the tightest focus, the most accurate framing. And I simply do not have time to process them! Not a spare hour, minute or second. And there doesn’t seem to be much light on the horizon (which normally in astronomy is good, but in this case, not) for any improvement.

Oh, I know what you are thinking….all that time writing that true story could have been spent much better in processing pictures. But life is rarely that simple. For what if, for instance, somebody else had written all this for me???

 The End.

(*) - “Trailer” - as opposed to a “Tractor”. One who is pulled along, not one who does the pulling, dragged whichever way the tractor wishes.

Thanks Squeezy, that will be all, you can go back to your toe-touching exercises now, feel free to loosen another button if you wish, It IS warm in here, I’m a little hot under the collar myself. Why are you still writing?

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…..

With those words George Lucas introduced R2D2 to an unexpecting world. A white and blue tin can with a domed head, that makes whistling observations and comments in a language all of its own, that everybody except the viewer seems to understand.

R2D2 later revealed his ability to fly, display movies, control elevators and electrocute giggling rats. He also functioned as a cunning place to hide a light sabre, and he could hurl it across the room into the hands of the nearest acne ridden Jedi.

As far as I know, R2D2 never had a telescope. Perhaps if I could jump into hyperspace and goes whizzing all over the outer rim, then I wouldn’t bother with a telescope either, just take along a Kodak disposable camera and snap away at the nebulae as you zip past them.

It has so far never been established whether R2D2 would try to form a relationship with another robot. To determine the answer to this question, a company called “Skywatcher”, (an obvious play on “Skywalker”) has produced a device intended to arouse strong feelings in R2D2. Almost an exact copy of the squat little fellow, and codenamed E00P (300P in leetspeak), they are intended to be placed in fields in dark sky locations, so that the real R2D2 can see them from space and pop down to engage in whatever dumpy robots engage in. Maybe we get to see yet another attachment….

Obviously, I would want to be part of this experiment. My good wife, (as opposed to my bad wife who is kept in a garage in Dagenham), was also enchanted by the little beauty. Apparently there is some kind of attachment that allows you to see into space to see if R2D2 is zooming down on his X-wing. I have spoken to eye-witnesses at the last experiment, and although they scoured galaxy after galaxy, there was no sign of R2. Not to be deterred, I spoke to a trader today who sold me my very own 300P. He also advised that I would need a laser collimator for it. I presume this is some kind of device you use to shoot down the wrong kind of interested party. For instance, if Darth Vader starts winging his asthmatic ass down to your star party, you give him a short sharp blast of the laser. If you catch a glint of gold bearing down on you, it could be C3PO. Let him land, then push him in a vat of boiling lead. Take no chances.

Obviously, (except perhaps to that bunch of extremists that actually believe in Star Wars and know all the serial and VIN numbers of the spaceships that were not even in the movie.) To those people I give this advice;

1. Use the force. 

2.  Find the force by licking your fingers and then shoving them into a plug socket. The force will be with you, always.

Yes obviously, I am referring to the fact that I have purchased yet another telescope. The drivel above is simply because I know more about R2D2, (but not his serial number) than about my new Skywatcher 300p Flexitube.

I used to make fun of the women who, when asked “What kind of car do you drive?”, they would say “A red one”.  I have now changed into those women. I dont mean literally, these are pecs, not man-boobs, but if you ask me what kind of telescope it is, I would only be able to reveal that it is a “white one that looks like R2D2”.

I know it looks like I have purchased this thing on a whim because it looks like an iconic robot from the 70’s. Trust me, if they make a telescope that looks like Metal Mickey, or that Biddy Biddy Biddy idiot that followed Buck Rogers everywhere, then I give up astronomy and take up knitting, or self-harming. Because in truth I have taken delivery of this little Dobsonian on the recommendation of people I trust. Whether I still trust them in two weeks shall no doubt be revealed, along with a full review of the new R2D2.

Oops, almost forgot, the other reason for getting one was that I could not find a definitive answer to the question “Can you take photo’s through these things?” So I am gonna see for myself.

