Diary of a Troubled Genius

Moon Landing

My first sight of the moon was on a foggy night of 1969. At least it was supposed to be foggy at home; I wasn't bothered too much. It takes substantial news -more than typical English weather- to distract the mind from being the first to experience something truly unique. As I took my first step onto the surface of a new world I raised my clammy hand to towards the earth: home of the media. They had not the faintest idea of what I was experiencing. My hands had never been so clammy and I wondered why, thoughout all flight simulations and training programmes, I had not been warned of what would take over my senses as I took my first small steps... sweat. Never mentioned. Not once.

Being on the moon, which as a child I would look up to with awe, was simply hard to believe. I didn't have long to believe it however as I was suddenly hit by the sensation of having a playground all to myself. Bouncing and leaping around in my weightless free space. Except bouncing wasn't so easy in my spacesuit. I thought that this suit which represented the peak of human achievement wasn't designed with comfort in mind; it had the flexibility of 15th century full armour, and blinded the senses. After all, I had risked my life to get here, and all to soon my next ordeal was to get back! No time simply to sit and watch the earth go by, and perhaps have a barbeque. It would be perfect, and visually the peacful undisturbed moon demanded a rush of cool air against my cheeks to relieve the heat. Except there wasn't any.

Training and physics theory isn't as important as one might think on the moon. As I set down the flag I had the urge to exclaim towards the earth, "I'm the King of the castle and you're the dirty rascals!" Better set the flag down carefully so as it doesn't fall. That wouldn't be good. Something felt wrong. Perhaps it was because there was no air to ripple the flag's surface. I felt I had dealt an injustice! One more look towards the earth, to contemplate how small it looked and whether I could kick it like a football. Half of it seemed to have disappeared! "Someone call them!" I thought, "What if they haven't realised yet!?" Stupid astronaut.

Still, I had work to do, and as I picked up soil and put it in various boxes I once again encountered memories of parks and playgrounds. Picking it up in my gloves I cheekily let some slip through my fingers gently and chuckled. I would love to smell it, or touch it and feel the sandy grainy soil. Sandy or grainy it could be... I had been to the moon and I would never know. I've been to the moon and still there were so many questions I can't answer! "Is the moon hot?" I was asked on my arrival... Perhaps. The thermometer said it was. The thermometer said it was 53.4 degrees, and is a far more accurate measure than me, but for some reason, I will never truly know.

Time to go. "Home-time! Come on now, we must get home in time for tea and I still need to do the shopping." So off I went, back to the giant football. Now I spend the odd night listening to music, and sipping beer on the earth, watching the moon go by, and it feels. Most other nights, I spend listening to music, sipping beer on the moon, and just watching the earth go by, and that feels too.

written @ 10:49 p.m. on 06 June, 2003