As the Resident IT Consultant and his witch drive to Leicester for a rocket launch of sorts, it may be a good time to blog about space. We hope Daughter has survived her week at Space School.
In my tender youth I had a pen friend. Actually, at one time I had something like two hundred of them, but let’s not go into that here. This one, my best one, lived in Malta. He was the best simply because he wrote interesting letters and was intelligent and interested in similar things. I picked Malta on the grounds that I wanted somebody vaguely exotic, but with a good command of English.
Anyway, once he had stopped asking silly questions like “had I heard of Simon and Garfunkel”, we were able to exchange favourites of different kinds. I gave him Kurt Vonnegut, and he gave me Isaac Asimov.
I then spent years reading everything I could get my hands on by Asimov. He was one of the stock authors I carried home by the rucksackful after each Inter Rail trip to bargain Britain. I’m sure that at the time I found the Foundation trilogy the most interesting, but right now the only details I can recall from Asimov’s books are the short stories about robots. Particularly the one about Tony. Any other female who remembers Tony? I suspect I want a Tony, really. Well, who wouldn’t?
Daughter may be interested in space, but I have yet to get either Offspring to read my old space fiction. Seeing I, Robot in the cinema is as far as they will go. And that was rather like with old pop songs that come back; children are amazed that the old people know them. We were young too, once.