The new scope arrives tomorrow, so prepare for a month of cloudy skies. In the meantime, I’m gonna go sharpen my light-sabre (serial OICU812). Just in case Monsiuer Vader comes around looking for stolen plans……

Actually, somebody told me that M13 is the remnants of the Death Star, can anybody out there PROVE that it isn’t?

My first time…

They say you never forget your first time. Well, I have just returned from my very first “Star Party”.  In truth I had to lure the missus there under false pretences.

 I had implied that she would be surrounded by Hollywood “A -listers”, and that while I swapped make-up tips with George Clooney, she would be able to swan around with the ‘Stars’, and spend her time discussing cosmetic surgery and Botox injections with the experts.

I think when we rolled up in the caravan at a remote site in the middle of nowhere in Norfolk, she started to twig. Up until that point I had managed to explain away the inclusion of my telescope in the luggage as “the only way to get a close up piccy of the rich ‘n’ famous!”

 But there we were, Kelling Heath, Spring star party. The site itself was half full. Apparently it had been fully booked until word got out on the internet that my children were going to be there. I did try to put them in kennels for the weekend, but apparently it is against the law to feed Pedigree Chum to children. How times have changed…….

So we pulled into the field to find we had been placed next door to a beautiful brand new caravan that had never been used before. Like a poor relation we duly parked up, and as the tribe and two rabid dogs exploded out of the vehicle, I could see the concerned looking owner of the new caravan hastily checking his insurance policy. Luckily he had been to the butchers that day, and managed to throw a lump of raw meat out of his window, which kept two of the children and both of the dogs busy, whilst the middle child went off to find telescopes to push over.

You have to give some credit to astronomers, they have to be amongst the most optimistic of people. For there we were,  surrounded by dense cloud, every forecast and satellite picture showed worse was on the way, and they STILL got their kit out and set it up. I did likewise just so as not to feel left out, but there didn’t seem to be a hope in hell of seeing a single star.

With the children and dogs caged up, the Missus and I downed a bottle of something sweet and Rosé coloured, and a measure or two of Scotlands finest export, and settled down for the night. At around 1.30am the dogs started barking, and I poked my head out to tell them to shut up before I turned them into rugs, when I noticed the skies had actually cleared somewhat. Still considerably lubricated, I tried to get into the car for some chewing gum, completely forgetting that the helpful Japanese had designed the car as an anti-astronomy device. The six giant indicator lights blazed out, followed by the puddle lights under the wing mirrors. The interior lights shone as bright as day, and a passing light aircraft took a detour and tried to land in the camping field. Thankfully a patrolling steward came over with his hammer and put the lights out, and my punishment was to write 500 lines of “I must not use a motor vehicle to blind people”, and to take round a can of corned beef to every astronomer whose night vision was ruined. Apparently there used to be a certain tent in the corner of the field where errant white light producing folk would be taken and spanked severely, but it proved to be so popular that people were deliberately bringing floodlights.

It should be mentioned I suppose that at the end of the three days, I had learnt all the choice expressions used with regard to them folk what drive around the camp with their lights on, and I even found myself muttering them too.

Before I knew it, dawn was creeping up. There, shining huge and bright was Jupiter. Through the telescope he looked magnificent, and this was the first time I had seen him. Bonus for having stayed up the whole night. I grabbed a couple of photos, crashed inside, only to be rudely awoken at 7am - “C’MON DAD, LETS GO PLAY FOOTBALL!!”

There is more to be told. There is the new faces and friendships, there is the new mount purchased on a whim, there was the awning blowing away, there was the snow, there was the mis-understanding as to the nature of the red light on our caravan, there was the final clear spell after most had gone home, but these stories can wait and be mis-told another time. For now, I will let a limerick tell the rest of the tale.

 My First Time…..

So I’m back from my first Star Camp,
The weather was cloudy and damp,
But most of the mob,
Had some fun with a Dob.,
Whilst I played around with a lamp.

