Little Houses

A day which started badly for me, ended well because of this little house of plywood.

I didn't sleep well last night, and I just felt scratchy, off-key. The first programme of the day, the bugs one that I usually love, seemed flat.

There seemed to be a steady stream of sirens all day long. Great, so somewhere, other accidents were happening.

And my hair, oh dear Lord, my hair, is way past overdue for its MOT.

But the prop house for next week's programmes turned up and was way better than I expected and I had been unsure that it would be ready in time.

If you were an advertising agency, wouldn't you research your market before sending out a thick envelope with actual photographs and a pretend letter from some worthy in the company, a letter that begins,
'Dear fellow car enthusiast...' I mean, exsqueeze me?

In the e-realm, I receive, for reasons unknown to myself, monthly bulletins from Southampton University. I have never had any truck with them, although they are a well-established and worthy uni. But somehow, they have tracked me down and added me. Sort of like Facebook.

I do love my sci-fi and one of the many reasons I love it is the imagined situations where different ideas can be tried out.

I have just finished reading Ben Bova's 'Titan'. The Titan in the title is one of the moons of Saturn, but the main part of the story concerns an artificial habitat housing ten thousand men and women that is in orbit around Saturn. The questions that Bova poses are fascinating ones, with a habitat of limited size, albeit one only partially inhabited, what happens if you allow people to reproduce, and how can you stop them?
And the artificial habitat is so fragile that the momentary act of a single man could cause the inevitable deaths of every single person in the community. What incredible trust to place in any being, to have that amount of power.

The inhabitants risk war too, by ignoring the scientific ideals of Earth - to protect new species, and yet how can they take such an enormous risk, given their fragility?
Fascinating stuff.

Another story that has fascinated me has been the real one of 'White Lobster'. Small subsistence fishing communities on the Mosquito Coast of Central America, have been transformed by a new catch, big floating bags of Columbia cocaine bobbing to shore.
God, it seems, blesses the villagers by sending them the ill-gotten losses of Columbian drug barons.
Very Robin Hood.

We have been watching the British series, 'Afterlife'. I can't help comparing it to the American series 'Ghost Whisperer'. It's difficult not to, subject matter is similar, it's just that 'Afterlife' is more real, gritty, explores how people must really feel in these situations, whereas 'Ghost Whisperer' is soft and flabby, like eating whipped cream from an aerosol can.

In the vampire series 'Moonlight' one vampire warned another not to trust a third party, 'in case he gets all Van Helsing on us.' Nice line. Not one most of us have much use for, but a good one nonetheless.