It’s because I was eager to please,
Those out there starting to freeze,
That I turned my light red,
(The one over the bed),
Didn’t think it would be such a tease.

Like moths to a candle they came,
The wife said they all looked the same,
Old, grey or balding,
She gave them a scolding,
For thinking that she’s on the “game”!

So after the misunderstanding,
The weather was proving demanding,
Some tents blew away,
If it’s right what they say,
It’s down Norwich way that they were landing.

And although it’s in April you go,
You are sometimes pelted with snow,
Or sleet, hail and ice,
Which isn’t so nice
But you just go along with the flow.

I stayed up a whole night till the morning,
And was treated to Jupiter dawning,
But I aint at my best,
On a night without rest,
And ended up grunting and yawning.

On the whole it wasn’t so bad,
Though the locals thought we were mad,
And those that stayed longer,
Though winds had grown stronger,
Enjoyed the best skies to be had.

And I liked my time there at Kelling,
And the stands and stuff they were selling,
So I got some new kit,
Which cost quite a bit,
But how much I spent I aint telling!

 TJ

Ode to Dark Skies….

I have a little tale to tell, a story for our time,
Another funny episode in life’s great pantomime.
Could you spare me just a minute, and permit me to explain,
Why the lights are out all over town, and I’m in jail again?

You see, I was formerly a violent man, and given to bad temper,
I’d pick a fight all year long, from Jan’ry to December.
The Doctors said, “It’s time for you to choose a peaceful lifestyle,
“Find a hobby to relax, swap that frowning for a nice smile!”

And what could be more peaceful, more refreshing to the soul,
Than the hobby of Astronomy, with distant stars the goal?
The Doctors thought that suited well, and encouraged all the more,
They even bought a telescope, delivered to my door.

I confess I mustered quite a smile, with the thought of all those stars,
I’d find my peace and solace in Saturn, the Moon, and Mars.
With all my angst forgotten, there was keen anticipation,
As I waited for the clouds to clear and bring me liberation.

Eventually the night arrived, and the telescope was mounted,
From what I’d heard, Orion’s Sword should leave me quite dumbfounded.
But it didn’t quite have that effect, and gave no satisfaction,
You see the bathroom light was on, and proving a distraction.

And every time my eyes came close to being dark adjusted,
The lousy light came on again, blinding.  ‘Til I sussed it.
My wife was now in darkness, with no power at her sockets,
And I was outside grinning with the fuses in my pockets!

But not for long my victory, for worse was on its way,
The neighbour has a safety light that shines as bright as day.
And every time some rotten cat would set off its detectors,
The million watts blazed out again, and wrecked my dark receptors.

I have sympathy for my neighbour, and I know he’s eighty-three,
But my pellet gun took out his bulb, and set the darkness free.
It’s probably coincidence that he should fall and trip,
And be taken off to hospital to nurse a broken hip.

So back unto the eyepiece, and behold a glorious sight!
And then the streetlamps buzzed to life, bleaching out the night.
I had a .22 rifle, and the streetlights drove me barmy,
So I shot them from 100 yards, (had my training in the army.)

Surely now the skies would be, really dark and unmolested,
And I would see the heavens, black and star infested.
But then on each horizon, yes that’s East, South, North and West,
Light pollution from the Cities proved to be a pest.

When I said I was a violent man, well, please don’t doubt my motives,
But rather blame the Army, they taught me ‘bout explosives!
And a little bit of TNT, I thought might solve my trouble,
What used to be a power plant, is now a pile of rubble.

The Boys in Blue turned up in force, with no interest in my plight,
With their helicopter search lamps beaming through the night.
And If I hadn’t shouted “OI! Turn Off That Bloomin’ Torch!!”
Then I’m sure I could have hidden in the next door neighbours porch.

Now at last, it’s really dark, but there’s an awful sense of dread,
For it’s not the heavens that I see, just the sack upon my head.
And thanks to thumps delivered, and administered in spite,
I do not need a telescope, I’ve been seeing stars all night!

The Torn Astronomer….

The Torn Astronomer

A tale I feel I have to tell,
It may well make you weep,
About a problem faced by man,
Whilst others are asleep.

Our man is an “Astronomer”,
Or so he tells his friends,
He likes to gaze up at the stars,
But that’s not where it ends.

For his life is rarely simple,
When a starry night appears.
And an evening at the eyepiece,
Can often end in tears.

So here is the dilemma,
Our Astromoner must face,
He took a wife in marriage,
And she doesn’t know her place.

Imagine this scenario,
Orion’s on the rise,
Pluto’s in acension,
And a comet adds surprise.

The seeing was the best for years,
The sky is crystal clear,
A waning moon quite hidden,
The perfect night is here!

His telescope is duly raised,
Polaris shows the way,
And all that money spent on kit,
Would FINALLY start to pay!

However….

Remember when we said that,
“Lifes’ road’s not always straight”?
Well, although the Heavens beckon him,
A Tigress lies in wait.

Purring from the shadows,
Her eyes survey her prey.
He looks so cold and lonely,
She’ll surely have her way!

The dark arts of seduction,
Which are never known to fail,
Are practised now upon our guy,
A helpless, hapless male.

A flash of a suspender belt,
A generous glimspe of cleavage,
The powers of the woman,
That give her massive leverage.

He does try hard to concentrate,
And slews around to Saturn,
But his fingers start to tremble,
Its the old familiar pattern.

Telescope abandoned now,
The Tigress claims her prize,
And the only stars seen twinkling,
Are the ones found in her eyes.

And so it goes, most every time,
Though you might think it corny,
That when the skies are at their best,
His wife is always horny.

So if it’s telescope or passion,
Cold stars or hot romance,
The enticements of the female form,
Don’t give the stars a chance.

A zillion years of Suns and Moons,
They’re going no place fast.
And my advice is, if you’re torn,
ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS!!!

TJ

Dear Julie….

I know these kind of letters are supposed to be called “Dear Johns”, but my wife isn’t called John, not since the operation.

I have a confession to make, and where better than in the privacy of a blog page that is only accessible to earth dwellers. But first a little explanation, as I am sure there are fellow victims out there that can sympathise with my situation.

 For my wife doesn’t understand me. And I dont mean just the times when I come inside after a night star-gazing and my tongue has frozen to the roof of my mouth, for at these times I can usually communicate by sign language that I am about 2 minutes away from a hypothermic coma.

No, I mean in more serious terms. Try as I might I cannot seem to convey the delights of the Universe, I cannot convince her to spend some time out in the open enjoying the open skies. I have tried everything. I tried the obvious lure of mathematical enormity,

“Did you realise that that fuzzy smudge is two point nine billion light years away?”  The look on her face explained that SHE was THREE point nine billion light years away form being impressed.

I have tried using the natural beauty of the Universe. One night I woke her up at 4.30am to come and take a look through the telescope. I proudly enthused about the barely visible wisps in the eyepiece, delivering my intended Coup de Grace with the line “And did you realise that with a CCD camera, those wispy bits actually show up as RED!! Isn’t that AMAZING?”  Julie saw red WITHOUT the CCD camera, and I thanked my lucky stars that I had the foresight to hide the keys to the gun cabinet.

 I have tried using things that interest her as a lure. “Here Darling, come and see the Handbag Constellation, it’s just there along with the shoes nebula!!”  Although at first this tack showed promise, all hope faded when the word “Gucci” was not visible through the eyepiece.

Reverse psychology failed too. In my best poker faced non-chalant style, I proclaimed, “Oh, I’m not looking at anything much, you wouldn’t be interested.”  Obviously I hoped to stir her curiosity with this statement, but she replied “Finally you admit that it’s boring.”

I suppose that with this complete incompatibilty in things that REALLY matter, it was inevitable that we should drift apart, like a badly polar aligned scope. I know that you will all see my side in this, and that she is being completely unreasonable. For instance;

The other night it was perfectly clear. Naturally I got home from work and made my way straight outside, getting the equipment set up for the night ahead. I’m not sure if the wife was at home at this point or not, but before you knew it the unreasonable demands started coming;

“I’ve made a special dinner, it will be ready in 20 mins.”

Not satisfied, the nagging continued;

“You dinner’s been out for 5 minutes going cold, it cost me a lot of money and time to make it, please come in and eat with your family.”

I mean, what is WRONG with the woman? She could SEE that Mars was at its zenith, and it wasn’t MY fault that the first few hours imaging had been wasted by leaving the lens cap on. But still not content the onslaught kept up;

“I’m putting your dinner on a plate on the oven. I’m really dissapointed that you missed the meal, especially on our anniversary. I’m going to bed now.”

 Nag nag nag nag nag………..it’s all I get. It affected me so much that all the shots I got of Mars were blurry and wasted, and it’s all HER fault.

Oh sure, she says it’s all me, that I’m the one to blame, that I never have time for her or the kids, the car hasn’t been washed in 3 years, and that ever since I started astronomy it’s like nothing else matters, but then she WOULD say that wouldn’t she. Probably her mother put her up to it. That woman would say ANYTHING to discredit me. I’m not saying that my wife doesn’t have a mind of her own, but she doesn’t even know what an arc-minute looks like in the sky. I mean, come on, somethings up with that.

So I suppose it was only realistic that we should end up celestial poles apart. And hence the reason for the following letter. I only hope it brings her to her senses.

Dear Julie,

I know the last few months haven’t been easy for me. There have been just too many cloudy nights, and such light polluted skies that life hasn’t been much fun. I’m not blaming you for this, but you have made the cloudy nights worse by complaining when I spent all night looking at previously taken astrophotos.

Also, I find your constant demands on my time to be quite unreasonable. I can only assure you that my tiredness is NOT due to the star-gazing all night, that it is probably a medical condition caused by the stress you give me, and YES, sometimes three sleepy grunts IS all the conversation I can muster. If you have any really vital requests or information for me, then I suggest you send me a message via the StarGazersLounge.com forum, and maybe you could view my posts on there as part of my conversation with you.

You are bound to find out sooner or later, so it’s best that I be up front about it. Because we have drifted apart, I have been hanging around with another woman. And yes, I admit now, that I have spent a night with her.

Her name is Selene, and she is a little older than you, but younger than your mother I think. She is everything you are not. Every day she is something new and exciting, a real full bodied, in your face beauty one minute, and a coy little minx the next. I agree that her complexion is a little pock marked, but her face seems to shine all the more.

Selene helps me see things in a whole new light. In fact, when she is at her best, it is hard to see anything else. She eclipses all others. She makes me feel like the Karate Kid; wax on, wane off. Like all women, she is subject to a monthly cycle, but unlike you, she is predictable, I always know what the cycle will bring, and never once have I caught her trying to sell my telescope on ebay.

You are probably wondering where we met. I turns out I have known Selene for most of my life, and I think you know her too. I happened to be out with my camera, and caught her in one of the photos. Right away I was transfixed. There was so much more to this woman, I HAD to see more. We spent more and more time together, eventually, it was the whole night. To your relief, I can explain that I haven’t SLEPT with her yet, not a wink, but I am very relaxed in her company. She is such a good listener, I find I can talk for hours without interruption, and yet she never nags at me.

I have been told that she has a dark side, but I have never seen it. I really feel that with her influence, the tide of my life has turned. You may say i’m a lunartic, but I make no Apollo-gies for my actions. She really gives me a Buzz. She makes my Arm strong. I finally feel that the Eagle has landed. Life is like a beach on the sea of tranquility.

STOP PRESS: I feel I have to tell you that I have finished with Selene. Oh sure, it was fun while it lasted, but it turns out she was very possessive. I had been hoping to spend a little time with seven beautiful sisters the other evening, but Selene was having none of it. She did eveything in her power to stop me seeing them. And so I called the whole thing off. You might think that after the previous part of this letter that I would be upset. Far from it. In fact I am really glad that we ended the relationship.

You could even say, “I’m over the moon!”

:)